pleasures to forsake
Thy path of heavenly prayer;
We have deserved that Thou shouldst take
Our children from our care.
Yet, O Good Shepherd, lead us back,
Our lamb upon Thy breast,
Safely along the narrow track,
Across the dangerous crest;
Until our aching eyes rejoice
At Salem's shining walls,
And to our thirsting souls a Voice
Of Living Waters calls.

HE HAS COME BACK

Without the wintry sky is overcast,
The floods descend, fierce hail and rushing rain,
Whilst ever and anon the angry blast
Clutches the casement-pane.
Within our darling beats an angrier air
With piteous outstretched arms and tossing head,
Whilst we, bowed low beside his labouring bed,
Pour all our hearts in prayer.

Is this the end? The tired little hands
Fall by his side, the wild eyes close at last,
Breathless he sinks, almost we hear his sands
Of being ebbing past;
When, O miraculous! he wakes once more,
Love glowing in his glance, the while there slips
"Mother, dear Mother!" from his trembling lips,
"Dear Mother!" o'er and o'er.

He has come back, our little Fairy Child,
Back from his wanderings in the dreadful dark,
Back o'er the furious surge of fever wild,
The lost dove of our ark;
Back, slowly back o'er the dire flood's decrease
The white wings flutter, only our God knows how,
Bearing aloft the blessed olive bough
Of His compassionate peace.

SPRING'S SECRETS

As once I paused on poet wing
In the green heart of a grove,
I met the Spirit of the Spring
With her great eyes lit of love.

She took me gently by the hand
And whispered in my wondering ear
Secrets none may understand,
Till she make their meaning clear;

Why the primrose looks so pale,
Why the rose is set with thorns;
Why the magic nightingale
Through the darkness mourns and mourns;

How the angels, as they pass
In their vesture pure and white
O'er the shadowy garden grass,
Touch the lilies into light;

How their hidden hands upbear
The fledgling throstle in the air,
And lift the lowly lark on high,
And hold him singing in the sky;

What human hearts delight her most;
The careless child with roses crowned,
The mourner, knowing that his lost
Shall in the Eternal Spring be found.

THE LORD'S LEISURE

Tarry thou the leisure of the Lord!
Eve