he second, more severe:
"The prayers of no man are sincere
Who does not in the rod rejoice
And make the strokes he bears his choice."
Then she, who felt that in such pain
The love of self did still remain,
Answered, "No prayers can be sincere
When they from whose wrung hearts they fall
Are not as I am, lying here,
Who long since have forgotten all.
Dear Lord of love! There is no pain."
So Rabia, and was well again.

--Edmund Clarence Stedman.

THREE STAGES OF PIETY

Rabia, sick upon her bed,
By two saints was visited:

Holy Malik, Hassan wise,
Men of mark in Moslem eyes.

Hassan said: "Whose prayer is pure
Will God's chastisement _endure_."

Malik, from a deeper sense,
Uttered his experience:

"He who loves his Master's choice
Will in chastisement _rejoice_."

Rabia saw some selfish will
In their maxims lingering still,

And replied: "O men of grace!
He who sees his Master's face

"Will not in his prayer recall
That he is chastised at all."

--Arabian, tr. by James Freeman Clarke, from the German of Tholuck.

(Rabia was a very holy Arabian woman who lived in the second century of
the Hegira, or the eighth century of our era.)

PRAYER'S GRACE

Round holy Rabia's suffering bed
The wise men gathered, gazing gravely.
"Daughter of God!" the youngest said,
"Endure thy Father's chastening bravely;
They who have steeped their souls in prayer
Can any anguish calmly bear."

She answered not, and turned aside,
Though not reproachfully nor sadly.
"Daughter of God!" the eldest cried,
"Sustain thy Father's chastening gladly;
They who have learned to pray aright
From pain's dark well draw up delight."

Then spake she out: "Your words are fair;
But, oh, the truth lies deeper still.
I know not, when absorbed in prayer,
Pleasure or pain, or good or ill.
They who God's face can understand
Feel not the workings of his hand."

--Monckton Milnes.

I LOVE THY WILL

I love thy will, O God!
Thy blessed, perfect will,
In which this once rebellious heart
Lies satisfied and still.

I love thy will, O God!
It is my joy, my rest;
It glorifies my common task,
It makes each trial blest.

I love thy will, O God!
The sunshine or the rain;
Some days