Then sweetly rose the singer's voice Amid unwonted calm, "Am I a soldier of the Cross, A follower of the Lamb? And shall I fear to own His Cause?" The very stream was stilled, And hearts that never throbbed with fear With tender thoughts were filled.
Ended the song; the singer said, As to his feet he rose, "Thanks to you all, my friends, good-night, God grant us sweet repose." "Sing us one more," the captain begged, The soldier bent his head, Then glancing round, with smiling lips, "You'll join with me?" he said.
"We'll sing this old familiar air, Sweet as the bugle call, 'All hail the power of Jesus' name, Let angels prostrate fall;'" Ah! wondrous was the old tune's spell, As on the soldier sang, Man after man fell into line, And loud the voices rang.
The songs are done, the camp is still, Naught but the stream is heard; But ah! the depths of every soul By those old hymns are stirred, And up from many a bearded lip, In whispers soft and low, Rises the prayer that mother taught Her boy long years ago.
—Safeguard.
PERFECT PEACE.
[Lines written by a lady on the steamship "Mongolia," near Malta. She was en route from China, where she had been a missionary for seventeen years, to her home in England. She gave the verses to Bishop Bowman, who was on the steamer with her, and he sent them to his wife, not knowing she had died a few days before he wrote his letter.—A. Lowry.]
Lonely? No, not lonely
While Jesus stands by;
His presence always cheers me,
I know that He is nigh.
Friendless? No, not friendless,
For Jesus is my friend;
I change, but He remaineth
The same unto the end.
Tired? No, not tired,
While leaning on His breast;
My soul hath full enjoyment,
'Tis His eternal rest.