When the shining ranks of the frost
Draw down on the glistening wold
In the mail of a fairy host,
And the earth is mossed with cold,
Till the plates that shine about
Close up with a filmy din,
Till the air is frozen out,
And the stars are frozen in.
I will often stoop to range
On the fields where my youth was spent,
And my feet shall smite the cliffs of change
With the rush of a steep descent;
And my glowing soul shall burn
With a love that knows no pall,
And my eye of worship turn
Upon him that fashioned all—
When the sounding waves of strife
Have died on the Godhead's sea,
And thy life is a purer life
That nurses a life in me.
THY HEART.
Make not of thy heart a casket,
Opening seldom, quick to close;
But of bread a wide-mouthed basket,
Or a cup that overflows.
0 LORD, HOW HAPPY!
From the German of Dessler.
O Lord, how happy is the time
When in thy love I rest!
When from my weariness I climb
Even to thy tender breast!
The night of sorrow endeth there—
Thou art brighter than the sun;
And in thy pardon and thy care
The heaven of heaven is won.