God sometimes speaks in earthquake and in storm,
But oftener in the "still small voice" of love:
He urges men as loving fathers plead.
God is our Father, yet we shun his face
And hide ourselves when at the cool of day
He walketh in the garden!
How sweet the thought that God, our heavenly Father, is omniscient. Our griefs are not hidden from him. He knows our hearts, and with all this knowledge he is good—so tender, so pitiful! Oh, to love him as he deserves! Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing his praises! Tell the sick, tell the sorrowing, tell the broken-hearted of this God; tell the wretched, the guilty, the wayward prodigal of this gracious Father.
THE LAST GOOD NIGHT.
[In the day of health and prosperity everybody feels like singing, but "in the night" of adversity grace must produce the song of holy confidence and hope. Such a song is the following, which has probably been printed oftener than any other of Miss JOHNSON'S poems. It has appeared in several papers; finds a place in Dewart's "Selections from Canadian Poets"; was set to music by George F. Root, and appears in his "School for the Cabinet Organ." With many it has been a favorite.]
Mother, good night! my work is done,—
I go to rest with the setting sun:
But not to wake with the morning light,
So, dearest mother, a long good night!
Father, good night! the shadows glide
Silently down to the river's side,—
The river itself with stars is bright,
So, dearest father, a long good night!
Sisters, good night! the roses close
Their dewy eyes for the night's repose—
And a strange, damp mist obscures my sight,
So, dearest sisters, a long good night!
Brothers, good night! the sunset flush
Has died away, and a midnight hush
Has settled o'er plain and mountain height,
So, dearest brothers, a long good night!
Good night! good night! nay, do not weep:
I'm weary of earth, I long to sleep—
I shall wake again with the dawning light
Of eternal day—good night, good night!