LIVING AND DYING.
Living for Christ, I die;—how strange, that I,
Thus dying, live,—and yet, thus living, die!
Living for Christ, I die;-yet wondrous thought,
In that same death a deathless life is wrought;—
Living, I die to Earth, to self, to sin;—
Oh, blessed death, in which such life I win!
Dying for Christ, I live!—death cannot be
A terror, then, to one from death set free'
Living for Christ, rich blessings I attain,
Yet, dying for Him, mine is greater gain
Life for my Lord, is death to sin and strife,
Yet death for Him is everlas'ing life!
Dying for Christ, I live!—and yet, not I,
But He lives in me, who did for me die.
I die to live,—He lives to die no more,
Who, in His death my own death-sentence bore
"To live is Christ," if Christ within me reign,
To die more blessed, since "to die is gain!"
UP THE NEPIGON.
How beautiful, how beautiful,
Beneath the morning sky,
In bridal veil of snowy mist,
These dreamy headlands lie!
How beautiful, in soft repose,
Upon the water's breast,
Steeped in the sunlight's golden calm,
These fairy islets rest!
A Sabbath hush enfolds the hills,
And broods upon the deep
Whose music every hollow fills,
And climbs each rocky steep,
Now low and soft like love's own sigh,
Now faint and far away,
Now plaining to the answering pines,
With melancholy lay.
Like white-winged birds, through azure depths,
Above the restless tide,
With snowy plume and golden crest,
The fleecy cloudlets glide;
Their dancing shadows fleck the deep,
Or flit above the green
Of emerald islands fast asleep
'Neath tranquil skies serene.
I watch the sunshine and the shade,
The sparkle and the gleam,
Till past and present seem to fade,
And life becomes a dream—
A fairy, fancy-tinted dream,
A sun-bright; summer rest,
In which I glide through shade and gleam
Past islands of the blest
How beautiful! "How beautiful!"
The quiet hills reply,
And each responsive cliff gives back
Its answer to the sky;—
"How beautiful!" the waves repeat,
And every cloudlet smiles,
And writes its answer on the green
Of countless summer isles.