Let no one say of Christ's Church, "Ichabod,"
Or deem her strength partaker of decay,
Or think her trumpet voices fail. To-day
I saw a man who was a man of God,
His feet with gospel preparation shod,
The Spirit's quick and mighty weapon sway;
I heard him faithfully point out the way,
To him familiar, which the Master trod.
Intrepid, patient follower of the Lord,
While such as thou, obedient to His call,
Living epistles, known and read of all,
Proclaim the wonders of His sacred Word,
No sound of lamentation should be heard,
No shade of apprehension should appal.
A WISH REBUKED.
If one could have a hundred years to live,
After the settlement of youth's unrest,
A hundred years of vigorous life to give
To the pursuit of what he counted best,
A hundred summers, autumns, winters, springs,
To train and use the forces of his mind,
He might fulfil his fond imaginings,
And lift himself and benefit his kind.
O faint of heart, to whom this life appears
Too short for thy ambitious projects, He
Who plied His task in weakness and in tears
Along the countrysides of Galilee,
And blest the world for these two thousand years,
Did His incomparable work in three.
THE SABBATH.
Who, careless, would behold a goodly tree
Or noble palace stricken to decay?
Who would drop precious jewels in the sea
Or cast rare heirlooms on the trodden way?
Who, but a prodigal in wantonness,
Would waste his patrimony for swine's food?
Who would his birthright sell for pottage-mess
But a dull, sensual Esau, blind to good?
Our tree o'ershadowing the sons of care,
Our palace welcoming the weary guest,
Our precious jewel and our heirloom rare,
Our birthright and our patrimony blest,
Art thou, to guard and keep for ever fair,
Sweet Christian Sabbath-day of joy and rest.