grace
That suffered man, and death, and yet, in tenderness,
Set wide the door, and passed Himself before--
As He had promised--to prepare a place.
Yea, we may hope!
For we are seeds,
Dropped into earth for heavenly blossoming.
Perchance, when comes the time of harvesting,
His loving care
May find some use for even a humble tare.
We know not what we shall be--only this--
That we shall be made like Him--as He is.
WHIRRING WHEELS
Lord, when on my bed I lie,
Sleepless, unto Thee I'll cry;
When my brain works overmuch,
Stay the wheels with Thy soft touch.
Just a quiet thought of Thee,
And of Thy sweet charity,--
Just a little prayer, and then
I will turn to sleep again.
THE BELLS OF YS
When the Bells of Ys rang softly,--softly,
Soft--and sweet--and low,
Not a sound was heard in the old gray town,
As the silvery tones came floating down,
