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- Canadian Wild Flowers - 30/36 -


Be my friend and guest forever, In a trembling voice I said; And he smiled and laid so gently One dear hand upon my head; It was bleeding, And I knew for me it bled!

"I will be thy guest forever," Said the stranger unto me; "But the cost--say, hast thou counted-- Counted what the cost will be? Earthly pleasures, Wilt thou leave them all for me?

"Wilt thou take my yoke upon thee? Wilt thou humbly bear my name? Crush the risings of ambition, And the hopes of earthly fame? Freely suffering, For my sake, reproach and shame?"

Then I said, Both fame and pleasure Willingly I can resign; Let me only feel thy presence, Let me know that thou art mine, And dear Saviour, All I have and am are thine!

A LONG DELIGHTFUL WALK.

While reading to-day an account of the descendants of Adam my mind was particularly struck with the short but comprehensive narrative of Enoch: "He walked with God, and he was not; for God took him" (Gen. 5:21-24). He "walked with God," and how long? "Three hundred years" after he begat Methuselah. Oh, how strange that it should be so hard for me to walk in the commandments of the Lord even for a few days! O God, give me more of the love and more of the faith that Enoch possessed.--_Aug._ 18,1853.

"THE SERVANT IS NOT ABOVE HIS MASTER."

Lonely pilgrim, art thou sinking 'Neath the weight of grief and care? Bitter dregs of sorrow drinking From the cup of dark despair? Mourn not, for thy Master's footsteps The same gloomy paths have trod He has drained the cup of anguish,-- He, the mighty Son of God.

Does gaunt poverty surround thee, With its pale and meagre train? Do they gather closely round thee, Want, and suffering and pain? Mourn not, for the chilly dew-drops, Fell upon thy Master's bed; Mourn not, for the Prince of Glory Had not where to lay his head!

Are thy kindred lowly lying In the cold and silent tomb, Heedless of thy plaintive sighing, Heedless of thy grief and gloom? Know thy Master's tears descended, Where a dearly-loved one slept; He knows well thy weight of sorrow; Murmur not, for Jesus wept.

Do the friends that once caressed thee Pass thee by with frowning brow? Has the friendship that once blessed thee Changed to bitter hatred now? Weep not, for thy Masters brethren In his sorrow turned aside, Scorned to own that once they loved him; Weep not,--Jesus was denied!

Does a scoffing world deride thee, And expose to scorn and shame? Do thy foes rise up beside thee, Blast thy character and name? Know thy Master was derided, Scorned in Pilate's judgment-hall. Mourn not; Christ, the great Redeemer, Was despised and loathed by all.

Art thou torn with grief and anguish? Racked with many a burning pain? Does thy weary body languish? Fearful pangs torment thy brain? Murmur not; from Calvary's mountain List thy Master's dying groan! Murmur not; thy great Redeemer Gave his life to save thine own!

Does the monster Death look dreary? Fill thy mind with fears and gloom? Does thy spirit, faint and weary, Shrink in terror from the tomb? Know thy Master's gone before thee, Crossed the dark and narrow tide, Disarmed Death of all his terrors: Then fear not--thy Saviour died!

Yes, he died,--the Prince of Glory,-- Died upon the cursed tree; Pilgrim, spread the joyful story: Jesus died, and died for thee! And he rose,--he rose triumphant,-- Burst the bars of death in twain. Lonely pilgrim, that same Jesus Will return to earth again!

See the first faint beams of morning Chasing night and clouds away, All the glorious sky adorning; Pilgrim, it is break of day! Rouse thee, pilgrim, weep no longer; Let thy glad Hosanna ring! Jesus comes in power and glory; Hail thy Saviour and thy King!

ELIJAH.

He calmly stands on the mountain's brow. God shield thee, thou lonely prophet, now! For thy friends are few, and thy foes are strong, And each heart beats high in that mocking throng; And every eye is fixed upon thee, As thou standest alone in thy majesty.

The prophets of Baal are many and great, And they move along in princely state; With a scornful eye and a haughty air, They have proudly taken their station there; While the blood of thy comrades stains the sod, And thou only art left a prophet of God.

Yet firm is thy step, and calm thy brow-- The Lord God of hosts is for thee now; And, strong in his strength, thou mayest advance, And defy the world with thy piercing glance; While the prophets of Baal bend at thy nod, And the people own that the Lord, he is God.

The sun shines bright in the azure sky, And the morning breeze sweeps gently by, And all is quiet on earth, in air-- Not a sound escapes from that multitude there; Though eager each eye and troubled each mien, Yet the stillness of death reigns over the scene.

But a voice is heard; and clear and loud It breaks on the ears of the listening crowd; They quickly obey. A space is cleared; The bullock is slain, the altar is reared; While the prophets of Baal around it bend, And implore their god an answer to send.

The day wears on, and the sun is high-- Still round that altar they madly cry; But the sky is serene as ever before, And, frantic with rage, they shout the more; But 't is all in vain; and the day has past, And the prophets of Baal have yielded at last.

Each heart beats high with anxiety there, As Elijah, with calm, majestic air, Alone and exposed to a nation's frown, Rebuilds the altar long since thrown down. 'T is the hour for the evening sacrifice now, And he solemnly kneels on the mountain's brow.

On, the name of the Lord his God he calls; When, lo! quick as lightning, the fire falls! A smoke ascends to the vaulted sky, And with it arises a mingled cry; And bowed is each head, and bent is each knee As "The Lord, he is God!" rings loud o'er the sea.

'T is night, and the evening breeze grows chill; The prophet pleads with Jehovah still; He has seen the prophets of Baal slain. And now he implores for the falling rain. The heavens grow black at Jehovah's word; Arise, Elijah, thy prayer is heard!


Canadian Wild Flowers - 30/36

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