D THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY. EAR, secret Greenness, nurst below! Tempests and winds, and winter nights Vex not, that but one sees thee grow, That one made all these lesser lights. Let glory, be their bait, whose minds Are all too high for a low cell: Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, The poor bee in her hive must dwell. Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch HENRY VAUGHAN. T is the Lord! Hear ye that gladsome word, O'er the Gennesareth sea! Re-echo it, that it be ne'er unheard, But farthest realms agree To hail the risen Saviour's name; And the broad earth with joy proclaim, "It is the Lord!" It is the Lord!-without Him no success; Howe'er we work or wait! Our nets were cast, but vain our watchfulness Through weary hours so late: Toiling; yet nought for all our cares, Nought, till a miracle declares "It is the Lord!" "IT IS THE LORD." It is the Lord! How gracious and how true! His promise, O how good! For now, astonish'd, to our bark we drew The finny multitude! On earth so great, so bounteous none, As He, our strength, our shield, our sun! "It is the Lord!" 113 It is the Lord!-for us He here hath stay'd Near, while we deem'd Him far; Eyes dimm'd by sorrow and with toil o'erweigh'd Knew not our Morning Star! Now springs my grateful soul from prison, Our hope revives, our sun hath risen; "It is the Lord!" It is the Lord, whom loving John discerns; O hour of joyfulness! And that meek soul for closer nearness yearns In the still heart's recess ! Seek thou, too, Him in that deep cell; Thou, too, the homefelt joy shalt tell, "It is the Lord!" I 114 "IT IS THE LORD.” It is the Lord. See, Peter breasts the wave; His dauntless love exclaims, 66 Away, whate'er can part us! let me brave Tempests, or floods, or flames; With joy I plunge into the sea, Conscious whose love constraineth me! It is the Lord!-the rest are following too! In quiet troth, if with slow feet, pursue Though many a blast and wave be near, 66 It is the Lord! He bids us all draw nigh, At His own feast regales! He nurtures each with grace unfailingly, Hither from hills and vales! Thrice happy are His festivals; Thrice blest the guests His mercy calls; "It is the Lord!" It is the Lord! 66 IT IS THE LORD." They ask Him now no more, Who art, or what doest Thou? Whate'er He doeth, 'tis He; 'tis mercy's store; Let faith adoring bow! For whether He chastise or cheer— In sunshine or in clouds appear— 66 It is the Lord!" It is the Lord! Ah, in how few bright hours His mortal coil yet fetters all my powers! But wait!-It still is He! One day my love shall see Thee as Thou art, And shout with jubilant voice and raptur'd heart, "It is the Lord!" KARL GEROK. 115 |