The wish, that of the living whole
No life may fail beyond the grave;
Derives it not from what we have
The likest God within the soul?

Are God and Nature then at strife,

That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life:

That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear;

I falter where I firmly trod,

And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs
That slope thro' darkness up to God;

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,

And faintly trust the larger hope.

A. Tennyson.

CCIII.

AT LAST.

At last all shall be well with those, His own, Whom Christ from sin and Satan has made free; At last shall come the year of jubilee,

The time of rest, when all their fears are flown.

At last shall come the glory and reward,

When we have stood the world's reproach and loss, When faith and love have meekly borne the cross, And the good servants are made like their Lord.

At last the soldier shall receive his crown,

Brought from the field, home to his fatherland;
For ever in a peaceful lot to stand,

His foes all vanquished, and his arms laid down.

At last the water shall be turned to wine,

And all the marriage guests, in bliss above, The wonders trace of God's redeeming love, - His counsels all fulfilled, and plans divine.

At last, not yet, into the heavenly rest

BLIO

The Lord shall lead His saints, and give them there,
Made like the angels, angel joys to share,

Ever with Him and with each other blest.

At last, not yet;-O weary heart, be still!
Trust to thy God, thy Saviour, and thy Friend,
Who chastens now, but loves unto the end.

So be it, Lord! good is Thy holy will.

Hymns from Land of Luther.

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