stands

Above the night; clear shines her precious

brow:

The pendulous star in her transfigured hands Brightens the Now.

Deep calleth unto deep: life infinite, O soul, awaiteth thee!

LUCY LARCOM.

MORE LIFE.

MARY CLEMMER.

NOT weary of thy world,

So beautiful, O Father, in thy love,
Thy world, that, glory-lighted from above,
Lies in thy hand impearled:

Not asking rest from toil;

Sweet toil, that draws us nearer to thy side; Ever to tend thy planting satisfied,

Though in ungenial soil:

Nor to be freed from care,

That lifts us out of self's lone hollowness; Since unto thy dear feet we all may press, And leave our burdens there:

JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN!

JERUSALEM the golden!

I weary for one gleam Of all thy glory folden

In distance and in dream! My thoughts, like palms in exile,

Climb up to look and pray For a glimpse of thy dear country That lies so far away!

Jerusalem the golden!

Methinks each flower that blows, And every bird a-singing

Of thee some secret knows;

I know not what the flowers
Can feel, or singers see;
But all these summer raptures
Seem prophecies of thee.

The stranger homeward bends,
And fighteth for his rest:
Heaven is my home, my friends

Lodge there in Abraham's breast:

O happy place!
When shall I be,
My God, with thee,
To see thy face?

Earth's but a sorry tent

Pitched for a few frail days,

A short-leased tenement;

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with thee,
To see thy face?

There dwells my Lord, my King,
Judged here unfit to live;
There angels to him sing,
And lovely homage give:
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with thee,
To see thy face?

The patriarchs of old

There from their travels cease;
The prophets there behold
Their longed-for Prince of peace:
O happy place!

When shall I be,
My God, with thee,
To see thy face?

The Lamb's apostles there
I might with joy behold,
The harpers I might hear
Harping on harps of gold:
O happy place!

975

SAMUEL CROSSMAN.

THAT CITY!

I KNOW the walls are jasper,
The palaces are fair,
And to the sounds of harpings

The saints are singing there;

I know that living waters

Flow under fruitful trees;
But oh, to make my heaven,
It needeth more than these!
Read in the sacred story,

What more doth it unfold,
Beside the pearly gateways

And streets of shining gold? No temple hath that city,

For none is needed there, No sun nor moon enlighteneth; Can darkness then be fair? Ah, now the bright revealing, The crowning joy of all! What need of other sunshine Where God is all in all? He fills the wide ethereal With glory all his own, He, whom my soul adoreth,

The Lamb amidst the throne !

Oh, heaven without my Saviour
Would be no heaven to me;
Dim were the walls of jasper-
Rayless the crystal sea.
He gilds earth's darkest valleys
With light and joy and peace;
What then must be the radiance
When night and death shall cease?
Speed on, O lagging moments!
Come, birthday of the soul!
How long the night appeareth,

The hours, how slow they roll!
How sweet the welcome summons
That greets the willing bride!
And when mine eyes behold him,
"I shall be satisfied."

HELEN L. PARMLEE.

ARISE AND SHINE.

Φωτίζου, φωτίζου.

JOHN of Damascus, the last but one of the Fathers of the Eastern Church, was the greatest of her poets. He was born at Damascus, made great progress in philosophy, retired to the monastery of St. Sabas, and was late in life ordained priest of the Church of Jerusalem. He died after 754 and before 787.

THOU New Jerusalem, arise and shine!
The glory of the Lord on thee hath risen!
Sion, exult! rejoice with joy divine,
Mother of God! thy Son hath burst his prison.
O Heavenly Voice! O word of purest love!
"Lo! I am with you alway to the end";
This is the anchor, steadfast from above,
The golden anchor, whence our hopes depend.

O Christ, our Pascha! greatest, holiest, best!
God's Word and Wisdom and effectual Might!
Thy fuller, lovelier presence manifest,
In that eternal realm, that knows no night!
JOHN of Damascus. Translated by
JOHN MASON NEALE, 1862.

PRAISE OF THE CITY ABOVE.

FOR THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH.
"Urbs beata Jerusalem."

BLESSED City, heavenly Salem,
Vision dear of peace and love,
Who, of living stones upbuilded,
Art the joy of heaven above:
And, with angel hosts encircled,

As a bride to earth dost move :
From celestial realms descending
Ready for the nuptial bed,
Decked with jewels, to his presence
By her Lord shall she be led :
All her streets and all her bulwarks
Of pure gold are fashionéd.
Bright with pearls her portal glitters:

It is open evermore :

And by virtue of their merits

Thither faithful souls may soar

Who. for Christ's dear name, in this world Pain and tribulation bore.

Many a blow and biting sculpture

Polished well those stones elect, In their places now compacted By the Heavenly Architect; Who therewith hath willed forever That his palace should be decked. Christ is made the sure Foundation, And the Precious Corner-stone: Who, the twofold walls surmounting, Binds them closely into one; Holy Sion's help forever,

And her confidence alone.

All that dedicated city,

Dearly loved by God on high, In exultant jubilation

Pours perpetual melody: God the One and God the Trinal Lauding everlastingly.

To this temple, where we call thee, Come, O Lord of Hosts, to-day! With thy wonted loving-kindness Hear thy servants as they pray: And thy fullest benediction

Shed within these walls for aye.