On the billow's rough foam, the battered bark
Was tossing from side to side;

1 marvelled it sank not: but ONE was there,
JESUS, the Ruler and Guide.

No empty shells had its mariner sought
From the barren and sandy ground;
Deep treasured within his bosom there lay
The pearl of great price he had found.

The darkness came on; the tempest rose high;
And I heard the breakers roar;

But the vessel she bore so bravely on,
Fast nearing a glorious shore.

The morning broke on that sorrowful night,
A morning serene and still :

I looked for the bark; it was safely moored
In the haven under the hill.

The white sail was furled, the anchor dropped,
The winds were hushed to sleep;
And gently the bark wafted to and fro
On the face of the glassy deep.

Oh! blest the repose, and eternal the peace

Of the ransomed soul shall be;

No more "toiling in rowing," no fear of a storm; For "there shall be no more sea."

L. B.

On the billow's rough foam, the battered bark
Was tossing from side to side;

1 marvelled it sank not: but ONE was there,
JESUS, the Ruler and Guide.

No empty shells had its mariner sought
From the barren and sandy ground;
Deep treasured within his bosom there lay
The pearl of great price he had found.

The darkness came on; the tempest rose high;
And I heard the breakers roar ;

But the vessel she bore so bravely on,
Fast nearing a glorious shore.

The morning broke on that sorrowful night,
A morning serene and still:

I looked for the bark; it was safely moored
In the haven under the hill.

The white sail was furled, the anchor dropped,
The winds were hushed to sleep;
And gently the bark wafted to and fro
On the face of the glassy deep.

Oh! blest the repose, and eternal the peace

Of the ransomed soul shall be;

No more "toiling in rowing," no fear of a storm; For "there shall be no more sea."

L. B.

THE MERCY-SEAT.

FROM every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat;
"Tis found beneath the Mercy-seat.

There is a place where JESUS sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads;
A place than all beside more sweet:
It is the blood-bought Mercy-seat.

There is a place where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
Though sundered far, by faith they meet
Around one common Mercy-seat.

Ah! whither should we flee for aid,
When tempted, desolate, dismayed;
Or how the hosts of hell defeat,
Had suffering saints no Mercy-seat?

There, there on eagle wing we'd soar,
Till time and sense seem all no more;
All Heaven came down our souls to greet,
And glory crown the Mercy-seat.

REV. H. STOWELL.

THE GOODNESS OF GOD.

THERE's not a bird with lonely nest,
In pathless wood or mountain crest;
Nor meaner thing, which does not share,
O GOD, in thy paternal care.

There's not a being now accurst,
Who did not taste Thy goodness first;

And every joy the wicked see

Received its origin from Thee.

Each barren crag, each desert rude,
Holds Thee within its solitude;

And Thou dost bless the wanderer there,
Who makes his solitary prayer.

In busy mart and crowded street,

No less than in the still retreat,

Thou, LORD, art near, our souls to bless,

With all a parent's tenderness.

And every moment still doth bring

Thy blessings on its loaded wing:

Widely they spread through earth and sky,

And last to all eternity.

Through all creation let Thy Name
Be echoed with a glad acclaim;
Thy praise let grateful Churches sing;
With praise let Heaven for ever ring.