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I am content with what I have,

Little be it, or much ;
And, Lord, contentment still I crave,

Because thou savest such.

Fulness to such a burden is,

That go on pilgrimage ; Here little, and hereafter bliss,

Is best for age to age.




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HE bird that soars on highest wing,

Builds on the ground her lowly nest; And she that doth most sweetly fing, Sings in the shade when all things

rest. In lark and nightingale we fee What honour hath humility.

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When Mary chose “ the better part,"

She meekly fat at Jesus' feet ;
And Lydia's gently-opened heart

Was made for God's own temple meet.
Fairest and best adorned is the
Whose clothing is humility.

The faint that wears the brightest crown,

In deepest adoration bends;
The weight of glory bows him down

Then most when most his soul ascends;
Nearest the throne itself must be
The footstool of humility.




E wept

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'twas Nature wept,
Can pierce beyond the gloom of death,
And in yon world so fair and bright,

Behold thee in refulgent light.
We miss thee here, yet Faith would rather,
Know thou art with thy Heavenly Father.
Nature sees the body dead -
Faith beholds the spirit fled ;
Nature stops at Jordan's tide -
Faith beholds the other side;
That but hears farewell and sighs
This, thy welcome in the skies ;
Nature mourns a cruel blow -
Faith assures it is not so ;
Nature never sees thee more —
Faith but sees thee gone before ;
Nature tells a dismal story –
Faith has visions full of glory ;
Nature views the change with sadness
Faith contemplates it with gladness;
Nature murmurs--Faith gives meekness ;
“Strength is perfected in weakness.”
Nature writhes and hates the rod
Faith looks up and blesses God;



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Sense looks downwards Faith above;
That sees harshness—This sees love;
Oh! let Faith victorious be
Let it reign triumphantly!
But thou art gone! not loft, but flown,
Shall I then ask thee back, my own?
Back-and leave thy spirit's brightness ?
Back—and leave thy robes of whiteness ?
Back—and leave thine angel mould ?
Back-and leave those streets of gold ?
Back-and leave the Lamb who feeds thee?
Back-from founts to which He leads thee?
Back-and leave thy Heavenly Father?
Back—to earth and sin? Nay, rather
Would I live in solitude !
I would not ask thee, if I could ;
But patient wait the high decree,
That calls my spirit home to thee !



OW the bright spring comes forth to

clothe the trees, And her soft-sighing whispers in the

breeze; The liquid warblings, from a thousand

throats, Pour on the perfumed air their richest notes ;

The gush of many streams comes o'er the soul,
The harmonies of nature paft me roll,-

But the deaf hear them not!


It is a Sabbath morn; and


feet Haften, thro' funny paths, their God to meet In His own temple—and on bended knee Tell Him their wants, and for His pardon pray ; To hear of all His love to hear and feel, And send their hearts up with the anthem's swell,

But the dumb cannot fing!

Amid a busy world they are alone,
And to no kindred heart can make their moan;
The spirit has no vent.--Oh, who can tell
The passionate longing, or the struggling swell,
Of the imprisoned Eagle caged within,
To burst its barriers, and its freedom win!

But the dumb cannot speak.

But there was One, who in His inmost soul,
Sighed for the mute, and with His touch made whole.
Teach them to know Him ! Soon His healing balm
Sheds o'er the struggling foul a holy calm —
No longer desolate, for He is nigh.
Oh! pitying heart, that like thy Lord can figh,

Pray for the deaf and dumb!

A day will come, when on the closed ear
The melodies of Heaven will burst so clear,
That the mute mourner's bounding heart shall note,
And vibrate to the chords that round him float-

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