All Is Well

Dark the future yawns before me, Bitter griefs my bosom swell; But a light is breaking o'er me, And a voice--"All, all is well!"

Sad and lone has been my journey, Sad and lone my way must be:-- Care and sorrow, pain and sickness, Long have been allotted me.

Sunshine--that o'er youthful bosoms Flings a bright and magic spell, Seldom breaks upon my pathway, Yet I know that all is well!

If the Hand that guides the planets Feeds the ravens when they cry, Can it be that I'm unnoticed By a Father's loving eye?

He has thoughts of mercy toward me, His designs I cannot tell; 'Tis enough for me to trust Him, He knows best--and all is well!

Many doubts and many shadows Oft have flitted through my mind, And I've questioned, sadly questioned, But no answer could I find.

Earth was silent to my pleading, Nature taught me to rebel; But when I recall the promise "I am with thee"--all is well!

Many things I can't unravel; Many winding mazes see; But I'll go with faith unshaken, For the Lord is leading me.

And when beams of endless glory The mysterious clouds dispel, Grateful shall I tell my story, Grateful say that all was well!

WE SHALL MEET.

We have wandered oft together At the hour of setting sun; Shall we wander thus together, When the toils of life are done?

Many hours we've spent together Scenes of joy and grief have known; Shall we spend the hours together When the joy will be alone?

Sad indeed would be our parting If we hoped to meet no more, But although the tears are starting, Look we to a brighter shore.

Dark indeed would be the morrow When, apart we sadly roam, If beyond this world of sorrow We could see no happier home.

But we've heard a joyful story Of a land that's bright and fair, And we hope to share its glory, And to meet each other there.

Swiftly onward to the ocean Roll the troubled waves of time, Bearing us with every motion Nearer to the blessed clime.

Soon the tears that now are starting With their causes will be o'er; Soon the hands now clasped in parting Will be joined forevermore.

We have shared one home together, We have sat around one board; And we'll find a home together In the Paradise restored!

WHAT THE DAUGHTER OF THE CLOUD SAID.

Down the spout a torrent gushed, to be pent up in an old, dark tub, and made the slave of the washerwoman. Would it not have been better for thee, O water, to have fallen in the beautiful forest? to lie in the bosom of the lily, or become a looking glass for the many colored insects? "I would be useful," whispered the daughter of the cloud, "therefore I have stooped to an humble action--I left the abode of the lightning. My lot is a lowly one; my life full of sorrow and humiliation. I must pass through a fiery ordeal; I must be cast out and despised by those whom I have served. But then will be the time of my exaltation: the blessed Sun will take pity upon me, and make me a gem of beauty in the angels' highway!"

[Though no application has been made of this similitude, yet the truth designed to be taught is easily gathered: The Christian may be called to many a lowly act--to a ministration which will subject him to reproach and suffering here, but the day of exaltation is sure to come. "He that humbleth himself shall be exalted." The day hastens when from the heavens the Saviour will descend, "who will transform the body of our humiliation, that it may be conformed to the body of his glory."--Phil. 3:21 (Am. Bible Union Trans.). How glorious will the humble workers of earth appear when they are beautified by the Sun of righteousness in the resurrection morning! That will be all Easter day of surpassing loveliness.]

THIS IS NOT HOME.

This is not home! from o'er the stormy sea Bright birds of passage wing their way to me; They bear a message from the loved and lost Who tried the angry waves and safely crossed, And now in homelike mansions find repose Where billows never roar nor tempest blows.

As strangers here in foreign lands we roam, Oh, why should not the exile sigh for home? A thousand snares beset our thorny way, And night is round us--why not wish for day? The storm is high, beneath its wintry wing The blossom fades--oh, why not wish for Spring?

The waters roll o'er treasures buried deep, And sacred dust the lonely churchyards keep-- Homes are dissolved and ties are rent in twain, And things that charm can never charm again, On every brow we mark the hand of time, Oh, why not long for the celestial clime?

Wave after wave rolls inward to the land, Then comes the wail and then the parting hand, And those for whom we would have freely died Are borne away upon the ebbing tide; We weep and mourn, we bid the sea restore, It mocks our grief--and takes one idol more.

'Tis well for us that ties which bind the heart Too strongly here are rudely snapped apart; 'Tis well the pitcher at the fountain breaks, The golden bowl is shattered for our sakes, To show how frail and fleeting all we love, To raise our souls to lasting things above.

We are but pilgrims--like the tribes who roam In every land but call no land their home,-- And what their ancient Canaan is to them, So is to us the New Jerusalem; Then while our hopes, our hearts, our homes are there, "Thy Kingdom come" must be our fervent prayer!

THE SOUL'S CONSOLATION.

Ah, well it is for thee that there is one ear that will listen, one eye that pities, one heart that will take thee in--"Thou God seest me!" Was ever consolation contained in so few words? Oh, repeat it when the heart is breaking--when between thee and every earthly object yawns a gulf dark and impassable. Thou God seest me! Thou God lovest me--lovest me! Thou knowest the agony of my spirit: thou knowest what I suffer, and thou must give me strength and grace to endure all, and to say in truth and sincerity, Thy will not mine be done.