“Licht, Mehr Licht!”

Sob, cold wind of the sky, For the rest that never shall come! The stars have gathered on high, The moon’s white lips are dumb, And over her face like a shroud Lies the wrack of the drifting cloud.

Moan, dark sea of the night! Fling up thine arms and implore The heavens for light, sweet light,-- One sparkle along the shore From the sun that left thee to moan In the horror of darkness--alone.

Shudder, thou one human soul, Forever alone in the night; Whose billows unceasingly roll In desolate seeking for light! The moon’s white face is thine own, Thine, thine the wind’s monotone. Thyself art the night-- O God, light, light!

PSALM LXXX.

“Turn us again, O God of Hosts, and cause Thy face to shine.” When fades the light of day, And night in silence steals across the sky, We know it is not that the glorious sun Has left his steadfast throne amid the heavens, But that our little earth has turned away And hid its face till morning shall appear. So may we, in our blackest night of doubt And troubled thought, return once more to Thee, Till Thou hast risen, O Sun of Righteousness, And all the evil things of darkness born Have fled before the shining of Thy face.

UNTO THE PERFECT DAY.

A morning-glory bud, entangled fast Amid the meshes of its winding stem, Strove vainly with the coils about it cast, Until the gardener came and loosened them.

A suffering human life entangled lay Among the tightening coils of its own past; The Gardener came, the fetters fell away, The life unfolded to the sun at last.

HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS EVE.

A mighty world is hushed to-night In sweet expectancy; O’er snowy field and wood the stainless light Of the clear moon Shines broad and free; While peacefully the earth-- A great white throne Prepared for One who soon Shall rise and claim it for His own-- Awaits His birth.

The hearts of all mankind are turned Toward lowly Bethlehem; For in the east the wondrous Star, that burned In days of old, Still beckons them. Back o’er the centuries, Storm-swept and bare, It moves, until, behold! It stands above the manger where The Young Child lies.

O Christmas chimes, right joyfully Ring out the tidings glad To stars and frosty air and listening sky,-- “Good-will to men!” Till all the sad, The weary and oppressed, Their gifts shall bring To Him whose birth again Sheds peace on earth, and, worshipping, Shall be at rest.

BLIND.

Throughout the weary day an Eastern sun Had poured his beams upon the whitened walls Of Jericho, till e’en the drooping palms Refused to comfort with their wonted shade The passer-by. As in a furnace blast-- The glaring pavement spread beneath, o’erhead A brazen, cloudless sky--all living things Had gasped, with parching lips, and feebly prayed For night. ’Twas eventide; the northern hills Breathed forth a blessing on the multitude That thronged incessant through the city gates. Softly the mist crept forth, and o’er their heads Her dewy wings unfolded. In the west The molten brass of noontide turned to gold, And shone like some fair missal’s page, with hymns And promises illumined. One there was Among the restless souls beneath its glow, For whom the heavenly message was not writ; For whom no sunset gleamed, nor morning dawned. Oft had he listened to the merry shout And laughter of the children at their sports, But ne’er had looked upon their sparkling eyes. Alone, he walked in darkness through a life Of nights, with never hope of day. But hark! Upon his ear there falls a gentle voice, Whose tones of strange and heavenly sweetness thrill His very heart. “’Tis Jesus, ’tis the Christ Of Nazareth!” The woes of heavy years, The quick-born hope, the old-time, dull despair, The agony of help so near at hand, Yet passing, blend in one wild, bitter cry: “Jesus, thou Son of David, I am blind! Have mercy on me!”--and the Saviour hears. Blind Bartimeus by the road-side waits In anguish mute and trembling, when, O joy! The bringer of glad tidings is at hand: “Be of good comfort, rise, he calleth thee!”

O weary, heavy-laden one, whose eyes Have long been sightless to behold the truth,-- Perchance in darkness walking even now, And longing with an aching heart for light,-- The Master’s message echoes sweetly still: “Be of good comfort, rise, He calleth thee.” And humbly kneeling at His feet, the words Of healing, spoken in the olden time To him who prayed for help, thou too shalt hear: “Receive thy sight, thy faith hath made thee whole.”

REFUGE.

How bad I am, O Lord, Thou knowest, Deserving naught that Thou bestowest, But wandering each day Astray.

Thy gifts are perfect, never ceasing, The debt against me still increasing, And yet I turn to flee From Thee!

Oft when my path is dark and narrow There flutters down some tiny sparrow To tell me of that love Above.

When daylight comes, I’m e’er forgetting The message sweet; my sins besetting Return, my soul to stain Again.

And so I cling to Thee, my Saviour, Despairing by my own behavior To cleanse myself from sin Within.

My cares I yield--for me Thou carest; I take my cross--its weight Thou sharest Henceforth my will be Thine, Not mine.