TO E ——.

Much have we to support us in our strife

With things which else would crush us, nor alone

Secret refreshings of the inward life,

But many a flower of sweetest scent is strown

Upon our outward and our open way;

None sweeter than are at some seasons known

To them who dwell for many a prosperous day

Under one roof, and have, as they would hope,

One purpose for their lives, one aim, one scope—

To labour upward on the path to heaven.

Full of refreshment these occasions are,

Like seasonable resting-places given

To pilgrim feet; for tho’, alas! too rare,

Yet the sweet memories they supply, will give

The food on which affection’s heart may live

In after times; since it were sad indeed

If all more intimate knowledge did not breed

More trust in one another and more love,

More faith that each is seeking to attain

With humble earnest effort, not in vain,

The happy rest of God. And so they part

On their divided ways with cheerful heart,

Knowing that in all places they will call

On the same God and Father over all;

And part not wholly, since they meet whose prayer

Meets at the throne of grace; one life divine

Through all the branches of the mystical vine

Flows ever, even as the same breath of air

Lifts every leaflet of a mighty grove.

And from our meeting we shall reap a share

Of a yet higher good, if we have won

Hereby the strengthening of one weak desire,

The fanning of one faint spark to a fire,

The stirring of one prayer, that we may prove

Stedfast and faithful till our work be done,

Until the course appointed us be run.

We know not whither our frail barks are borne,

To quiet haven, or on stormy shore;

Nor need we seek to know it, while above

The tempest and the waters’ angriest roar

Are heard the voices of Almighty love—

So we shall find none dreary nor forlorn.

Whither we go we know not, but we know

That if we keep our faces surely set

Towàrd new Zion, we shall reach at last,

When every danger, every woe is past,

The city where the sealèd tribes are met,

Whither the nations of the savèd flow,

The city with its heav’n-descended halls,

The city builded round with diamond walls.

Then how should we feel sorrow or dim fear

At any parting now, if there to meet;

How should our hearts with sadder pulses beat,

When thou art going where kind hearts will greet

And welcome thy return, and there as here

Thou still wilt find thine own appointed sphere,

To fill the measure up of gentle deeds,

Even as we have learnèd that in these,

That in the holy Christian charities,

And the suppliance of the lowhest needs

Of the most lowly, our true greatness is.

Therefore we will not seek to win thy stay,

Nor ask but this—that thou shouldst bear away

Kind memories of us, and only claim

What of thyself thou wilt be prompt to give,

That in thy heart’s affections he may live,

To whom thou bearest that most holy name

Of spiritual mother. O beloved friend,

It is a cheering thought, if I should be

Where I can no more watch for him nor tend

His infant years—there where I cannot see

What good, what evil wait upon his way,

That yet thy love thy counsel and thy cares

He will not lack, a child of faithful prayers.