And I would send a ringing challenge forth, To all who know Thy name, to tell it out, Thy faithfulness to every written word, Thy loving-kindness crowning all the days,-- To say and sing with me: 'The Lord is good, His mercy is for ever, and His truth Is written on each page of all my life!'

Yes! there _is_ tribulation, but Thy power Can blend it with rejoicing. There _are_ thorns, But they have kept us in the narrow way, The King's Highway of holiness and peace.

And there _is_ chastening, but the Father's love Flows through it; and would any trusting heart Forego the chastening and forego the love?

And every step leads on to 'more and more,'

From strength to strength Thy pilgrims pa.s.s and sing The praise of Him who leads them on and on, From glory unto glory, even here!

Only for Jesus.

Only for Jesus! Lord, keep it for ever Sealed on the heart and engraved on the life!

Pulse of all gladness and nerve of endeavour, Secret of rest, and the strength of our strife.

'Vessels of Mercy, Prepared unto Glory.'

(Rom. ix. 23.)

Vessels of mercy, prepared unto glory!

This is your calling and this is your joy!

This, for the new year unfolding before ye, Tells out the terms of your blessed employ.

Vessels, it may be, all empty and broken, Marred in the Hand of inscrutable skill; (Love can accept the mysterious token!) Marred but to make them more beautiful still.

Jer. xviii. 4.

Vessels, it may be, not costly or golden; Vessels, it may be, of quant.i.ty small, Yet by the Nail in the Sure Place upholden, Never to shiver and never to fall.

Isa. xxii. 23, 24.

Vessels to honour, made sacred and holy, Meet for the use of the Master we love, Ready for service, all simple and lowly, Ready, one day, for the temple above.

2 Tim. ii. 21.

Yes, though the vessels be fragile and earthen, G.o.d hath commanded His glory to shine; Treasure resplendent henceforth is our burthen, Excellent power, not ours but Divine.

2 Cor. iv. 5, 6.

Chosen in Christ ere the dawn of Creation, Chosen for Him, to be filled with His grace, Chosen to carry the streams of salvation Into each thirsty and desolate place.

Acts ix. 15.

Take all Thy vessels, O glorious Finer, Purge all the dross, that each chalice may be Pure in Thy pattern, completer, diviner, Filled with Thy glory and shining for Thee.

Prov. xxv. 4.

The Turned Lesson.

'I thought I knew it!' she said, 'I thought I had learnt it quite!'

But the gentle Teacher shook her head, With a grave yet loving light In the eyes that fell on the upturned face, As she gave the book With the mark still set in the self-same place.

'I thought I knew it!' she said; And a heavy tear fell down, As she turned away with bending head, Yet not for reproof or frown, Not for the lesson to learn again, Or the play hour lost;-- It was something else that gave the pain.

She could not have put it in words, But her Teacher understood, As G.o.d understands the chirp of the birds In the depth of an autumn wood.

And a quiet touch on the reddening cheek Was quite enough; No need to question, no need to speak.

Then the gentle voice was heard, 'Now I will try you again!'

And the lesson was mastered,--every word!

Was it not worth the pain?

Was it not kinder the task to turn, Than to let it pa.s.s, As a lost, lost leaf that she did not learn?

Is it not often so, That we only learn in part, And the Master's testing-time may show That it was not quite 'by heart'?

Then He gives, in His wise and patient grace, That lesson again With the mark still set in the self-same place.

Only, stay by His side Till the page is really known.

It may be we failed because we tried To learn it all alone, And now that He would not let us lose One lesson of love (For He knows the loss),--can we refuse?

But oh! how could we dream That we knew it all so well!

Reading so fluently, as we deem, What we could not even spell!

And oh! how could we grieve once more That Patient One Who has turned so many a task before!

That waiting One, who now Is letting us try again; Watching us with the patient brow, That bore the wreath of pain; Thoroughly teaching what He would teach, Line upon line, Thoroughly doing His work in each.

Then let our hearts 'be still,'

Though our task is turned to-day; Oh let Him teach us what He will, In His own gracious way.

Till, sitting only at Jesus' feet, As we learn each line The hardest is found all clear and sweet!

Sunday Night.

Rest him, O Father! Thou didst send him forth With great and gracious messages of love; But Thy amba.s.sador is weary now, Worn with the weight of his high emba.s.sy.

Now care for him as Thou hast cared for us In sending him; and cause him to lie down In Thy fresh pastures, by Thy streams of peace.

Let Thy left hand be now beneath his head, And Thine upholding right encircle him, And, underneath, the Everlasting arms Be felt in full support. So let him rest, Hushed like a little child, without one care; And so give Thy beloved sleep to-night.

Rest him, dear Master! He hath poured for us The wine of joy, and we have been refreshed.

Now fill _his_ chalice, give him sweet new draughts Of life and love, with Thine own hand; be Thou His ministrant to-night; draw very near In all Thy tenderness and all Thy power.

Oh speak to him! Thou knowest how to speak A word in season to Thy weary ones, And he is weary now. Thou lovest him-- Let Thy disciple lean upon Thy breast, And, leaning, gain new strength to 'rise and shine.'