When I had shut the book, I said:
"Now, as for me, my dreams upon my bed
Are not like Jacob's dream;
Yet I have got it in my life; yes, I,

And many more: it doth not us beseem,
Therefore, to sigh.

Is there not hung a ladder in our sky?
Yea; and, moreover, all the way up on high
Is thickly peopled with the prayers of men.
We have no dream! what then?
Like winged wayfarers the height they scale
(By him that offers them they shall prevail) --
The prayers of men.

But where is found a prayer for me;
How should I pray?

My heart is sick, and full of strife.

I heard one whisper with departing breath, 'Suffer us not, for any pains of death, To fall from thee.'

HE REMEMBERETH.

DEAR Lord, of all the words of thine Which for our comfort ring and shine Through sacred air, on sacred page, From sacred lips in every age,

To me,

No one has brought such blessed cheer
-no one is half so dear,
No one so surely cometh home
To every soul, as this which from

A pure heart wrung with sorrow came, "For he remembereth our frame."

Not merely that he can forgive,
And for his love's sake bid us live,
When we in trespasses and sins
Are dead, but that our weakness wins
From him such pity as alone

To fathers' yearning hearts is known;
Such pity that he even calls
Us sons, and in our lowest falls
Sees never utter, hopeless shame,
"For he remembereth our frame."
Dear Lord, to thee a thousand years
Are as a day; with contrite tears
One prayer I pray! My little life,
Its good, its ill, its grief, its strife,
Oh, let it in thy holy sight,
Like empty watches of a night,
Forgotten be! And of my name,
Dear Lord, who knowest all our frame,
Let there remain no memory
Save of the thing I longed to be!
MRS. HELEN (FISKE) JACKSON.
1878.

O God of love, O King of peace,
Make wars throughout the world to cease;
The wrath of sinful man restrain:
Give peace, O God, give peace again!

Remember, Lord, thy works of old,
The wonders that our fathers told;
Remember not our sin's dark stain:
Give peace, O God, give peace again!
Whom shall we trust but thee, O Lord?
Where rest but on thy faithful word?
None ever called on thee in vain;
Give peace, O God, give peace again!
Where saints and angels dwell above,
All hearts are knit in holy love;
Oh, bind us in that heavenly chain!
Give peace, O God, give peace again!

SIR HENRY WILLIAMS BAKER.

OUR PRAYERS.

ART thou weary of our selfish prayers?

Forever crying, "Help me, save me, Lord!" We stay fenced in by petty fears and cares, Nor hear the song outside, nor join its vast accord.

And yet the truest praying is a psalm:
The lips that open in pure air to sing
Make entrance to the heart for health and balm;
And so life's urn is filled at heaven's all-
brimming spring.

Is not the need of other souls our need?
After desire the helpful act must go,
As the strong wind bears on the winged seed
To some bare spot of earth, and leaves it
there to grow.

Still are we saying, "Teach us how to pray"?
Oh, teach us how to love! and then our prayer

1787.

THE WORTH OF PRAYER.
PRAYER is the breath of God in man,
Returning whence it came;
Love is the sacred fire within,

And prayer the rising flame.

It gives the burdened spirit ease,

And soothes the troubled breast; Yields comfort to the mourners here, And to the weary rest.

When God inclines the heart to pray,
He hath an ear to hear;
To him there's music in a groan,
And beauty in a tear.

The humble suppliant cannot fail
To have his wants supplied,
Since he for sinners intercedes,
Who once for sinners died.
BENJAMIN BEDDOME.

My secret sanctuary be

From ills unknown.

Thou knowest, Lord, the hidden cross None else may see ;

For thou appointest every grief

That chastens me !

And I may plead with thee, my God,
For patient strength,

That this thy discipline of love
Bear fruit at length.

I need not fear to tell thee all,
My heavenly Friend, -

Of conflict, longing, vague unrest,
Thou sett'st the end:

And thou wilt lead my weary feet
From world-worn ways,

Through paths of everlasting peace,
To calmer days.

Lord! dwell within my heart, and fill

Its emptiness;

Set thou its hope above the reach

Of earthliness;

Baptize its love, through suffering,

Into thine own,

And work in me a faith that rests On Christ alone.

Pray in the darkness, if there be no light.
Far is the time remote from human sight
When war and discord on the earth shall cease;
Yet every prayer for universal peace
Avails the blessed time to expedite.
Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of Heaven,
Though it be what thou canst not hope to see :
Pray to be perfect, though material leaven
Forbid the spirit so on earth to be;
But if for any wish thou darest not pray,
Then pray to God to cast that wish away.

HARTLEY Coleridge.

WEARINESS.

"Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me."

ISA. xxxviii. 14.

LORD, with a very tired mind

I seek thy face;

Thy shadowing wing alone can be

My resting-place.

Oh, let the everlasting arms,

WHATSOEVER.

ONE day, in stress of need, I prayed, "Dear Father, thou hast bid me bring All wants to thee; so, unafraid,

I ask thee for this little thing, Round which my hopes so keenly cling. And yet, remembering what thou art, So dread, so wondrous, so divine,

I marvel that I have the heart

To tell thee of this wish of mine!

"Thy heavens are strewn with worlds on worlds,

Thy star-dust powders reachless space; System on system round thee whirls,

Who sittest in the central place

Of being while before thy face
The universe hangs like a bead
Of dew, upon whose arc is shown,
With but reflected flash indeed,
Godhood's magnificence alone!

"And when I think our world's but one
Small world amid the countless band,

That in its daily course doth run

Around me thrown,

Its golden circuit through thy hand,

And that its peopled myriads stand Always before thee, even as I.

Sad suppliants in their misery dumb, Waiting for every hour's supply, — I wonder that I dare to come!

"I could not come, but for thy word,

That says I may, in reverent fear, Approach, and through thy grace be heard; Therefore, to-day, I venture near And bring the suit, to me so dear; Remembering what thy Christ hath said, And reading it with faith aright, That every hair upon my head

Bears its own number in his sight.

"The thing I ask thee for, how small, How trivial must it seem to thee!

Yet, Lord, thou knowest, who knowest all, It is no little thing to me,

So weak, so human as I be! Therefore I make my prayer to-day, And as a father pitieth, then, Grant me this little thing, I pray, Through the one sacred Name.

I had my wish: the little thing,

So needful to my heart's content,

Was given to my petitioning,

And comforted, I onward went

Amen!"

With tranquil soul, wherein were blent Trust and thanksgiving: for I know Now, as I had not known before,

The whatsoever's meaning: so

I cavil not nor question more!
MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON.

1879.

EXHORTATION TO PRAYER.

WILLIAM COWPER was born at Berkhamstead, Nov. 26, 1731, studied at Westminster School, and was intended for the bar. Nervous weakness and mental alienation interfered with the performance of his duties, and he was induced to write verses as a relief. Sincere in his Christian faith, and possessed of the poetical faculty, he attained a high rank, and is by some critics considered the most important contributor to English poetry between Pope and Wordsworth. His hymns are a source of comfort to many wherever they are sung. He died April 29, 1800.

WHAT various hindrances we meet
In coming to a mercy-seat!

Yet who, that knows the worth of prayer,
But wishes to be often there?

Prayer makes the darkened cloud withdraw;
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw,
Gives exercise to faith and love,
Brings every blessing from above.

Restraining prayer, we cease to fight;
Prayer makes the Christian's armor bright;
And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees.
While Moses stood with arms spread wide,
Success was found on Israel's side;
But when through weariness they failed,
That moment Amalek prevailed.

Have you no words? Ah! think again,
Words flow apace when you complain,
And fill your fellow-creature's ear,
With the sad tale of all your care.

Were half the breath, thus vainly spent,
To Heaven in supplication sent,
Your cheerful song would oftener be,
"Hear what the Lord has done for me!"
WILLIAM COWPER.

1779.

PRAYER.

THERE is an awful quiet in the air,

And the sad earth, with moist imploring eye,
Looks wide and wakeful at the pondering sky,
Like patience slow subsiding to despair.
But see, the blue smoke as a voiceless prayer,
Sole witness of a secret sacrifice,
Upholds its tardy wreaths, and multiplies
Its soft chameleon breathings in the rare
Capacious ether, -so it fades away,
And nought is seen beneath the pendent blue,
The undistinguishable waste of day:
So have I dreamed! oh, may the dream be
true! -

That praying souls are purged from mortal hue,

And grow as pure as He to whom they pray.

HARTLEY COLERIDGE.

"AMEN!"

So let it be! The prayer that Christ enjoins
Live ever in our soul and on our tongue!
So let it be! The worship he assigns,
Our great Creator, with thanksgiving song,
From hearths, in temples, yea, wild woods
among,

Pour forth! So let it be! As drooping vines
Drink the reviving shower, so sink along
Our hearts his precepts! Lo, one word en-

shrines

Full attestation of our faith! "Amen" Includes the sum of our assent, and bears The seal of truth: it is the wing of prayers, Speeding the voice of millions, not in vain, To God's high throne, borne on seraphic airs, To ratify in heaven our glorious gain !

SIR AUBREY DE VERE.