Affliction flies, and Hope returns;
Her lamp with brighter splendour burns;
Gay Love, with all his smiling train,
And Peace and Joy are here again.
These, these I know 'twas Thine to give;
I trusted, and, behold! I live.

To Thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise !

may I still Thy favour prove,
Still grant me gratitude and love!
Let truth and virtue guide my heart,
Nor peace, nor hope, nor joy depart;
But yet,
whate'er my life may
My heart shall still repose in Thee.
To Thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise !

be,

JOHN LANGHorne.

SEPTEMBER 29.

PRAYER TO THE PENATES.

HEARKEN your hymn of praise, Penates to your shrines I come for rest, There only to be found. Often at eve, As in my wanderings I have seen far off Some lonely light that spake of comfort there, It told my heart of many a joy of home, When I was homeless. Often as I gazed From some high eminence on goodly vales And cots and villages embower'd below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange, Amid the scene so fair, not one small spot

Where my tired mind might rest, and call it Home.

There is a magic in that little word:
It is a mystic circle that surrounds
Comforts and virtues never known beyond
The hallowed limit. Often has my heart
Ached for that quiet haven!
Haven'd now,

I think of those in this world's wilderness
Who wander on, and find no home of rest
Till to the grave they go. Them Poverty,
Hollow-eyed fiend, the child of Wealth and Power,
Bad offspring of worse parents, age afflicts,
Cankering with her foul mildews the chill'd heart;
Them Want with scorpion scourge drives to the den
Of Guilt; them Slaughter for the price of Death
Throws to her raven brood. Oh, not on them,
God of eternal Justice, not on them
Let fall Thy thunder.

Household Deities!

and love,

Then only shall be Happiness on earth
When man shall feel sacred power
your
Your tranquil joys; then shall the city stand
A huge void sepulchre, and on the site
Where fortresses and palaces have stood
The olive grow; there shall the Tree of Peace
Strike its roots deep, and flourish. This the state
Shall bless the race redeem'd of Man, when Wealth,
And Power, and all their hideous progeny
Shall sink annihilate, and all mankind
Live in the equal brotherhood of love.
Heart-calming hope and sure! For hitherward
Tend all the tumults of the troubled world,
Its woes, its wisdom, and its wickedness

Alike;

So He hath will'd, whose will is just. Meantime, all hoping and expecting all, In patient faith, to you, Domestic Gods! Studious of other lore than song, I come.

ROBERT SOUTHEY,

SEPTEMBER 30.

THE LAST VICTORY.

I HAVE Consider'd it, and finde

There is no dealing with Thy mighty Passion;
For though I die for Thee, I am behinde;
My sinnes deserve the condemnation.

O, make me innocent, that I

May give a disentangled state and free;

And yet Thy wounds still my attempts defie,

For by Thy death I die for Thee.

Ah, was it not enough that Thou

By Thy eternall glorie didst outgo me?

Couldst Thou not Grief's sad conquests me allow, But in all vict❜ries overthrow me?

Yet by confession will I come

Into Thy conquest. Though I can do nought
Against Thee, in Thee I will overcome
The man who once against Thee fought.

GEORGE HERBERT.

S

274

OCTOBER 1.

"A HARMONY IN AUTUMN."

I VOWED that I would dedicate my powers

To thee and thine-have I not kept the vow? With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now I call the phantoms of a thousand hours

Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers

Of studious zeal of love's delight

Outwatched with me the envious nightThey know that never joy illumined my brow Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery,

That thou, O awful Loveliness,

Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express.

The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past-there is a harmony
In autumn and a lustre in its sky

Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!
Thus let thy power, which like the truth
Of Nature on my passive youth
Descended, to my onward life supply
Its calm-to one who worships thee,
And every form containing thee,
Whom, Spirit fair, thy spells did bind
To fear himself and love all humankind.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

OCTOBER 2.

A PRAYER IN BATTLE.

FATHER, I cry to Thee!

Cannon with thunder-clouds compass me round;
Flashes of lightning are sped from the sound;
Lord of the battle-line, I cry to Thee,
O Father, lead Thou me!

O Father, lead Thou me !

Lead me to victory, lead me to death.
Lo! I acknowledge the source of my breath;
Lord, as Thou willest, so lead Thou me,
God, I acknowledge Thee!

God, I acknowledge Thee!

There, where the West-wind is blown thro' the pines;
Here, in the storm and the crash of the lines;
Father of mercies, I acknowledge Thee,
O Father, bless Thou me!

O Father, bless Thou me!

Into Thy hand do I render my day;
Thou, who hast given, canst take it away;
Living or dying, Lord, bless Thou me,
O Father, I praise Thee!

O Father, I praise Thee!

Not for the goods of the world do we fight;
With the sword we're defending our holiest right;
Falling or conquering, praise I Thee,
God, I surrender me!