Rev. Horatius Bonar, D.D.

Born 1808

A DISTINGUISHED clergyman of the Free Church of Scotland, Edinburgh. He was born at Edinburgh, 19th December 1808. His spiritual songs and his prose works are full of the richest fruits of Christian experience.

IS THIS ALL?

(From "Hymns of Faith and Peace.")

Sometimes I catch sweet glimpses of His face,
But that is all.

Sometimes He looks on me, and seems to smile,
But that is all.

Sometimes He speaks a passing word of peace,
But that is all.

Sometimes I think I hear His loving voice
Upon me call.

And is this all He meant when thus He spoke,
"Come unto me?"

Is there no deeper, more enduring rest,
In Him for thee?

Is there no steadier light for thee in Him?
O come and see!

O come and see! O look, and look again;
All shall be right;

O taste His love, and see that it is good,
Thou child of night.

O trust thou, trust thou in His grace and power,
Then all is bright.

Nay, do not wrong Him by thy heavy thoughts,
But love His love.

Do thou full justice to His tenderness,

His mercy prove,

Take Him for what He is; Oh take Him all,
And look above!

Then shall thy tossing soul find anchorage,
And steadfast peace;

Thy love shall rest on His; thy weary doubts
For ever cease.

Thy heart shall find in Him, and in His grace,
Its rest and bliss!

Christ and His love shall be thy blessed all
For evermore!

Christ and His light shall shine on all thy ways
For evermore!

Christ and His peace shall keep thy troubled soul
For evermore !

Mrs Browning.

Born 1809.

Died 1861.

ELIZABETH BARRETT, one of the greatest of the female poets of Britain, was born in London, of a family in affluent circumstances. At a very early age she wrote verses, and became a frequent contributor to the periodicals. In 1838 she published a collection of her fugitive pieces, which won for her an extraordinary reputation. Miss Barrett was in feeble health, and retired to Torquay to recruit; but she obtained no benefit from her stay, and returned to London a confirmed invalid. Confined to her chamber, she there devoted herself to that poetry "of which she seemed born to be the priestess." In 1844 she published a new edition of her poems, greatly enlarged; and about 1849, in partly restored health, she married Robert Browning the poet. They repaired to Italy, and the change was greatly beneficial to Mrs Browning. They resided there till her death, on 29th June 1861.

VICTORIA'S TEARS.

("When the Princess Victoria was first informed that she was Queen of Great Britain, she was so affected by the responsibilities of her new position, that she burst into tears.")

"O MAIDEN, heir of kings,
A king has left his place;

The Majesty of death has swept

All other from his face.

And thou, upon thy mother's breast,

No longer lean adown

But take the glory for the rest,

And rule the land that loves thee best."

The maiden wept ;

She wept to wear a crown!

They decked her courtly halls -
They reined her hundred steeds-

They shouted at her palace gate,
"A noble Queen succeeds!"

Her name has stirred the mountains' sleep, Her praise has filled the town:

And mourners God had stricken deep Looked hearkening up, and did not weep! Alone she wept,

Who wept to wear a crown.

She saw no purple shine,

For tears had dimmed her eyes :
She only knew her childhood's flowers
Were happier pageantries!

And while the heralds played their part
For million shouts to drown-

"God save the Queen," from hill to mart She heard, through all, her beating heart, And turned and wept !

She wept, to wear a crown.

God save thee, weeping Queen!
Thou shalt be well beloved,
The tyrant's sceptre cannot move
As those pure tears have moved;

The nature in thine eye we see,

Which tyrants cannot own-
The love that guardeth liberties;
Strange blessing on the nation lies,
Whose sovereign wept,
Yea, wept, to wear its crown.

God bless thee, weeping Queen,
With blessing more divine;

And fill with better love than earth's,
That tender heart of thine;

That when the thrones of earth shall be
As low as graves brought down,
A pierced hand may give to thee,
The crown which angels wept to see.
Thou wilt not weep

To wear that heavenly crown

Alfred

Tennyson.

Born 1809.

THE greatest poet of his times, was born in 1809. He is son of the Rev. George Clayton Tennyson of Sowerby, Lincolnshire. He entered at Trinity College, Cambridge; some of his poems, dated 1830, were written there. In 1833 appeared a volume of poems which awakened great interest for the author, though they were somewhat severely handled by the critics. It is supposed that this circumstance will account for the japse of nine years which occurred before his next volume was published, in 1842. The great advance made by the poet was apparent, and the marvellous brilliancy of colouring and profoundness of thought displayed in the new pieces caused public opinion to acknowledge him as the first of living poets. In 1847 appeared "The Princess;" in 1850 "In Memoriam;" "Maud" in 1855; and in 1858 "Idylls of the King," which more than sustained his previous reputation. He succeeded to the laureateship on the death of Wordsworth in 1850.

CHRISTMAS BELLS.

(From "In Memoriam.")

RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land;
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

It is the day when he was born,
A bitter day that early sank
Behind a purple frosty-bank
Of vapours, leaving night forlorn.

The time admits not flowers or leaves
To deck the banquet. Fiercely flies
The blast of north and east, and ice
Makes daggers at the sharpen'd eaves,

And bristles all the brakes and thorns,
To yon hard crescent, as she hangs
Above the wood which grides and clangs
Its leafless ribs and iron horns

Together, in the drifts that pass,

To darken on the rolling brine,

That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine Arrange the board and brim the glass.

Bring in great logs, and let them lie,
To make a solid core of heat;
Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat
Of all things ev'n as he were by.

We keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will drink to him, whate'er he be.
And sing the songs he loved to hear