POETRY.

O fountain of peace and blessing ! 0 centre of storm and strife!

The waves of thy will roll onward: I stand alone on thy shore : I veil mine eyes in thy presence : I seal my lips,—and adore.

Art thou not Force and Matter ? Art thou not Time and Space ?

Art thou not Life and Spirit? Art thou not Love and Grace? Do not thy wings o'ershadow the whole and the humblest part ?

Are not the world's pulsations the ebb and flow of thy heart? O God! 0 Father of all men! 0 Lord of Heaven and Earth! Shall we, who are dust before thee, exalt thy wisdom and worth ?

Shall we, whom thy life embraces, set forth thy life in our creeds ?

While the smoke of thy battle blinds us shall we read the scroll of thy deeds ?

We spin the threads of our fancy ; we weave the webs of our words ; But nearer to truth and knowledge are the songs of the quiring birds.

The rays of thy golden glory fall free through our nets of thought : And all that we seek is hidden : and all that we know is nought.

How shall I kneel before thee who hast no visible shrine P Is not the soul thy temple ? Is not the world divine ?

Will tower or transept tell me what the snow-clad mountains hide ?

Is the surging anthem holier than the murmur of ocean's tide?

To whom halt thou told thy secret ? On whom is thy grace poured out ?

Whose lamp will direct my goings ? Whose word will resolve my doubt ?

Shall I turn to the sects and churches that teach Mankind in thy name ?- But the best is a mote in thy sunshine, a spark flung out from thy flame.

Slowly through all my being streams up from each hidden root The sap of thy life eternal,—streams up into flower and fruit. Is this the truth that we dream of ? We seek what we ne'er shall know ; But the stress of thy truth constrains us when the springs of thy love o'erflow.

At night, when the veil of darkness is drawn o'er the sunlit blue, The stars come out in the heavens, the world grows wide on my view.

At night, when the earth is silent and the life-waves cease to roll, The strains of a deeper music begin to wake in my soul.

Is it then, 0 God ! that we know thee—when the darkness comes—is it then ?

When the surges of thought and passion die down in the hearts of men ?

Is it then that we hear thy message ? Is it then that we see thy light ?

Is the sound of thy voice our silence ? Is the sheen of thy face our night ?

EDMOND HOLMES.