A PENITENT'S PLEA.

The billows behind and before me
Are gaping, each with a grave:
Descend to-night, O Lord of might,
Who died our souls to save;
Descend to-night, my Lord, my Light,
And walk with me on the wave!

My heart is heavy to breaking
Because of the mourners' sighs,
For they cannot see the awak'ning,

Nor the body with which we arise.
Thou, who for sake of men didst break

The awful seal of the tomb
Show them the way into life, I pray,
And the body with which we come!

Comfort their pain and pining

For the nearly wasted sands, With the many mansions shining

In the house not made with hands:

And help them by faith to see through death

To that brighter and better shore,

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Where they never shall weep who are fallen asleep, And never be sick any more.

A PENITENT'S PLEA.

LIKE a child that is lost

From its home in the night,
I grope through the darkness
And cry for the light;

Yea, all that is in me
Cries out for the day —
Come Jesus, my Master,
Illumine my way!

In the conflicts that pass

"Twixt my soul and my God, I walk as one walketh A fire-path, unshod; And in my despairing Sit dumb by the way Come Jesus, my Master, And heal me, I pray!

I know the fierce flames
Will not cease to uproll,
Till Thou rainest the dew

Of thy love on my soul;
And I know the dumb spirit
Will never depart,

Till Thou comest and makest Thy house in my heart.

My thoughts lie within me
As waste as the sands;
O make them be musical
Strings in thy hands!
My sins, red as scarlet,

Wash white as a fleece
Come Jesus, my Master,

And give me thy peace!

PUTTING OFF THE ARMOR.

PUTTING OFF THE ARMOR.

WHY weep ye for the falling
Of the transient twilight gloom?
I am weary of the journey,

And have come in sight of home.

I can see a white procession
Sweep melodiously along,

And I would not have your mourning
Drown the sweetness of their song.

The battle-strife is ended;

I have scaled the hindering wall,
And am putting off the armor
Of the soldier - that is all!

Would you hide me from my pleasures?
Would you hold me from my rest?
From my serving and my waiting
I am called to be a guest!

Of its heavy, hurtful burdens
Now my spirit is released:

I am done with fasts and scourges,
And am bidden to the feast.

While you see the sun descending,
While you lose me in the night,
Lo, the heavenly morn is breaking,
And my soul is in the light.

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I from faith to sight am rising
While in deeps of doubt you sink;
'Tis the glory that divides us,
Not the darkness, as you think.

Then lift up your drooping eyelids, And take heart of better cheer; 'Tis the cloud of coming spirits Makes the shadows that ye fear.

O, they come to bear me upward
To the mansion of the sky,
And to change as I am changing
Is to live, and not to die ;

Is to leave the pain, the sickness,
And the smiting of the rod,
And to dwell among the angels,

In the City of our God.

LATER POEMS BY PHOEBE CARY