HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

* * * * *

TO-MORROW.

  Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing care,
  Thou didst seek after me,—­that Thou didst wait,
  Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate,
  And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? 
  O, strange delusion, that I did not greet
  Thy blest approach! and, O, to heaven how lost,
  If my ingratitude’s unkindly frost
  Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy feet! 
  How oft my guardian angel gently cried,
  “Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
  How He persists to knock and wait for thee!”
  And, O, how often to that voice of sorrow,
  “To-morrow we will open.”  I replied! 
  And when the morrow came, I answered still, “To-morrow.”

From the Spanish of LOPE DE VEGA.

Translation of H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

* * * * *

I GAVE MY LIFE FOR THEE.

  I gave my life for thee,
    My precious blood I shed
  That thou mightst ransomed be,
    And quickened from the dead. 
  I gave my life for thee;
  What hast thou given for me?

  I spent long years for thee
    In weariness and woe,
  That an eternity
    Of joy thou mightest know. 
  I spent long years for thee;
  Hast thou spent one for me?

  My Father’s home of light,
    My rainbow-circled throne,
  I left, for earthly night,
    For wanderings sad and lone. 
  I left it all for thee;
  Hast thou left aught for me?

  I suffered much for thee,
    More than thy tongue may tell
  Of bitterest agony,
    To rescue thee from hell. 
  I suffered much for thee;
  What canst thou bear for me?

  And I have brought to thee,
    Down from my home above,
  Salvation full and free,
    My pardon and my love. 
  Great gifts I brought to thee;
  What hast thou brought to me?

  Oh, let thy life be given,
    Thy years for him be spent,
  World-fetters all be riven,
    And joy with suffering blent;
  I gave myself for thee: 
  Give thou thyself to me!

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.

* * * * *

JESUS SHALL REIGN.

  Jesus shall reign where’er the sun
  Does his successive journeys run,—­
  His kingdom spread from shore to shore,
  Till moons shall wax and wane no more.

  From north to south the princes meet
  To pay their homage at His feet,
  While western empires own their Lord,
  And savage tribes attend His word.

  To Him shall endless prayer be made,
  And endless praises crown His head;
  His name like sweet perfume shall rise
  With every morning sacrifice.

  People and realms of every tongue
  Dwell on His love with sweetest song,
  And infant voices shall proclaim
  Their early blessings on His name.