“Set the white-robed sentries close,
   Wrap our want and weariness
 In the surety of repose;
   Let the shining presences,
 Bearing fragrance on their wings,
   Stand about our beds to bless,
 Fright away all evil things.

 “Rays of Him whose shadow pours
   Through all lives a brimming glory,
 Float o’er darksome woods and moors,
   Float above the billows hoary;
 Shine, through night and storm and sin,
   Tangled fate and bitter story,
 Guide the lost and wandering in!”

 Now the last red ray is gone;
   Now the twilight shadows hie;
 Still the bell-notes, one by one,
   Send their soft voice to the sky,
 Praying, as with human lip,—­
   “Angels, hasten, night is nigh,
 Take us to thy guardianship.”

THE MORNING COMES BEFORE THE SUN.

 Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose
   From out night’s gray and cloudy sheath;
 Softly and still it grows and grows,
   Petal by petal, leaf by leaf;
 Each sleep-imprisoned creature breaks
   Its dreamy fetters, one by one,
 And love awakes, and labor wakes,—­
   The morning comes before the sun.

 What is this message from the light
   So fairer far than light can be? 
 Youth stands a-tiptoe, eager, bright,
  In haste the risen sun to see;
 Ah! check thy lunging, restless heart,
  Count the charmed moments as they run,
 It is life’s best and fairest part,
  This morning hour before the sun.

 When once thy day shall burst to flower,
   When once the sun shall climb the sky,
 And busy hour by busy hour,
   The urgent noontide draws anigh;
 When the long shadows creep abreast,
   To dim the happy task half done,
 Thou wilt recall this pause of rest,
  This morning hush before the sun.

 To each, one dawning and one dew,
   One fresh young hour is given by fate,
 One rose flush on the early blue. 
   Be not impatient then, but wait! 
 Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky,
   By midnight angels woven and spun;
 Better than day its prophecy,—­
   The morning comes before the sun.

LABORARE EST ORARE.

“Although St. Franceses was unwearied in her devotions, yet if, during her prayers, she was called away by her husband or any domestic duty, she would close the book cheerfully, saying that a wife and a mother, when called upon, must quit her God at the alter to find Him in her domestic affairs.”  —­Legends of the Monastic Orders,

 How infinite and sweet, Thou everywhere
   And all abounding Love, Thy service is! 
 Thou liest an ocean round my world of care,
 My petty every-day; and fresh and fair,
   Pour Thy strong tides through all my crevices,
 Until the silence ripples into prayer.

 That Thy full glory may abound, increase,
   And so Thy likeness shall be formed in me,
 I pray; the answer is not rest or peace,
 But charges, duties, wants, anxieties,
   Till there seems room for everything but Thee,
 And never time for anything but these.