CHRIST MY REFUGE

O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind

There sweeps a strain,

Low, sad, and sweet, whose measures bind

The power of pain,

And wake a white-winged angel throng

Of thoughts, illumed

By faith, and breathed in raptured song,

With love perfumed.

Then His unveiled, sweet mercies show

Life's burdens light.

I kiss the cross, and wake to know

A world more bright.

And o'er earth's troubled, angry sea

I see Christ walk,

And come to me, and tenderly,

Divinely talk.

Thus Truth engrounds me on the rock,

Upon Life's shore,

‘ Gainst which the winds and waves can shock,

Oh, nevermore!

From tired joy and grief afar,

And nearer Thee,—

Father, where Thine own children are,

I love to be.

My prayer, some daily good to do

To Thine, for Thee;

An offering pure of Love, whereto

God leadeth me.