What but thy grace can foil the Tempter's power?
Who like thyself my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me!
I fear no foe with thee at hand to bless:
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death's sting, where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if thou abide with me.
Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies:
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee:
In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!
HENRY FRANCIS LYTE.
* * * * *
THE DISCIPLES AFTER THE ASCENSION.
He is gone! beyond the skies,
A cloud receives him from our eyes:
Gone beyond the highest height
Of mortal gaze or angel's flight:
Through the veils of time and space,
Passed into the holiest place:
All the toil, the sorrow done,
All the battle fought and won.
He is gone; and we return,
And our hearts within us burn;
Olivet no more shall greet
With welcome shout his coming feet:
Never shall we track him more
On Gennesareth's glistening shore:
Never in that look or voice
Shall Zion's walls again rejoice.
He is gone; and we remain
In this world of sin and pain:
In the void which he has left,
On this earth of him bereft,
We have still his work to do,
We can still his path pursue:
Seek him both in friend and foe,
In ourselves his image show.
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