As gold is tried in the furnace, So He tries the hearts of men; And the dwale and the dross shall… When He tries the hearts of men. And the wood, and the hay, and the…

Flora, with wondrous feathers in h… Rain-soaked, and limp, and feeling… With flowers of sorts in her full… Back to the railings, there by Ch… And cursed the weather and a blank…

O, Prince of Life, Thy Life hath… All life to sweeter, loftier grace… Life’s common rounds have wider bo… Since Thou hast trod life’s commo… O, Heart of Love! Thy Tenderness

Profit?—Loss? Who shall declare this good—that i… When good and ill so intertwine But to fulfil the vast design Of an Omniscient Will?—

Is there, in you or me, Seed of that poison-tree Which, in its bitter fruiting, bor… Such vintage sore Of red calamity—

The sun shone white and fair, This Eastertide, Yet all its sweetness seemed but t… Our souls’ despair; For stricken hearts, and loss and…

Mr. F.W. Christian, of the Polynesian Society of New Zealand, whose personal acquaintance with the South Sea Islands and their dialects is unique, is translating “Kapiolani” into Ra...

Warp and Woof and Tangle,— Weavers of Webs are we. Living and dying—and mightier dead… For the shuttle, once sped, is spe… Weavers of Webs are we.

Where one is, There am I,— No man goeth alone! Though he fly to earth’s remotest… Though his soul in the depths of s…

Hello! Hello! Are you there? Are you there? Ah! That you? Well,— This is just to tell you That there’s trouble in the air...

centered(A Warning) “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Yes, of a truth! Thine asking is thine answer. That self-condemning cry of Cain

The good intent of God became the… And lived on earth—the Living Lov… That men might draw to closer touc… Since Christ in all the ways of m…

To every man there openeth A Way, and Ways, and a Way. And the High Soul climbs the Hig… And the Low Soul gropes the Low, And in between, on the misty flats…

There is darkness still, gross dar… On this fair earth of Thine. There are prisoners still in the p… Where never a light doth shine. There are doors still bolted again…

Soul, dost thou fear For to-day or to-morrow? ’Tis the part of a fool To go seeking sorrow. Of thine own doing