THE SUN OF THE SOUL.

(DIE SONNE DER SEELEN.)

THE outer sunlight now is there,

And shineth fair and bright; Yet God is nearer to my soul, With His own Living Light.

Ah, dwell in me, Thou Sun Divine;
Thy sky my spirit be;
That I, O purest bliss of souls!

Be glorified in Thee.

Night's darkness passes, when the sun

Reveals his opening ray :—

Thus, through Thy Presence in my soul,

Drive self and sin away!

Thou art a Light; and dwell'st in Light:
O make me light and pure;
That I may look into Thy Face,

And Thine own Glance endure.

The eagle gazes at the sun

With joyous sight, and free :— Lord, open Thou my spirit's eyes, That I may look on Thee!

He who within the soul's deep shrine
Beholds Thee in Thy Light,

Like to the Cherubim, in awe
Adores Thee day and night.

So let me walk before Thy face
Through all my journey here,
That all I do, or leave undone,
Be pure, and light, and clear.

Let Thine Eye guide me, lest I stray Upon the earthly race :

Ah, stay with me my whole life long, Till I behold Thy Face!

"I SLEEP, BUT MY HEART WAKETH."

("ICH SCHLAFE, ABER MEIN HERZ WACHET.")

Ан, could I but be still, and gently fall asleep,

My God, in Thy deep Peace!

Close Thou mine eyelids! then my spirit sinks to rest, And all distractions cease.

Ah, that I could be still! the eye looks here and there; Wild thoughts disturb the breast:

Reason would speculate; the mind roams forth abroad; The will is not at rest.

Whilst, troubled and disturbed, the scattered senses fly,
Thus grieve I evermore :

When Nature sleepeth, then my heart, alone awake,
To Thee, my God, doth soar.

Unmoved by all, and strange to all that stirs without,
As one whose life is gone,

My heart to Thee is inly known ;-to Thee is turned ;—
Given to Thee alone.

Go, World, and seek for joy! I here have joy enough;

I need not begging go:

Reproaches oft I bear for what seems silent grief :— My heart I do not show.

Thus, bare of all things, to Thy Heart I creep unseen ; There stillest Thou my woes ¡

There shall my spirit find secure and blessèd rest,

And in Thy Peace repose.

THE SPIRITUAL FORGE.

(DIE GEISTLICHE SCHMIEDEKUNST.)

A ROUGH and shapeless block of iron is my heart;
So hard, so cold-The Master cannot use it so.
Love must my Furnace be :-I enter in through prayer:
I keep quite still, and leave the smoking fire to glow.

Then doth the gentle wind of Love begin to breathe :— I hold me still-and let the hotter flame burn on. The iron's blackness must be melted quite away:

When softened and made fair, the Fire's fierce work is done.

The way of self-denial, and of daily death-
This is the Anvil upon which my soul I lay.

Blow after blow, The Master's strokes begin to fall,
Till, turned and bent, the softened ore at last gives way.

Yet still, it will not wholly yield in every part;

Therefore, The Master Workman for His aid doth borrow