85. Saint Philip and Saint Martin

How gently flow the silent years,
The seasons one by one;
How sweet to feel, each month that goes,
That life must soon be done!

O weary ways of earth and men!
O self more weary still!
How vainly do you vex the heart
That none but God can fill!

It is not weariness of life
That makes us wish (o die;
But we are drawn by cords which couie
From out eternity.

Eye has not seen, ear has not heard,
No heart of man can tell,
The store of joys God has prepared
For those who love Him well.

Oh may those joys one day be ours,
Upon that happy shore!
And yet those joys are not enough —
We crave for something more.

The world's unkindness grows with life,
And troubles never cease;
'Twere lawful then to wish to die,
Simply to be at peace.

Yes! peace is something more than joy,
Even the joys above;
For peace, of all created things,
Is likest Him we love.

But not for joy, nor yet for peace.
Dare we desire to die;
God's will on earth is always joy,
Always tranquillity.

To die, that we might sin no more,
• Were scarce a hero's prayer;
And glory grows as grace matures,
And patience loves to bear.

And yet we long and long to die,
We covet to be free,
Not for Thy great rewards, O God!
Not for Thy peace — but Thee!

But call not this a selfish love,
A turning from the fight;
And tell us not, for others' sakes,
To doubt if this be right.

If he were wanted for his Lord,
Samt Martin prayed to stay:
'Twas well; and yet it was a prayer
Saint Philip would not pray.

Ah, leave us, then, at peace, to greet
Each waxing, waning moon.
Whose silver light seems aye to say — -
Soon, exile spirit! soon!