What rest unspeakable!-
To lay the weary head and the more weary heart
On Jesu's breast, where John so oft reposed ;
To feel the throbbing of that mystic heart-
The only heart that comprehends my own.
For often those who're nearest do not understand,
And fail to enter into thoughts expressed,
And there's a want which cannot be described.
But here is perfect confidence :-
Not even need of words-He knows it all
Before we've time to tell. And oh, to feel
Our sorrow is His own !
Yet He hath sorrowed many times, and wept,
Without one human heart to answer.

Our weakness makes us objects of His care,
And draws out all the tenderness '
That's in the Father's heart for every child,-
The helpless babe, the tottering little one
Just learned to step; for childhood's lesser sorrows
Ever find a ready answer to each feeble call.
And deeper griefs of older hearts,
Who 've learned to measure sin by sorrow s depths-
[The awful depths of that most awful cross
On which our Savior died]
Find healing in the same sweet fount of love.

Oh, blessed storm that drives our shattered bark
Into this haven of eternal peace,
To press more closely to that hallowed breast
The hearts that sigh for rest!

H. McD.