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THE ANGEL OF HIS PRESENCE
No light? 'Neath lowering skies, with feeble step,
I, faltering, tread, while thorns my path beset;
No faintest glimmer of a coming dawn,
My heart shall ease, nor soothe its vain regret!

Ah, no! Thank God, my soul, that all untrue
Are words like these; that no such plaintive sigh
My lips escapes; but that my steadfast gaze
On One is fixed, who ever hears my cry.

If faith in Him the "narrow way" illume,
Whatever grief or ill my life betide,
The Angel of His presence will I see;
In fire, or cloud, a never-failing Guide.

E'en though, at times, I can but feebly lift
My earth-dimmed eyes, His glory to behold,
Yet toward a Promised Land He leadeth me,
A land where treasures lie—a wealth untold.


SELF-DENIALS
They seem sometimes to be so small,
Those things we long to do;
As though the giving-up were vain;
Yet thus are lives made true.

They seem—ah, yes! to earthly sight,
Yet to the Father's eye,
No sacrifice the soul can make,
But helps to sanctify.

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