July 3

L ORD, dost Thou me invite To sit in white At the great Feast which for Thy friends is spread? I could not be so bold, In raiment poor and old; Rather without Thy gates would stand unfed.

Thy messenger mistook My hungry look, As claiming seat at table of the pure; I am too wise to dare My worthless presence there, Nor could my spirit that clear light endure.

Hedge-rows for me instead, Their berries red Enough of sweetness for my lips contain; The glow-worm is my lamp 'Mid herbage damp; To tread Thy bright courts would be only pain.

Yet still He calleth me— "Come, for I wait for thee, It is the lost and hungry that I need; Not luxury and pride, Already satisfied,— The humble and the poor My feast shall feed." J. E. A. BROWN

PEACE IN OLD AGE