THE EVER-OPEN WAY by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER

I SOMETIMES like, when all my way seems barred,
To mind me of the story told of one,
Whose faith the dawn of Britain's freedom starred
Ere yet had beamed the rising of the sun.

Brave Cuthbert who, from tending of the sheep
On wind-swept hillsides bleak, near Lammermoor,
Went forth the Master's scattered flock to keep,
And preach his love who says, "I am the Door."

Once, tossed upon an angry boiling sea,
His boat was dashed upon a dreary shore.
Heart-sick, and like to die, his comrades three
Cried:" Cuthbert, let us perish—hope is o'er,

"The furious tempest shuts the water-path;
The snow-storm blinds us on the bitter land."
"Now wherefore, friends, have ye so little faith?"
God's servant said; and, stretching forth his hand,

He lifted up his reverent eyes, and spake:
"I thank thee, Lord, the way is open there!
No storm above our heads in wrath shall break,
And shut the heavenward path of love and prayer."

Sweet to me comes old Cuthbert's word to-day;
Sweet is the thought that Christ is always near;
I seek him by the ever-open way,
Nor yield my courage to a shuddering fear.

The storm may darken over land and sea,
But step by step with Christ I walk along;
Dear Christ, the storm and sun are both of thee,
And thou thyself art still my strength and song.

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