"DE PROFUNDIS."
[TO THE EDITOR OP THE "SPECTATOR.") &Er—WM.11d "De Profundis" pardon me if through your columns you would kindly allow me to draw his attention to an exquisite little poem of J. G. Whittier's, which I subjoin, and which might perhaps give him a little comfort and help "THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT.
A tender child of summers three, Seeking her little bed at night, Paused on the dark stair timidly,— ' 0 Mother, take my hand,' said she, And then the dark will all be light.'
We older children grope our way From dark behind to dark before, And only when our hands we lay, Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, And there is darkness never more.
Reach downward to the sunless deep Wherein are guides as blind as we, And Faith is small and Hope delays ; Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, And /et us feel the light of Thee!"
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