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Faith speaks of myriads round the throne,
Who once for guilty man did die.
Faith, saving faith worlds cannot chain,
THE LORD'S PRAYER IMITATED
FATHER of all! Eternal mind!
Immensely good and great!
Thy children, form'd and blest by thee,
Thy name in hallow'd strains be sung!
To thy great name, with heart and tongue,
Thy mild, thy wise, and sov'reign reign,
Let every being own:
And in our minds, thy work divine,
Erect thy gracious throne.
As angels, in the heavenly worlds,
On thee we, day by day, depend;
With truth and virtue feed our souls,
Extend thy grace to every fault;
Nor let resentments live.
Where tempting snares bestrew the way,
From our unguarded head.
Thy sacred name we would adore,
And praise thy goodness, power, and truth,
(Exodus xx. 12.)®
THE voice of nature, yea, the voice of God,
Who early taught our infant lips to pray,
A parent is indeed a tender friend,
And, if once lost, we never more shall find A bosom that so tremblingly can blend
Its feelings with our own congenial mind; Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind That hurries heedlessly and wildly by
Our hearts, to lonely agony consign'd,
May throb without relief-for no reply
And then we pause to think-alas! how late!-
We wish ourselves away-away to heaven,
KNOX'S SONGS OF ISRAEL.
Love, the new Commandment.
BEHOLD, where, breathing love divine,
From that mild teacher's parting lips
The gentle precept which he gave
Became it's author well.
"Blest is the man, whose soft'ning heart
To whom the supplicating eye
Was never rais'd in vain.
"Whose breast expands, with generous warmth
A stranger's woes to feel;
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound
He wants the power to heal.
"He spreads his kind supporting arms,
"To gentle offices of love
His feet are never slow;
He views, thro' mercy's melting eye,
"Peace from the bosom of his God
And, when he kneels before the throne,
"To him protection shall be shewn!
And mercy from above
Descend on those who thus fulfill
The perfect law of love."
CHILD of the north, whose vivid light,
We see thee 'midst the shades of night,
They see in thee the ranks of war,
How harmless are those lights which glow
Which mourns the winter of her year.
Which childhood felt to gaze on thee, When told by some prophetic seer,
The bloody scenes which soon would be.
But soon philosophy whose flight
With all thy brightness fill the soul.