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CALVARY.

My dearest child suppress that sigh,
And wipe the tear-drop from thine eye,-
Come tell me where did Jesus die?
Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was our blessed Saviour, when
Surrounded by the wrath of men,
Yet murmur'd not nor did complain?
Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was our Saviour at that hour,
When earth and hell o'er him had power;
When darkness veil'd the noonday hour?
Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was the Saviour of our race,
When the rocks startled from their place;
And the sun shrinking hid its face?
Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was our Saviour when the grave,
Threw back its cov'ring like a wave,
And freedom to its prisoners gave?
Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was he when his blessed voice
Bade the poor penitent rejoice,
With promise of a paradise?

Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was our Saviour when he cried,

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My God, my God, why dost thou hide Thy face," which ne'er was turn'd aside? Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was he when he bow'd his head,
As he "'tis finish'd," calmly said,
And then was number'd with the dead?
Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where was he when the foes of man,
With terror to earth's centre ran,
Struck with salvation's wondrous plan?
Upon the hill of Calvary.

Where should the sinner turn his eye,
When something whispers he must die,
And hell's dark snares before him lie?

To nought, to nought but Calvary.

When friends prove false, and none are near,
Our dark desponding hearts to cheer,
Where should we look thro' sorrow's tear?
Up to the hill of Calvary.

'Midst every scene of joy or woe
Whilst in this vale of tears below,
What should we ever wish to know?
A something more of Calvary.

When the proud Atheist dares blaspheme
Our blessed Saviour's holy name,
What then should be our cheerful aim?
To think the more of Calvary.

When sorrows rise on every side,
And death our dearest ties divide,
Where should our hopes alone confide?
On him that died on Calvary.

When sickness comes to you and me,
And the soul struggles to be free,-
What should faith's eye enraptured see?
The glorious hopes of Calvary.

Where will the ransom'd sinner gaze,
'Midst all the joy which heav'n displays,
When thinking on his former ways?
Back to the hill of Calvary.

What name is that which time nor place,

Nor yet eternity's long race,

Can e'er oblit'rate or efface?

The name, the name of Calvary.

WEIR.

"O LORD, I KNOW THAT IN VERY FAITHFULNESS THOU HAST AFFLICTED ME."

FOR what shall I praise thee, my God and my King?

for ease,

For what blessings the tribute of gratitude bring? Shall I praise thee for pleasure, for health, and [peace? For the spring of delight, and the sunshine of Shall I praise thee for flowers that bloom'd on my breast,

For joys in perspective, and pleasures possess'd? For the spirits that heighten'd my days of de

light,

And the slumbers that sat on my pillow by night?

For this should I praise thee! but, if only for this
I should leave half-untold the donation of bliss:
I thank thee for sickness, for sorrow, for care,
For the thorns I have gather'd, the anguish I bear.
For nights of anxiety, watchings, and tears,
A present of pain, a perspective of fears;
I praise thee, I bless thee, my King and my God,
For the good and the evil thy hand hath bestow'd.

The flowers were sweet, but their fragrance is flown,

They yielded no fruits, they are wither'd and

gone,

the thorn it was poignant, but precious to me, Twas the message of mercy,-it led me to thee.

ANON.

THE SABBATH MORNING.

How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd

The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze:
Sounds the most faint attract the ear,-the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,

The distant bleating, midway up the hill.
Calmness sits thron'd on yon unmoving cloud,
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tun'd song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.

GRAHAME.

THE SEASONS MORALIZED.

BEHOLD the changes of the skies
And see the circling seasons rise;
Hence let the mournful truth, refin'd,
Improve the beauty of the mind.
Winter late, with dreary reign,
Rul'd the wide unjoyous plain;
Gloomy storms with solemn roar,
Shook the hoarse resounding shore;
Sorrow cast her sadness round,
Life and joy forsook the ground;
Death, with wild imperious sway,
Bade the expiring world decay.

Now cast around thy raptur'd eyes
And see the beauteous Spring arise;
See flowers invest the hills again,
And streams re-murmur o'er the plain.
Hark! hark! the joy-inspiring grove
Echoes to the voice of Love.
Balmy gales the sound prolong,
Wafting round the woodland song.

Such the scenes our life displays;
Swiftly fleet our rapid days.
The hour that rolls for ever on
Tells us our years must soon be gone;
Sudden death, with mournful gloom,
Sweeps us downward to the tomb:
Life, and health, and joy, decay,
Nature sinks and dies away.

But the soul, in gayest bloom,
Disdains the bondage of the tomb;
Ascends above the clouds of ev❜n,
And, raptur'd, hails her native Heav'n,
Youth, and peace, and beauty, there
For ever dance around the year;
An endless joy invest the pole,
And streams of ceaseless pleasure roll;
Sighs and joy, and grace divine,
With bright and lasting glory shine;
Jehovah's smile, with heav'nly ray,

Diffuses clear unbounded day.

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DR. DWIGHT, OF AMERICA.

TO THE FLYING FISH.

WHEN I have seen thy snowy wing,
O'er the blue wave at evening, spring,

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Fly

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