Ah! 'tis alone the immortal soul,

An endless bliss ordained to win,

The heaven of heavens its destined goal,
That thus is sunk in shameless sin!
Scantly permitting to intrude

The faintest gleam of gratitude;
And but in hours of dire despair,

Responding in the voice of prayer!

HYMN,

BEING AN ADAPTATION OF THE LORD'S PRAYER TO A LATER STAGE OF OUR SAVIOUR'S MINISTRY.

Hitherto ye have asked nothing in my Name.

receive, that your joy may be full."

THOU to whom all power is given,

Here on earth, above, in heaven,
Jesus, Saviour, mighty Lord,
Be thy holy name adored!

In our hearts all-sovereign reign;
All the world be thy domain !
May redeemed man, we pray Thee,
Like the angelic host, obey Thee.

Thou who dost the ravens feed,

Grant us all our bodies need;
Thou in whom we move and live,
Daily grace sustaining give!

VOL. II.

Ask and ye shall

18

Pardon us, our sins confessing;
Keep us from afresh transgressing;
May we pardon one another,

As becomes a sinning brother.

In temptation's dreadful hour,
Shield us with thy gracious power.
From Satan's wiles our hearts defend,
Saviour, Comforter, and Friend!

Glory to Thee on earth be given,
Christ our King, the Lord of heaven;
Glory to Thee, great "First and Last,"
When this earth, and time, are past!

THE AUTUMN EVENING.

BEHOLD the western evening-light!
It melts in deepening gloom;
So calmly Christians sink away,
Descending to the tomb.

The winds breathe low; the withering leaf Scarce whispers from the tree;

So gently flows the parting breath,

When good men cease to be.

How beautiful on all the hills

The crimson light is shed! 'Tis like the peace the Christian gives To mourners round his bed.

How mildly on the wandering cloud
The sunset beam is cast;

'Tis like the memory left behind,

When loved ones breathe their last.

And now, above the dews of night,
The yellow star appears;

So faith springs in the heart of those
Whose eyes are bathed in tears.

But soon the morning's happier light
Its glory shall restore,

And eyelids that are sealed in death,
Shall wake, to close no more.

HYMN FOR THE SABBATH.

BEHOLD we come, dear Lord, to Thee,
And bow before thy throne;
We come to offer on our knee,
Our vows to Thee alone.

Whate'er we have, whate'er we are,
Thy bounty freely gave;
Thou dost us here in mercy spare,
And wilt hereafter save.

'Tis not our tongues or knee can pay The mighty debt we owe;

Far more we should, than we can say,Far lower should we bow.

Come then, my soul, bring all thy powers,
And grief thou hast no more;
Bring every day thy choicest hours,

And thy great God adore.

But, above all, prepare thy heart
On this, his own blest day,

In its sweet task to bear thy part,
And sing, and love, and pray.

THE VILLAGE CHURCH.

MINE be the rude and artless pile,
The ivy-mantled turret gray,
Within whose old unsculptured aisle,

The toil-worn peasant kneels to pray;
The whitened wall, the latticed pane,
The rustic porch, the oaken door;
Above, the rafters huge and plane,

Beneath, the footstep-graven floor.

Not here, where few could pomp admire,
The sons of wealth their pomp display;
They throng not here in gay attire,

Who come to gaze and not to pray:
No high-tuned choral peals surprise,
Enchanting fashion's languid train,
With arts ingenious to disguise

The bard of Sion's raptured strain.

But here, where lowly hearts are bowed,
By toil and sorrows gentler made,
Nor earth-born schemes, nor visions proud,

The unambitious breast invade;

More nearly is his presence felt,

For whom the Heaven of Heaven expands

Its arch in vain, who never dwelt

In temples built by human hands.

By viewless Spirit of the air

The soul's mysterious depths are stirred, More fervent soars the heaven ward prayer, More deeply sinks the engrafted word:

Oh! could my heart, in darker hour,

That calm and reverent mood recall,

How weak were then temptation's power,

How frail the world's unhallowed thrall!

"WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT

SAY, Watchman, what of the night?
Do the dews of the morning fall?
Have the orient skies a border of light,
Like the fringe of a funeral pall?

"The night is fast waning on high,

And soon shall the darkness flee,

And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky, And bright shall its glories be."

But, Watchman, what of the night,

When sorrow and pain are mine,
And the pleasures of life, so sweet and bright,

No longer around me shine?

"That night of sorrow thy soul

May surely prepare to meet,

But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll,

And the morning of joy be sweet."

But, Watchman, what of the night,

When the arrow of death is sped,

And the grave, which no glimmering star can light, Shall be my sleeping bed?

"That night is near,-and the cheerless tomb
Shall keep thy body in store,

Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom,
And night-shall be no more!"