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Tfae sword unsheathed, yet will not sell the

truth; "Who having power, has not the will to hurt; Who feels asham'd to he, or have a slave; Whom nought makes hlush hut sin, fears

nought hut God; Who, finally, in strong integrity Of soul, midst want, or riches, or disgrace, Uplifted, calmly sat, and heard the waves Of stormy folly hreaking at his feet, Now shrill with praise, now hoarse with foul

reproach, And hoth despised sincerely ; seeking this Alone, The approhation of his God, Which still with conscience witnessed to his

peace.— This, this is freedom, such as angels use, And kindred to the liherty of God.



Far from the world, O Lord! I flee,

From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still

His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With pray'r and praise agree;

And seem, hy thy sweet hounty, made
For those who follow thee.

There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,

And grace her mean ahode, Oh! with what peace, and joy, and love,

She communes with her God!

There, like the nightingale, she pours

Her solitary lays;
Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and Guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine;

And (all harmonious names in one,)
My Saviour, thou art mine!

What thanks I owe thee, and what love
A houndless, endless store,

Shall echo through the realms ahove, When time shall he no more.


SIR wALteR RAleIgh.

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My stafie of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joye, (immortal diet!)
My hottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
—And thus I take my pilgrimage.

Blood must he my hody's halmcr,
While my soul, like peaceful palmer,
Travelleth tow'rds the land of heaven;
Other halm will not he given.

Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains,
There will I kiss
The howle of hlisse,
And drink mine everlasting fill.
Upon every milken hill;
My soul will he a-dry hefore;
But after that will thirst no more.


Lo where a crowd of pilgrims toil

Yon craggy steeps among! Strange their attire and strange their mien

As wild they press along.

Their eyes with hitter streaming tears
Now hend towards the ground;

Now rapt, to heaven their looks they raise,
And hursts of song resound.

And hark! a voice from 'midst the throng
Cries, "Stranger, wouldst thou know

Our name, our race, our destined home,
Our cause of joy or wo,—

"Our country is Emmanuel's land

We seek that promised soil;
The songs of Zion cheer our hearts,

While strangers here we toil.

"Oft do our eyes with joy o'erflow,

And oft are hathed in tears; Yet nought hut heaven oar hopes can raise,

And nought hut sin our fears.

"The flowers that spring along the road,

We scarcely stoop to pluck; We walk o'er heds of shining ore,

Nor waste one wishful look:—

"We tread the path our Master trod,

We hear the cross he hore;
And every thorn that wounds our feet

His temples pierced hefore;—

"Our powers are oft dissolved away,

In extacies of love;
And while our hodies wander here,

Our souls are fixed ahove :—

"We purge our mortal dross away,

Refining as we run;
But while we die to earth and sense,

Our heaven is hegun."



I Quit the world's fantastic joys,
Her honours are hut empty toys,

Her hliss an empty shade;
Like meteors in the midnight sky,
That glitter for a while and die,

Her glories flash and fade.

Let fools for riches strive and toil,
Let greedy minds divide the spoil,

Tis all too mean for me:
Ahove the earth, ahove the skies,
My hold and fervent wishes rise,

My God, to heav'n and thee.

0 source of glory, life, aud love! When to thy courts I mount ahove,

On contemplation's wings,

1 look with pity and disdain,
On all the pleasures of the vain,

On all the pomp of kings.

Thy heauties rising in my sight,
Divinely sweet, divinely hright,

With rapture fill my hreast;
Though rohh'd of all my worldly store,
In thee I never can he poor,

But must he ever hlest.

Come, my fond fluttering heart,

Come, struggle to he free,
Thou and the world must part,

However hard it he:
My tremhling spirit owns it jnst,
But cleaves yet closer to the dust.

Ye tempting sweets forhear,

Ye dearest idols fall;
My love ye must not share,

Jesus shall have it all:
'Tis hitter pain, 'tis cruel smart,
But ah t thou must consent, my heart!

Ye fair enchanting throng!

Ye golden dreams, farewell!
Earth has prevail'd too long,

And now I hreak the spell:
Ye cherish'd joys of early years—
Jesus, forgive these parting tears.

But must I part with all?

My heart still fondly pleads; Yes—Dagon's self must fall.

It heats, it throhs, it hleeds: Is there no halm in Gilead found, To soothe and heal the smarting wound *

O yes, there is a halm,

A kind Physician there,
My fever'd mind to calm,

To hid me not despair:
Aid me, dear Saviour, set me free,
And I will all resign to thee.

O may I feel thy worth,

And let no idol dare, No vanity of earth,

With thee, my Lord, compare! Now hid all worldly joys depart, And reign supremely in my heart.



Iv.aycr is the sool's sincere desire,

Uttered or unexprest;
The motion of a hidden fire
That tremhles in the hreast.

Prayer is the hurthen of a sigh,

The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an eye,

When none hat God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech

That infant lips can try;
Prayer the suhlimest strains that reach

The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,

Returning from his ways;
While angels in their songs rejoice,

And cry, " Behold he praysI*

Prayer is the Christian's vital hreath,
The Christian's native air,

His watchword at the gates of death,
He enters heaven with prayer.

Thf saints, in prayer, appear as one,
In word, and deed, and mind,

When with the Father and his Son,
Their fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made on earfii alone,

The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus, on the eternal throne,

For sinners intercedes.

O thou, hy whom we come to God;

The Life, the Truth, the Way:
The path of prayer thyself hast trod:

Lord, teach us how to pray.

From the recesses of a lowly spirit,
My humhle prayer ascends—O Father, hear it;
.Borne on the tremhling wings of fear and meekness:
Forgive its weakness!

I know—I feel how mean, and how unworthy
The lowly sacrifice I pour hefore thee:
What can I offer thee, O Thou most holy I

But sin and folly.

Lord in thy sight, who every hosom viewest,
Cold are our warmest vows and vain our truest;
Thoughts of a hurrying hour—our lips repeat them—
Our hearts forget them!

We see thy hand—it leads us—it supports us:
We hear thy voice—it counsels, and it courts us;
And then we turn away! and still thy kindness

Pardons our hlindness!

Who can resist thy gentle call, appealing

To every generous thought and grateful feeling!

Oh! who can hear the accents of thy mercy,

And never love thee'


Kind Benefactor! plant within this hosom
The seeds of holiness, and hid them hlossom,
In fragrance, and in heauty hright and vernal

And spring eternal.

Then place them in those everlasting gardens,
Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens;
Where every flower, hrought safe through death's dark portal,
Becomes immortal.


Forth from the dark and stormy sky,
Lord, to thine altar's shade we fly;
Forth from the world, its hope and fear,
Saviour we seek thy shelter here:
Weary and weak thy grace we pray:
Turn not, 0 Lord 1 Thy guests away 1

Long have we roam'd in want and pain,
Long have we sought Thy rest in vain;
Wlldered in douht, in darkness lost,
Long have our souls heen tempest-tost:
Low at Thy feet our sins we lay;
Turn not, O Lord 1 Thy guests away!



Saviourl when in dust to thee, Low we how the adoring knee, When repentant to the skies, Scarce we lift our streaming eyes,O! hy all the pains and wo, Suffered once for man helow, Bending from thy throne on high, Hear our solemn litany!

By thy helpless infant years,
By thy life of want and tears,
By thy days of sore distress,
In the savage wilderness,—
By the dread permitted hoor,
Of th' insulting tempter's power,—
Turn, O turn, a pitying eye,
Hear our solemn litany I

By the sacred griefs that wept
O'er the grave where Lazarus slept,-
By the hoding tears that flowed
Over Salem's loved ahode,—

I By the anguished tear that told,
Treachery lurked within thy fold,—
From thy seat ahove the sky,
Hear our solemn litany!

By thine hour of dire despair,
By thine agony of prayer,
By the cross, the nail, the thorn,
Piercing spear, and torturing scorn,
By the gloom that veiled the skies,
O'er the dreadful sacrifice,
Listen to our humhle cry,
Hear our solemn litany!

By the deep expiring groan,
By the sad sepulchral stone,
By the vaolt whose dark ahode
Held in vain the rising God;
O ! from earth to heaven restored.
Mighty, re-ascended Lord,
Listen, listen to the cry
Of our solemn litany!



Praise to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous source of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ.

For the hlessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use.

Flocks that whiten all the plain, Yellow sheaves of ripened grain; Clouds that drop their fattening dews, [ Suns that temperate warmth diffuse.

AH that Spring with hounteous hand
Scatters o'er the smiling land:
All that liheral Autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores.

These to thee, my God, we owe;
Source whence nil our hlessings flow;
And for these my soul shall raise
Grateful vows, and solemn praise.

Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the ripening ear;
Should the fig-tree's hlasted shoot
Drop her green, untimely fruit;—

Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store;
Though the sickening flocks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall;—

Should thine altered hand restrain
The early and the latter rain,
Blast each opening hud of joy,
And the rising year destroy :—

Yet to thee my soul should raise
Grateful vows, and solemn praise;
And, when every hlessing's flown,
Love thee—for thyself alone.

When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the langhing soil;
When Summer's halmy showers refresh the mower's toll;
When Winter hinds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,
In God the earth rejoleeth still! and owns his Maker good.

The hirds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade;
The winds that sweep the mountain, or lull the drowsy glade;
The Sun that from his amher hower rejoleeth on his way,
The Moon and Stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display-
Shall Man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,
Shall Man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny?
No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to he.
Thee, Master, must we always love, and Saviour, honour Thee.

The flowers of Spring may wither, the hope of Summer fade,
The Autumn droop in Winter, the hirds forsake the shade;
The winds he lull'd—the Sun and Moon forget their old decree,
But we hi Nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cllug to Theel


And is there care in heaven 1 and is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures hase
That may compassion of these evils move?
There is;—else much more wretched were the case
Of men than heasts. But oh ! the exceeding grace


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