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‘Our day of grace is sunk in night, our time of mercy spent,
For heavy was my children’s crime, and strange their punishment;
Yet gaze not idly on our fall, but, sinner, warned be,
Who spared not his chosen seed may send his wrath on thee.
“Our day of grace is sunk in night, thy noon is in its prime ; O, turn and seek thy Saviour's face in this accepted time. So,Centile,may Jerusalem a lesson prove to thee, And in the new Jerusalem thy home for ever be.’
THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
‘Who yonder on the desert heath,
‘How cam'st thou to this dismal strand
“What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare :
‘Can art no medicine for thy wound,
“But, sufferer, is no comfort near
“What if his hand were nigh to save
— The soul he ransomed from the grave Should live but to his praise.”
“Rise then, O rise, his health embrace,
And such as is thy Saviour's grace,
* FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
Lo, the lilies of the field,
“Say, with richer crimson glows
‘One there lives whose guardian eye
SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
WAKE not, O mother, sounds of lamentation;
Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation,
Bear forth the cold corpse slowly,slowly bear him: Hide his pale features with the sable pall:
Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all.
Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping 2 Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed 2 “Set down the bier—he is not dead, but sleeping. ‘Young man, arise !”—He spake, and wa" obeyed.
Change, then, O sad one, grief to exultation,
Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation,