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THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRIN-
ITY.

'Who yonder on the desert heath,
Complains in feeble tone ."
—' A pilgrim in the vale of death,
Faint, bleeding and alone.'

'How cam'st thou to this dismal strand
Of danger, grief, and shame?'
—' From blessed Sion's holy land,
By folly led, I came.'

'What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare?
Whose fury laid thee low?'
—' Sin for my footsteps twined her snare,
And death has dealt the blow.'

'Can art no medicine for thy wound,

Nor nature strength supply?'
—' They saw me bleeding on the ground,
And passed in silence by.'

'But, sufferer, is no comfort near
Thy terrors to remove?'
—' There is to whom my soul was dear,
But I have scorned his love.'

'What if his hand were nigh to save From endless death thy days?'

—' The soul he ransomed from the grave Should live but to his praise.'

'Rise then, O rise, his health embrace, With heavenly strength renewed;

And such as is thy Saviour's grace,
Such be thy gratitude.'

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FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Lo, the lilies of the field,

How their leaves instruction yield!

Hark to nature's lesson given

By the blessed birds of Heaven.

Every bush and tufted tree

Warbles sweet philosophy;

'Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow:

God provideth for the morrow.

'Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose:
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
Than we poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.
Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow,
God provideth for the morrow.

'One there lives whose guardian eye
Guides our humble destiny:
One there lives, who Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall:
Pass we blithely, then, the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow.'

SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Wake not, O mother, sounds of lamentation;

Weep not, O widow, weep not hopelessly: Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation,

Strong is the word of God to succor thee.

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?Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed?
'Set down the bier—he is not dead, but sleeping.
'Young man, arise!'—He spake, and was
obeyed.

Change, then, O sad one, grief to exultation,
Worship and fall before Messiah's knee.

Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation,
Strong was the word of God to succor thee.

NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER
TRININY.

O blest were the accents of early creation,
When the Word of Jehovah came down from
above:

In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,
And wake their cold atoms to life and to love.

And mighty the tones which the firmament
rended,
When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of
the wind,
By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness at-
tended,
He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.

And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven, (Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form,) Who said to the mourner, 'Thy sins are forgiven,''Be whole,' to the sick,—and ' Be still,' to the the storm.

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