O Thou by whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod
Lord, teach us how to pray.

A

V.-A POOR WAYFARING MAN.

1826.

POOR wayfaring man of griet

Hath often cross'd me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,
That I could never answer, Nay:
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.

Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered; not a word he spake
Just perishing for want of bread;

I gave him all; he bless'd it, brake,
And ate; but gave me part again:
Mine was an angel's portion then;
For, while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.

I spied him, where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone;
The heedless water mocked his thirst,

He heard it, saw it hurrying on:

I ran to raise the sufferer up;

Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup,

Dipt, and returned it running o'er;

I drank, and never thirsted more.

'Twas night; the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof;

I heard his voice abroad, and flew

To bid him welcome to my roof;

I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest;
Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd
In Eden's garden while I dream'd.

Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side:
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied

Wine, oil, refreshment; he was healed;
I had myself a wound concealed;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.

In prison I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor's death at morn ;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,

And honoured him midst shame and scorn ; My friendship's utmost zeal to try,

He ask'd, if I for him would die ?

The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill;

But the free spirit cried, "I will.'

Then in a moment to my view

The stranger darted from disguise;
The tokens in His hands I knew,

My Saviour stood before mine eyes!
He spake; and my poor name He named :
"Of Me thou hast not been ashamed;
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not; thou didst them unto Me."

VI.-THE FIELD OF THE WORLD.

1832.

OW in the morn thy seed,

Sow

At eve hold not thine hand;

To doubt and fear give thou no heed,

Broad-cast it o'er the land.

Beside all waters sow;

The highway furrows stock;

Drop it where thorns and thistles grow: Scatter it on the rock.

The good, the fruitful ground,

Expect not here nor there;

O'er hill and dale, by plots, 'tis found:
Go forth, then, everywhere.

Thou know'st not which may thrive,
The late or early sown :

Grace keeps the precious germs alive,

When and wherever strown.

And duly shall appear,

In verdure, beauty, strength,
The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,
And the full corn at length.

Thou canst not toil in vain :

Cold, heat, and moist, and dry,
Shall foster and mature the grain
For garners in the sky.

Thence, when the glorious end,
The day of God is come,

The angel-reapers shall descend,

And heaven cry-"Harvest home."

THE GRAVE,

1804.

JAMES MONTGOMERY,

HERE is a calm for those who weep,

The rest for weary pilgrims found,

They softly lie and sweetly sleep
Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh
That shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil;
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.

For Misery stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild :
I perish-O my mother earth!
Take home thy child.

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined
Shall gently moulder into thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind
Resembling me.

Hark! a strange sound affrights mine ear;
My pulse, my brain runs wild,-I rave
-Ah! who art thou whose voice I hear?
"I am THE GRAVE!"

"The GRAVE, that never spake before,
Hath found at length a tongue to chide;
O listen!-I will speak no more :-
Be silent, Pride!

"Art thou a wretch of hope forlorn,
The victim of consuming care?
Is thy distracted conscience torn
By fell despair?

"Do foul misdeeds of former times

Wring with remorse thy guilty breast?
And ghosts of unforgiven crimes

Murder thy rest?

"Lash'd by the furies of the mind,

From Wrath and Vengeance wouldst thou flee?
Ah! think not, hope not, fool, to find
A friend in me.

"By all the terrors of the tomb,
Beyond the power of tongue to tell;

By the dread secrets of my womb;
By Death and Hell;

"I charge thee, LIVE!-repent and pray;
In dust thine infamy deplore;

There yet is mercy ;-go thy way,
And sin no more.

"Art thou a Mourner ?-Hast thou known

The joy of innocent delights,

Endearing days for ever flown,

And tranquil nights?

"O LIVE!—and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past:
Rely on Heaven's unchanging will
For peace at last.