"Therefore be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not, the Son of man cometh."- ST. MATT. xxiv. 44. H, to be ready when death shall come ! OH, Oh, to be ready to hasten home! No flitting shadows to dim the light Of the angel-pinions winged for flight; No cloud-like phantoms to fling a gloom 'Twixt heaven's bright portals and earth's dark tomb; But sweetly, gently, to pass away From the world's dim twilight into day. To list the music of angel lyres, "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last."- REV. xxii. 13. JESUS, when my soul is parting From this body frail and weak, And the deathly dew is starting Be the name I last shall speak. Jesus, when my memory wanders And in fitful dreaming ponders Let my thoughts on Thee abide. When the morn in all its glory Charms no more my ear nor eye, And the shadows closing o'er me Warn me of the time to die, Last, my Saviour, Let me see Thee standing by. When my feet shall pass the river, Ne'er to sin, to die no more, - Let me see Thee, and adore. "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith."-2 TIM. iv. 7. LORIOUS sunsets richly glowing GLO Strike the autumn wanderer's eye, Whence the holy thought comes flowing, Brightly thus may Christians die ; Bright may be the example given, Glowing with the dews of heaven. Ir matters little at what hour of day The less of this cold world, the more of Heaven. Let her leave thee with no strife, Tender, mournful, murmuring life! She hath seen her happy day; She hath done her bidding here, Bear her perfect soul above, "Let me go, for the day breaketh."- GEN. xxxii. 26 I'M kneeling at the threshold, weary, faint, and sore; Waiting for the dawning, for the opening of the door; Waiting till the Master shall bid me rise and come To the glory of His presence, to the gladness of His home. A weary path I've travelled, 'mid darkness, storm, and strife; Bearing many a burden, struggling for my life; But now the dawn is breaking, my toil will soon be o'er, I'm kneeling at the threshold, my hand is on the door. Methinks I hear the voices of the blessed as they stand, Singing in the sunshine of the far-off sinless land; Oh, would that I were with them, amid their shining throng, Mingling in their worship, and joining in their song! The friends that started with me have entered long ago: One by one they left me struggling with the foe; Their pilgrimage was shorter, their triumphs sooner won; How lovingly they'll hail me, when all my done! toil is With them the blessed angels, that know no grief nor sin; I see them by the portals, prepared to let me in. |