CXI THE UNREGARDED TOILS OF THE POOR. Alas! what secret tears are shed, He goeth in his daily course, That all day long, lean, pale, and faint, To him they are but as the stones It entereth not his thoughts that they It entereth not his thoughts that God That in His righteous eye their life M. Howitt K CXII SUNDAY O day most calm, most bright! The fruit of this, the next world's bud, Th' indorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a Friend, and with His blood: The couch of time; care's balm and bay; The week were dark but for thy light, Thy touch doth show the way. Sundays the pillars are, On which Heaven's palace archèd lies: They are the fruitful bed and borders The Sundays of man's life, On Sunday Heaven's gate stands ope; More plentiful than hope. G. Herbert CXIII THE HOUR OF PRAYER Child, amid'st the flowers at play, Traveller in the stranger's land, Warrior, that from battle won Woman, o'er the lowly slain, Heaven's first star alike ye see, Lift the heart, and bend the knee. F. Hemans CXIV EVENING Behold the sun, that seem'd but now The globe whereon we tread; Thus time, unheeded, steals away Whereon we set our heart, And then the night of death draws nigh; Thus will they all depart. Lord! though the sun forsake our sight, Within our souls remain ! And in the nights of our distress Vouchsafe those rays divine Which from the Sun of righteousness For ever brightly shine. G. Withers CXV BAPTISMAL HYMN In token that thou shalt not fear We print the cross upon thee here, In token that thou shalt not blush In token that thou shalt not flinch In token that thou too shalt tread And sit thee down on high; Thus outwardly, and visibly, We seal thee for His own: And may the brow that wears His cross Hereafter share His crown. H. Alford |