FROM PSALM XVII.

WHAT sinners value, I resign;
Lord, 'tis enough that Thou art mine:
I shall behold Thy blissful face,
And stand complete in righteousness.

This life's a dream, an empty show;
But the bright world to which I go
Hath joys substantial and sincere ;
When shall I wake, and find me there?

O glorious hour! O bless'd abode!
I shall be near and like my God!
And flesh and sin no more control
The sacred pleasures of the soul.

My flesh shall slumber in the ground
Till the last trumpet's joyful sound;
Then burst the chains with sweet surprise,
And in my Saviour's image rise.

"WHEN THE SON OF MAN SHALL COME IN HIS GLORY."

AND will the Judge descend?

And must the dead arise?

And not a single soul escape

His all-discerning eyes?

How will thy heart endure
The terrors of that day;

When earth and heaven, before His face,
Astonished, shrink away?

Fly, then, to seek His grace,

Whose wrath thou can'st not bear;

Fly to the shelter of His cross,

And find salvation there.

So shall that curse remove

By which the Saviour bled,
And the last awful day shall pour
Its blessings on your head.

66 THERE REMAINETH A REST for the people of goD."

LORD of the Sabbath, hear us pray,
In this thy house, on this thy day;
And own, as grateful sacrifice,

The songs which from thy temple rise.

Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love;
But there's a nobler rest above;
To that our labouring souls aspire
With ardent hope and strong desire.

No more fatigue, no more distress,
Nor sin, nor death, shall reach that place;
No sighs shall mingle with the songs
That warble from immortal tongues.

No rude alarms of raging foes,
No cares to break the long repose,
No midnight shade, no clouded sun,—
But sacred, high, eternal noon.

O long expected day, begin;

Dawn on these realms of woe and sin; Fain would we leave this weary road, And sleep in death, to rest with God.

FROM PSALM XC.

REMARK, my soul, the narrow bound
Of the revolving year;

How swift the weeks complete their rounds,
How short the months appear!

So fast eternity comes on,

And that important day,

When all that mortal hand has done,

God's judgment shall survey.

Yet like an idle tale we pass

The swift advancing year; And study artful ways t'increase The speed of its career.

Waken, O God, this trifling heart,

Its great concern to see;
That I may act the Christian part,

And give the year to Thee.