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SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

WHEN spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil;

When summer's balmy showers refresh the mower’s toil;

When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,

In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.

The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade ;

The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade;

The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,

The moon and stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display.

Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,

Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny

No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,

Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honor thee.

The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade,

The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake the shade;

The winds be lulled—the sun and moon forget their old decree,

But we in nature's latest hour, O Lord, will cling to thee.

TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

JERUsALEM, Jerusalem! enthroned once on high,

Thou favored home of God on earth, thou heaven below the sky,

Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a curse and grief to see,

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, our tears shall flow for thee.

O, hadst thou known 'thy day of grace, and flocked beneath the wing

Of him who called thee lovingly, thine own anointed King,

Then had the tribes of all the world gone up thy pomp to see,

And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all thy sons been free.

• And who art thou that mournest me 2' replied

the ruin gray, • And fear'st not rather that thyself may prove

a castaway 2

I am a dried and abject branch, my place is given to thee;

But wo to every barren graft of thy wild olivetree.

“Our day of grace is sunk in night, our time of mercy spent,

For heavy was my children’s crime, and strange their punishment;

Yet gaze not idly on our fall, but, sinner, warned be,

Who spared not his chosen seed may send his wrath on thee.

‘Our day of grace is sunk in night, thy noon is in its prime ; O, turn and seek thy Saviour's face in this accepted time. So, Gentile,may Jerusalem a lesson prove to thee, And in the new Jerusalem thy home for ever be.”

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 2°
—‘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 2"
—“There is to whom my soul was dear,
But I have scorned his love.”

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