Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near;
Oh may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide Thee from thy servant's eyes.

When round thy wondrous works below,
My searching rapturous glance I throw;
Tracing out Wisdom, Power, and Love,
In earth or sky, in stream or grove ;——

Or by the light thy words disclose,
Watch Time's full river as it flows;
Scanning thy gracious providence,
Where not too deep for mortal sense ;-

When with dear friends sweet talks I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold;

Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.

When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently sleep;
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live:
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.

Thou Framer of the light and dark,
Steer through the tempest Thine own ark;

Amid the howling wintry sea

We are in port if we have Thee.

The rulers of this Christian land,

"Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand; Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright,

Let all do all as in thy sight.

Oh, by Thine own sad burthen, borne

So meekly up the hill of scorn,

Teach Thou thy priests their daily cross

To bear as Thine, nor count it loss!

If some poor wandering child of Thine
Have spurn'd to-day, the voice divine;
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;
Let him no more lie down in sin.

Watch by the sick: enrich the poor
With blessings from thy boundless store:
Be every mourner's sleep to-night
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.

Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of thy love

We lose ourselves in heaven above.

Chapter V.

MORE HYMNS OF THE FATHERS.

Showing to the generations to come the praises of the Lord.”

RIMITIVE Christianity soon found its way to the old seats of patriarchal life. Some of its first songs came from across the land which has "neither mountain, valley, or even plain— the whole being an unequal surface like the high and long waves of a deep sea when subsiding from a tempest into a calm;" with verdant hollows here and there, but with no "tree anywhere in sight to relieve the monotony of the scene." Along this mysterious reach, this ancient Mesopotamia, Abraham came, refreshing himself now and then on a grassy plot, on his way to Canaan. He came out of "Ur of the Chaldees" to be the Father of the faithful; and from the same place one, at least, of the Christian fathers came. He, too, was faithful; and by his Christian hymns he made faithfulness pleasant to his own generation and to many following ages. Ephrem Syrus was born by the crystal waters which refresh the city of Orfah, once Edessa, and which form the lake known to those who enjoy the mulberry groves which overshadow its

banks as "Abraham the beloved, or the Friend of God." Ephrem, like all who aimed at high spirituality in the fourth century, became a devoted monk; and on some aspects of his character there still remain shadows of the asceticism which was peculiar to a time of reaction from social licentiousness and decay. But with all Ephrem's asceticism, his hymns testify that he had learnt the lesson which the Saviour so gracefully taught his disciples; that, though in some cases religious celibacy might be in keeping with the spirit and principles of his kingdom-hardness and severity were in no case consistent with Christian piety; that the hardness which the law of Moses admitted, and which showed itself in those stern rebukes which were cast on the women who brought their infants to Jesus, must yield to that gentle love which looked with utmost tenderness upon the little ones whose humility, simplicity, and submissiveness typify the highest style of the Christian character. The venerable Mesopotamian hymnist, however severe in his treatment of self, was like his divine Master in his feelings towards children. He must have laid his hands on them lovingly. His smile must have been full of blessing. How sweetly He attunes his music to the voices of his "little flock," while He teaches them to sing in unison with children in paradise—

To Thee, O God, be praises
From lips of babes and sucklings,

As in the heavenly meadows

Like spotless lambs they feed.

'Mid leafy trees they pasture,

Thus saith the Blessed Spirit;
And Gabriel, prince of angels,

That happy flock doth lead.

The messengers of heaven,
With sons of light united,
In purest regions dwelling,

No curse or woe they see.

And at the resurrection,
With joy arise their bodies;
Their spirits knew no bondage,
Their bodies now are free.

Brief here below their sojourn,
Their dwelling is in Eden,

And one bright day their parents
Hope yet with them to be.

The heart that is gentle enough to be childlike among children must always have deep sympathy with parents, especially under the sorrows of bereavement. And many a lover of little children, though never himself really touched by the unspeakable pang of seeing his own babe breathe its last, has shown himself capable of entering very deeply into the feeling of the desolated parent, almost as if that feeling were his own. A few touching verses from a living author afford an example of such inspirations of sympathizing genius. The author of "Records of the Western Shore," had no child of his own when he issued his first volume, but he utters the grief of a Cornish mother, thus:

They say 'tis a sin to sorrow,
That what God doth is best,
But 'tis only a month to-morrow
I buried it from my breast!

I know it should be a pleasure
Your child to God to send,
But mine was a precious treasure
To me and to my poor Friend!