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A voice to the Old Men!-speed ye the prayer,
That these on the deep may benisons share;
0, bravely the mission ship walks the wave,
When the Stiller of Waters is nigh to save.

A voice to the living! it comes from the dead;
By the prayers they have uttered, the tears they

have shed,
By their nights of sighs and days of toil,
To win of the heathen for Jesus a spoil,-

By the stillness that lingers round their graves
Where the beautiful palm in verdure waves;
By the tear to their ashes the Convert hath given,
By the soul of that saved one-a gem of heaven-

It calls ye, invites-demands ye, and know
'Tis peril to linger--0, fear not to go
Where dangers wait, where deliverance is nigh,
To death-to your songs and your harps in the sky.

SUNDAY SCHOOL JUBILEE.

We praise thee, Lord, for light that shone

On England first, revealed from thee, And now hath noon-tide splendours thrown

Around our festive jubilee.

In gladness and in peace it came

To win the troubled wanderer nigh ; Its symbol was a Saviour's name,

Its token toil, its watchword “ Try!”

Its eagle track is high in air;

Its standard sheet is wide unfurled, Whose waving folds of victory bear

Release and ransom to a world.

Joy for its blessings to the child

That ages saw flung back on sin; Now gathered from destruction's wild,

And brought the Shepherd's fold within.

Joy for its Christian-soldier bands

Whose high emprize hath millions blest; Whose march is o'er the Eastern lands,

Whose conquests reach the distant West.

O, as this hour, the world's deep gaze,

Withdrawn from its own dark misrule, Is fixed in wonder on the rays

That cluster round the Sunday School;

In that pure brightness bid it see

The day-dawn blushing o'er the skies, In whose meridian every knee

Shall bend, while earth's hosannas rise.

SUPPLICATION IN PROSPECT OF THE CHOLERA :

WRITTEN ON HEARING IT HAD ENTERED CANADA.

O God! thine oriental scourge

Its errand bade to run,
Has measured realms and seas to hail

Climes of the setting sun.

Above his chariot is seen

The victor's flag unfurled;
And Ruin ready at his wheel

To sweep the western world.

And on our troubled border, now

The mighty Terror stands;
And scares us with his dreadful spoils

Won from a thousand lands.

A moment stands—his steady march

Is onward, rousing fears;
Before him is a paradise,

Behind him only tears.

Our land, is it not valour's land,

The beautiful and free?
Yet, if the chosen of the earth,

We owe it, Lord, to thee.

And vainly fling we round its hem

The sanitary line;

And crowd its walls with watch and guard,

To keep is only thine.

O rashly have we deemed our spear

Our stay, nor sought the throne;
We've plucked the honour from thy brow,

To bind it on our own.

Now wisely taught our helplessness,

Thy justice and thy power,
Bid thou this time of waiting be

Mercy's propitious hour.

Then come, not by thy messenger

Thyself thy children meet;
And see a people humbled low,

A nation at thy feet.

PRAISE FOR DELIVERANCE FROM PESTILENCE.

To God, who gave thee joys for tears,

And when it brooded o'er thee so, Rebuked the cloud that burst in fears,

And on it bent his beauteous bowGo, Man! that didst to judgment feel

Strange nearness, then, and trembled there; Go, and before thy Maker kneel

In deepest penitence and prayer.

And Woman! o'er whose heart has swept

The angel's wing—whose trusted stay Of hope is fallen, and who'st wept

O’er joys forever past away-
O spared that thou should’st perish not,

In lowliness approach the Power,
So oft invoked, so soon forgot-

That shielded thee in peril's hour.

Child! to thy mother's joy restored,

In fairest beauty blossoming;
Yield, now, in offering to the Lord,

The budding freshness of thy spring.
For he preserved thee yet below,

And shed upon thee dews of love, That tall, and strongly, thou mayst grow,

A lovely plant for bowers above.

And ye! whose dwellings, hedged about,

The stern destroyer passed by,
Who, when sad voices wailed without,

Within, heard not the midnight cry— Go, with your songs, to him that threw

Salvation round your borders then, And in that night of horror drew

His curtain o'er ye-troubled men!

Hark, from those beds of pain, a voice

Hark to the whisper from those graves : “Rejoice with fear, and yet rejoice,

In Him that slays, in him that saves!”

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