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And He-or be thy peaceful way
The dark blue wave, or when afar,
By gathering perils led astray,

Will be thy Morning Star.

Safe in the tempest as the calm,
Art thou that seekest the mercy seat;
Sailor! rejoice, death boasts a charm,

Leading to Jesus' feet.


Has he thy tireless love forgot?

Thy early anxious care-
Are thy gray hairs remembered not?

To prayer, then, sire!—to prayer!
For if thy boy has turned aside

And chosen folly's way,
And for thy tears with scoffs replied,

What can’st thou do but pray?

Is he a wanderer from thy dome

On the world's tossing sea; Where dreaming not of heaven or home

Thy son is lost to thee?
Still, as sad rumor to thy ear

Tells heavily, how frail thy stay,
To Him who bottles every tear,
Go, stricken man, and pray.

Perhaps upon the bed of pain,

Away he lies a victim now;
And seeks a father's hand in vain,

Whose touch might cool his burning brow; While thinking of the holy joy

Thou knew'st, e'er sin knew to betray, For him, that lovely, ruined boy,

Do thou in earnest, pray.

By the bright spring of childhood's love,

That in his countenance once shone; The eyes where meekness like a dove

Sat once—the brow, contentment's throne: The beauty that unto thy heart

Appeals with power of boyhood's day, Go, aged father! weep apart

And trembling, hoping, pray.

And if, for thee, there linger yet

The dregs of this world's bitterest cup, The God thou servest, will not forget

To give thee grace to årink it up; Yet no! not thus will prayer be lost,

Thou yet shalt bless that castaway, And see for him the folly-tost,

The penitent, 'twas good to pray.


SYMBOL of shame-mysterious sign

Of groans, and agonies and blood, Hail, pledge of love and peace divine

From God.

Symbol of hope to those that stray,

The pilgrim's step is led to thee; Star of the soul thou guid'st the way

To Calvary.

Symbol of tears—I look, and mourn

His woes, whose soul for mine was riven; Where, wanderer, is thy due return

To heaven?

Symbol of empire—thou shalt rise

And shine, where lands in darkness sit, On Indian domes that greet the skies

And minaret.

Symbol of glory-when no more

The monarch seeks a fleeting throne, Thy victim once, shall worlds adore

The God alone.





0, TELL me, while the blessed ones
Their wings in worship fold;
Discoursing words of melody
To instruments of gold;
While thousand thousands pass the praise,
Where kneeling ranks are seen;
And voices, as the talk of seas,
Are heard the songs between;
Why should the Saviour turn aside
From notes that ravish so,
And hearken, while inferior chords
Sound up from earth below?


Once, unto Him in Palestine,
Was sung an infant hymn;
When children of Jerusalem
Abashed the Sanhedrim;
And own'd the lowly Teacher, who
Incarnate, was from high;
Whom Jewish men nailed up in scorn,
With murderers to die.

Now, Lord of all, unto his ear
Well pleasing is the song,
That rises with the Sabbath sun,
From childhood's happy throng;

For he that spans the rolling worlds,
And marks the seraph’s way,
Never disdains when infant years
His perfect will obey.

But kindly through disparting skies
His shining way he rends,
To hear the early hymn that with
His upper music blends;
Descending to the lowly praise
That breathes from lips of love,
Unmindful of the song that breaks
Around his throne above.


Then while in blessedness we walk
Where angels never trod,
We'll give, with holy cheerfulness,
The humble heart to God;
On this the Saviour looketh down
From place of cherubim,
And for this worship leaves awhile
The everlasting hymn.

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