The dead are moving underneath!
Their prison door is rent away!
And ghastly with the seal of death,
They wander in the eye of day!
The temple of the cherubim—
The house of God, is cold and dim,-
A curse is on its trembling walls-
Its mystic veil asunder falls.

Well may the mighty holds of earth
Be shaken, and her mountains nod!
Well may the sheeted dead come forth
To gaze upon a suffering God!
Well may the temple shrine grow dim,
And shadows veil the cherubim,
When He, the chosen One of heaven,
A sacrifice for guilt is given !

And shall the sinful heart alone,

Behold unmoved the atoning hour,
When Nature trembles on her throne
And Death resigns his iron power?
Oh, shall the heart whose sinfulness
Gave keenness to His sore distress
And added tears to His blood,
Refuse its trembling gratitude!

*

*

* Oh! my soul,

Muse on that awful moment, till a sense
Of sin's exceeding sinfulness be wrought

ANON.

Into thy very nature, till thou shrink'st
With liveliest instinct, more abhorrent fear,
From that which nailed thy Saviour to the cross,
Thee from the everlasting pains of hell
Redeemed. Muse on that awful moment, till
A flame of heaven-descended rapture fall
Upon the incense of thy gratitude,

And raise the kindled offering to thy God.

MARRIOTT.

*

But Oh! what offering shall I give
To Thee, the Lord of earth and skies?
My spirit, soul, and flesh receive,

A holy, living sacrifice,

Small as it is, 'tis all my store :

More should'st Thou have, if I had more.

WESLEY.

Lord, on whose bounty we depend,
By whom alone all creatures live,—
The countless blessings Thou dost send,
With grateful hearts may we receive;
And while Thy streams of mercy pour,
Thy gracious providence adore.

Blest be Thy name for earthly good!
Thrice blest for richer mercies giv'n
So freely through the Saviour's blood ;-
Thy peace on earth, the hope of heav'n :
Still on our lives with favour shine,
And all our hearts, O God, be Thine!

Lord of all power and might!

Our heart's deep praise be Thine;
We hail Thee with the morning light,
And our last thought and best at night,
Is of Thy love divine!

ANON.

Father, I want a thankful heart,
I want to taste how good Thou art ;
To plunge me in Thy mercy's sea,
And comprehend Thy love to me;

The length and breadth, and depth and height,
Of love divinely infinite.

TOPLADY.

Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heaven with hallelujahs rang,

When Jehovah's work began,
When He spake, and it was done.

Songs of praise awoke the morn,
When the Prince of Peace was born;
Songs of praise arose, when He
Captive led captivity.

Heaven and earth must pass away,
Songs of praise shall crown that day :
God will make new heavens and earth,
Songs of praise shall hail their birth.

And will man alone be dumb,
Till that glorious kingdom come?
No; the Church delights to raise
Psalms and hymns, and songs of praise.

Saints below, with heart and voice,
Still in songs of praise rejoice;
Learning here, by faith and love,
Songs of praise to sing above.

Borne upon their latest breath,

Songs of praise shall conquer death ;

Then amidst eternal joy,

Songs of praise their powers employ.

MONTGOMERY.

What shall we offer Thee, Thou God of love,

Thou who didst build the heavens and mould the earth;

Thou who didst hang the sparkling stars above,

And calledst from darkness light and beauty forth;

From all the treasures of the earth and sea,
What shall we offer Thee?

There is a voice which saith, "Oh, dearer far,
Than all the earthly treasures ye can give,

The pure aspirings of the spirit are,

When in the light of Truth it loves to live.” This be our offering at Thy holy shrine,

Our hearts, our hearts be Thine!

M. A. BROWNE.

I come, my Lord, to offer up to Thee
A worthless, but a willing offering;
A heart, where only evil I can see,

Yet not for that, refuse the gift I bring;
Oh, deign to accept it—cast each evil out,
And make it pure, and new, within, without.

I come, my Lord, to offer up to Thee,

All that that heart can dictate or perform; Let Thy blest Spirit its comptroller be,

Let Thy pure love its every movement warm; And make that heart, once sin's defiled abode, The holy habitation of my God.

I come, my Lord, to offer up to Thee

The brief remainder of life's fleeting span ; Whate'er I have, or am, Thine own shall be, Without Thee, I will form no wish nor plan; Time, talents, influence, actions, thoughts and words, All, all be unreservedly my Lord's.

I come, my Lord, to offer up to Thee

A creature, made Thine own by every tie; Hast Thou not formed, preserved, and ransomed me ? Oh, didst Thou not, to pay my ransom, die?

Lord, at Thy feet my worthless self I lay,

Oh, never, never cast me thence away!

"INVALID'S HYMN BOOK."