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1 Oн could we speak the matchless worth,
Oh could we sound the glories forth,
Which in our Saviour shine! -
We'd soar and touch the heavenly strings,
And vie with Gabriel, while he sings,
In notes almost divine.

2 We'd sing the characters he bears,
And all the forms of love he wears,

Exalted on his throne:

In loftiest songs of sweetest praise,
We would, to everlasting days,

Make all his glories known.

3 Oh the delightful day will come, When Christ, our Lord, will bring us home

And we shall see his face!

Then, with our Saviour, Brother, Friend,
A blest eternity we'll spend,
Triumphant in his grace.

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And hail a Saviour's birth: Let songs of joy the day proclaim, When Jesus all-triumphant came To bless the sons of earth!

2 He came to bid the weary rest,
To heal the sinner's wounded breast,
To bind the broken heart;
To spread the light of truth around,
And to the world's remotest bound
The heavenly gift impart.

3 He came our trembling souls to save
From sin, from sorrow, and the grave,
And chase our fears away;
Victorious over death and time,
To lead us to a happier clime,
Where reigns eternal day.

4 Then let our mingling voices rise
In grateful rapture to the skies,
And hail a Saviour's birth;
Let songs of joy the day proclaim,
When Jesus all-triumpuant came,
To bless the sons of earth.

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Beam, like a bow of promise, through the Still, Saviour, in thy name we bear the

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1 COME unto me, when shadows darkly gather,
When the sad heart is weary and distrest,
Seeking for comfort from your heavenly Father:
Come unto me, and I will give you rest.

2 Ye who have mourned when the spring-flowers were taken,
When the ripe fruit fell richly to the ground;
When the loved slept, in brighter homes to waken,

Where their pale brows with spirit-wreaths are crowned,

3 Large are the mansions in thy Father's dwelling,
Glad are the homes that sorrows never dim;

Sweet are the harps in holy music swelling,

Soft are the tones which raise the heavenly hymn.

4 There, like an Eden blossoming in gladness,

Bloom the fair flowers the earth too rudely pressed:
Come unto me, all ye who droop in sadness,

Come unto me, and I will give you rest.

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ANON

E. TAYLOR

I THERE's not a hope with comfort fraught, | 2 His image meets me in the hour
Triumphant over death and time,

But Jesus mingles in the thought,
Forerunner of our course sublime.

Of joy, and brightens every smile;
I see him, when the tempests lower,
Each terror soothe, each grief beguile.

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3 Did not thy spirit shrink dismayed, As the dark vision o'er it came; And, though in sinless strength arrayed, Turn, shuddering, from the death of shame ?

4 Onward, like thee, thro' scorn and dread,
May we our Father's call obey,
Steadfast thy path of duty tread,
And rise, through death, to endless day'

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1 ""Tis finished:

STENNETT.

so the Saviour cried, And meekly bowed his head, and died; "Tis finished: " "yes, the race is run, The battle fought, the victory won.

2 ""Tis finished: " all that Heaven foretold
By prophets in the days of old;
And truths are opened to our view,
That kings and prophets never knew.

3" "Tis finished:" Son of God, thy power
Hath triumphed in this awful hour;
And yet our eyes with sorrow see
That life to as was death to thee

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