No! when I blush, be this my shame,

That I no more revere his name. 4 Ashamed of Jesus! Yes, I may,

When I've no guilt to wash away, —
No tear to wipe, no good to crave,

No fears to hush, no soul to save. 5 Till then, nor is my boasting vain,

Till then I boast a Saviour slain!
And O may this my glory be,
Jesus is not ashamed of me!

89. Jesus teaching the People. L. M. Ward.

Bowring. 1 How sweetly flowed the gospel's sound

From lips of gentleness and grace, When listening thousands gathered round,

And joy and reverence filled the place! 2 From heaven he came, of heaven he spoke,

To heaven he led his followers' way;
Dark clouds of gloomy night he broke,

Unveiling an immortal day.
3. “ Come, wanderers, to my Father's home,
Come, al]

ye weary ones, and rest !" Yes, sacred Teacher, we will come,

Obey thee, love thee, and be blest.

90. Jesus' Dying Precept. C.M. Litchfield.

Mrs. Barbauld. 1 BEHOLD where, breathing love divine,

Our dying Master stands ;
His weeping followers, gathering round,

Receive his last commands.

2 From that mild teacher's parting lips

What tender accents fell!
The gentle precept which he gave,

Became its author well.

3 “Blest is the man, whose softening heart

Feels all another's pain;
To whom the supplicating eye

Was never raised in vain,

4 “Whose breast expands with generous warmth,

A stranger's woes to feel;
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound

He wants the power to heal.

5 “ Peace from the bosom of his Lord,

My peace to him I give;
And when he kneels before the throne,

His trembling soul shall live.

6 “To him protection shall be shown;

And mercy from above
Descend on those who thus fulfil

The perfect law of love."

91. “Consider the Lilies of the Feld.” C. M. Clarendon.

Mary Howitt. 1 God might have made the earth bring forth

Enough for great and small,
The oak-tree and the cedar-tree,

Without a flower at all.

2 We might have had enough, enough

For every want of ours,
For luxury, medicine, and toil,

And yet have had no flowers.

JESUS WITHOUT A HOME.

92.

3 Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,

All dyed with rainbow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace,

Upspringing day and night :-
4 Springing in valleys green and low,

And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness

Where no man passes by ?
5 Our outward life requires thern not-

Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,

To beautify the earth;
6 To comfort man,—to whisper hope,

Whene'er his faith is dim;
For who so careth for the flowers,

Will much more care for him.

92. The Son of Man hath not where L. M.

to lay his head. Rockingham.

W. Russell. 1 On the dark wave of Galilee

The gloom of twilight gathers fast,
And o'er the waters drearily

Sweeps the bleak, chilly evening blast. 2 The weary bird hath left the air,

And sink into her sheltered nest;
The wandering beast hath sought his lair,

And laid him down to welcome rest.

3 Still, near the lake, with weary tread,

Lingers a form of human kind;
And from his lone, unshelter'd head,

Flows the chill night damp on the wind.

4 Why seeks not he a home of rest?

Why seeks not he the pillow'd bed ?
Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest,

He hath not where to lay his head!

5 Such was the lot he freely chose,

To bless, to save the human race;
And, through his poverty there flows

A rich, full stream of heavenly grace.

93. The Widow of Nain. 11's & 10's M.

Heber. 1 WAKE not, oh mother! sounds of lamentation !

Weep not, oh widow ! weep not hopelessly! Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation,

Strong is the word of God to succor thee!

him;

2 Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear

Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him:

Widowed and childless, she has lost her all!

3 Why pause the mourners ? who forbids their

weeping ? Who the dark pomp of sorrow hath delayed? "Set down the bier,-he is not dead but sleeping ! Young man, arise !” — He spake, and was

obey'd !

4 Change, then, oh sad one! grief to exultation,

Worship, and fall before Messiah's knee. Strong was his arm, the bringer of salyation,

Strong was the word of God to succor thee!

HE HATH BORNE OUR GRIEFS.

94, 95.

94. “Lo ! It is I, be not afraid." L. M. Hebron.

Sir J. E. Smith. 1 When power divine, in mortal form,

Hushed, with a word, the raging storm,
In soothing accents Jesus said,

“Lo! it is 1,- be not afraid."
2 So when in silence nature sleeps,

And his lone watch the mourner keeps,
This thought shall every fear remove,-

Trust, feeble man, thy maker's love.
3 God calms the tumult and the storm ;

He rules the seraph and the worm ;
No creature is by him forgot,

Of those who know or know him not.
4 And when the last dread hour shall come,

And shuddering nature waits her doom,
This voice shaji wake the pious dead,
“Lo! it is I,- be not afraid."

95. “ He hath borne our griefs.” 6 1. L. M. Eaton.

Grant. 1 When gathering clouds around I view,

And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who, not in vain,
Experienced every human pain;
He sees my wants, allays my fears,

And counts and treasures up my tears. 2 If aught should tempt my soul to stray

From heavenly virtue's narrow way,
To fly the good I should pursue,
Or do the sin I should not do;
Still he, who felt temptation's power,
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.