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Soft hour for holy musing made,

To grief-worn mortals kindly given;
The star-lit hills—the upland glade,—
Seem paths that lead to God and heaven.

O glorious Being! whose abode
Is far beyond this world of care;
I look to Thee, my Father,-God,
And trust Thy dwelling place to share.

Some foretaste of that blissful place
I feel, while from the world thus free,
I seem to meet Thee, face to face-
I seem to walk, my God, with Thee.

WREFORD.

O Thou great God, whose piercing eye
Distinctly marks each deep retreat,
In these sequester'd hours draw nigh,
And let me here Thy presence meet.

Through all the windings of my heart,
My search let heavenly wisdom guide;
And still its beams unerring dart,
Till all be known and purified.

Then let the visits of Thy love
My inmost soul be call'd to share,
Till every grace combine to prove
That God has fix'd His dwelling there.

Doddridge.

M

Blest they who walk with God

By winged intercourse of faith,

And see Him, though invisible, nor feel
His presence least when none beside is nigh,
Nor hear Him least when all are mute beside,

Never less lonely than when thus alone,

Alone with God!

GRINFIELD.

Though unindulg'd His living oracles
Amidst revering saints to hear, and raise
With them the grateful anthem-though the arch
Of azure and the verdant face of earth

Were curtain'd from your sight—nor morning sun,
Nor setting star, nor opening leaf should speak
Of Deity—yet Deity can speak

In that seclusion to your waiting soul;

In that propitious stillness can reveal

The unseen treasures which His grace reserves,
And all things yours in Him. His touch can part
The clouds terrestrial, and infuse a beam

Of heav'nly sunshine through your aching breast;
His strength elate your spirit towards the choir
Circling His throne; the countless multitude
Who wait for ransom'd millions to begin
Their never-ending Sabbath.

ANON.

This sacred shade and solitude, what is it?
'Tis the felt presence of the Deity.
Few are the faults we flatter when alone.

YOUNG.

How cheering the thought that the spirits in bliss
Will bow their bright wings to a world such as this;
Will leave the sweet songs of the mansions above,
To breathe o'er our bosoms some message of love.
They come, on the wings of the morning they come,
Impatient to lead some poor wanderer home :
Some pilgrim to snatch from this stormy abode,
And lay him to rest in the arms of his God.

CUNNINGHAM.

O may Thy angels, while I sleep,
Around my bed their vigils keep,
Their love angelical instil,
Stop every avenue of ill,

May Thy celestial joy rehearse,

And thought to thought with me converse,
BP. KEIM.

The mind with Christian principles imbued,
Loves the dear hour of sacred solitude;
The sweet retirement, where no human gaze
Breaks in upon the soul's unfettered ways,
Where God His glory to the soul reveals ;
Where the awed heart His sacred presence feels:
Where the world shrinks before the thoughtful eye;
Where opes the vista of eternity!

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And a still voice, that through earth's busy hum,
For ever whispers of the world to come;
And, by the pure immortal pleasures there,
Summons the soul to penitence and prayer;

Breaks the dread spell that bound to sense and sin,
And turns the eye of scrutiny within.

There, there, the heart-that hidden world explored,
Yields to the search its deep and cherished hoard,
And many a thought, and many a feeling too,
Which in its shade, unseen, unbidden grew,
Brought to the light, a poisonous plant appears
A root of bitterness-to bathe with tears,
To extirpate with never-ceasing care,
And plant, instead, the Rose of Sharon there.
In such an hour, when fades the flattering glow
That oft invests the shadowy scenes below,
When Conscience scans the secrets of the heart,
And all the illusions of our pride depart;

And Time hath shrunk into his little bound,

And all eternity is open round ;

Then, then, dear Saviour! is Thy cross most dear, And heaven shines brightest through contrition's tear!

ANON.

At evening to myself I say,

My soul, where hast thou glean'd to-day,

Thy labours how bestowed?

What hast thou rightly said or done?

What grace attain'd, or knowledge won,
In following after God?

Rise, O my soul, with thy desires to heaven,

And with divinest contemplation use

Thy time, where time's eternity is given,

WESLEY.

And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;

But down in darkness let them lie;

So live thy better, let thy worst thoughts die!

And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,

On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die !
For in that sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.

To Thee, O Jesu, I direct my eyes,

To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees; To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,

To Thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees: To Thee myself, myself and all I give ;

To Thee I die, to Thee I only live!

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

A soul in commerce with her God is heav'n;
Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life,
The whirls of passion, and the strokes of heart.
A Deity believed is joy begun ;

A Deity adored, is joy advanced;

A Deity beloved, is joy matured.

Each branch of piety delight inspires;

Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next,
O'er death's dark gulph, and all its horror hides;
Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy,

That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still;
Pray'r ardent opens heav'n, lets down a stream

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