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Shall soon in lovelier beauty smile,
To gild the closing day;

And, bursting through the dusky shroud,
That dar'd his pow'r invest,

Ride thron'd in light o'er ev'ry cloud,

And guide you to his rest.

BOWDLER.

LIFE, DEATH, AND ETERNITY.

A SHADOW Moving by one's side,
That would a substance seem,
That is, yet is not,-though descried-
Like skies beneath the stream:
A tree that's ever in the bloom,
Whose fruit is never ripe;
A wish for joys that never come,—
Such are the hopes of Life.

A dark, inevitable night,

A blank that will remain ;
A waiting for the morning light,
When waiting is in vain;

A gulph where pathway never led
To show the depth beneath;

A thing we know not, yet we dread,-
That dreaded thing is Death.

The vaulted void of purple sky

That everywhere extends,

That stretches from the dazzled eye,

In space that never ends:

A morning, whose uprisen sun

No setting e'er shall see;

A day that comes without a noon,-
Such is Eternity.

ANON.

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HYMN.

WHERE high the heav'nly temple stands,
The house of God not made with hands,
A great High Priest our nature wears,
The patron of mankind appears.

He who for men in mercy stood,
And pour'd on earth his precious blood,
Pursues in heav'n his plan of grace,
The guardian God of human race.

Though now ascended up on high,
He bends on earth a brother's eye,
Partaker of the human name,
He knows the frailty of our frame.

Our fellow suff'rer yet retains
A fellow-feeling of our pains;
And still remembers in the skies
His tears, and agonies, and cries.

In ev'ry pang that rends the heart,
The man of Sorrows had a part;
He sympathises in our grief,
And to the suff'rer sends relief.

With boldness, therefore, at the throne
Let us make all our sorrows known.
And ask the aids of heav'nly pow'r,
To help us in the evil hour.

LOGAN.

LOVE OF GOD.

Он! never, never canst thou know
What then for thee the Saviour bore,
The pangs of that mysterious woe

That wrung his frame at ev'ry pore,

The weight that press'd upon his brow,
The fever of his bosom's core!

Yes! man for man perchance may brave
The horrors of the yawning grave;

And friend for friend, or child for sire,
Undaunted and unmov'd expire,
From love-or piety-or pride.
But who can die as Jesus died?

A sweet, but solitary beam,

An emanation from above,

Glimmers o'er life's uncertain dream,-
We hail that beam, and call it Love!
But fainter than the pale star's ray
Before the noontide blaze of day,
And lighter than the viewless sand
Beneath the wave that sweeps the strand,
Is all of love that man can know,-
All that in angel-breasts can glow,—
Compar'd, O Lord of Host! with thine,
Eternal-fathomless-divine!

That love, whose praise, with quenchless fire,
Inflames the blest seraphic choir:

Where perfect rapture reigns above,

And love is all-for THOU art LOVE!

THE SEA,

Ir for a time the air be calm,

Serene and smooth the sea appears,
And shows no danger to alarm

The unexperienc'd landsman's fears;

But if the tempest once arise,

The faithless water swells and raves;

DALE.

Its billows, foaming to the skies,

Disclose a thousand threat'ning graves.

My untry'd heart thus seem'd to me
(So little of myself I knew)
Smooth as the calm unruffled sea,
But, ah! it prov'd as treach'rous too!

The peace of which I had a taste
When Jesus first his love reveal'd,
I fondly hop'd would always last,
Because my foes were then conceal'd.
But when I felt the tempter's pow'r
Rouse my corruptions from their sleep,
I trembled at the stormy hour,

And saw the horrors of the deep.
Now on presumption's billows borne,
My spirit seem'd the Lord to dare;
Now, quick as thought, a sudden turn
Plung'd me in gulfs of black despair.
Lord, save me, or I sink, I pray'd;

He heard, and bid the tempest cease;
The angry waves his word obey'd,
And all my fears were hush'd to peace.

The peace is his, and not my own,
My heart (no better than before)
Is still to dreadful changes prone,
Then let me never trust it more.

NEWTON.

THE DYING HOUR.

Why does the day whose date is brief,
Smile sadly o'er the western sea;

Why does the brown autumnal leaf,
Hang restless on its parent tree;
Why does the rose with drooping head,
Send richer fragrance from the bower?
Their golden time of life had fled-
It was their dying hour.

Why does the swan's melodious song,
Come thrilling on the gentle gale;
Why does the lamb which stray'd along,
Lie down to tell its mournful tale;
Why does the deer when wounded fly

To the lone vale where night-clouds low'r?
Their time was past, they liv'd to die,
It was their dying hour.

Why does the dolphin change its hues,
Like that aerial child of light;
Why does the cloud of night refuse,

To meet the morn with beams so bright;
Why does the man we saw to-day,

To-morrow fade like some sweet flower?
All earth can give must pass away,
It was their dying hour.

WEIR.

RESIGNATION.

OH thou whose mercy guides my way,

Tho' now it seems severe,

Forbid my unbelief to say,
There is no mercy here!

Oh grant me to desire the pain

That comes in kindness down,
More than the world's supremest gain
Succeeded by a frown.

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