As the annual frosts are cropping,
Leaves and tendrils from the trees,
So my friends are yearly dropping,
Through old age and dire disease.
4 Former friends, how oft I've sought 'em,
Just to cheer my drooping mind,
But they've gone, like leaves in autumn,
Driven before the dreary wind.
When a few more years I've wasted,
When a few more springs are gone,
When a few more griefs I've tasted,
I shall live to die no more.
5 Fast, my sun of life's declining,
I must sleep in death's dark night;
But my hope, pure and refining,
Rests in future life and light.
Cease this trembling, fearing, sighing,
Christ will burst the silent tomb,
Then the saints shall upwards flying,
Rise into immortal bloom.
HILE shepherds watch'd their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.
2 "Fear not," said he, (for mighty dread
Had seiz'd their troubled mind;)
"Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind.
3 "To you in David's town, this day,
Is born of David's line,
The Savior who is Christ the Lord;
And this shall be the sign.
4 "The heavenly babe you there shall find
To human view display'd,
All meanly wrapp'd in swathing bands
And in a manger laid."
5 Thus spake the seraph, and forthwith
Appear'd a shining throug
Of angels praising God on high,
And thus address'd their song:
6" All glory be to God on high,
And to the earth be peace;
Good-will, henceforth from heav'n to men,' Begin and never cease."
Death of Christ on the Cross.
BEHOLD the Savior of mankind
Nailed to the shameful tree!
How vast the love that him inclined
To bleed-and die-for me!
2 My God," he cries-all nature shakes, And earth's strong pillars bend!
The temple's vail in sunder breaks-
The solid marbles rend!
3Tis finished-now the ransom's paidReceive my soul," he cries;
Behold he bows his sacred head-
He bows his head and dies!
4 But soon he'll break death's envious chain, And in full glory shine:
O Lamb of God-was ever pain,
Was ever love like thine!
ND let this feeble body fail,
And let it faint and die;
My soul shall quit this mournful vale,
And soar to worlds on high:
Shall join the glorified saints,
And find its long sought rest;
That only bliss for which it pants,
In the Redeemer's breast.
2 In hope of that immortal crown,
I now the cross sustain:
And gladly wander up and down,
And smile at toil and pain.
I suffer on my threescore years,
Till my deliverer come;
And wipe away his servant's tears,
And take his exile home.
3 O what hath Jesus bought for me?
Before my ravished eyes,
Rivers of life divine I see,
And trees of paradise.
I see a host of brethren bright,
Who taste the pleasures there;
They all are rob'd in spotless white,
And conqu'ring palms they bear.
4 0, what are all my suff'rings here,
If Lord thou count me meet,
With that enraptur'd host to appear,
And worship at thy feet.
Giye joy or grief, give ease or pain,
Take life or friends away;
But let me find my friends again,
In that eternal day.
The Macedonian Cry.
BY AMOS SUTTON.
HARK! what cry arrests my ear,
Hark! what accents of despair,
'Tis the heathen's dying prayer;
Friends of Jesus, hear.
2 Men of God, to you we cry,
Rests on you our tearful eye,
Help us, christians, or we die,
Die in dark despair.
3 Hasten, christians, haste to save,
O'er the land, and o'er the wave,
Dangers, Death, and distance brave,
Hark! for help they call.
4 Afric bends her suppliant knee,
Asia spreads her hands to thee,
Hark! they urge the heaven-born plea,
Jesus died for all.
5 Haste then, spread the Savior's name, Snatch the firebrands from the flame, Deck his glorious diadem
With their ransom'd souls.
6 See! the pagan altars fall,
See! the Savior reigns o'er all;
Crown Him! crown Him! Lord of all,
Echoes round the poles.
Monthly Concert of Prayer.
LY, thou heavenly gospel message,
Fly to yonder foreign lands;
Let the Savior's promis'd blessing,
Reach the distant heathen bands.
2 Go, ye heralds of salvation,
Tell the heathen far and wide,
Jesus bled to save lost sinners
Of each nation, tongue and tribe.
30 thou God of grace and mercy,
Send thy spirit from above;
Bless the labors of thy servants,
Let them taste redeeming love.
4 Then shall they of heathen nations
Songs to our Immanuel raise,
In the peaceful realms of glory
Tune their harps to sing His praise.
C. M.
Missionary Hymn.
ROM Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand;
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver
Their land from error's chain.
2 What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle;
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