Now let us repose from our labour and sorrow, And say to the world, should it tempt us to wander, To-day on that mount we would seek for thy blessing, Our hearts will then feel, thy sweet influence possessing, The sweetness of praise, and the fervor of prayer. THE EVENING HOUR. SWEET evening hour! Sweet evening hour! That brings the wild bee to its nest, The infant to its mother's breast. Sweet hour! that bids the labourer cease, That gives the weary team release, And leads them home, and crowns them there With rest and shelter, food and care. O season of soft sounds and hues, And God receives and answers prayer. Then, trembling, through the dewy skies, And gazing on the world of care. Sweet hour! for heavenly musing made, SILENCE. WHERE dwelleth Silence?-In the cloistered cell?- Of night's sweet choristers, and the faint swell Where, from creation's birth, no human voice That humbles nature in her sternest mood, Its tones are mighty,-'tis the voice of God. WHO IS ALONE? How heavily the path of life Is trod by him who walks alone; Who hears not, on his dreary way, Affection's sweet and cheering tone. Alone, although his heart should bound With love to all things great and fair, They love not him,-there is not one His sorrow or his joy to share. The ancient stars look coldly down Till his remembrance pass away. Nor to his homage deigns reply; The stormy billows bear him forth, Regardless which-to live or die. The floweret blooms unseen by him, Its drooping loveliness to raise. The brute creation own his power, And grateful serve him, though in fear; Yet cannot sympathise with man, For if he weeps, they shed no tear. Alone, though in the busy town, Where hundreds hurry to and fro, If there is none who for his sake A selfish pleasure would forego; And oh! how lonely, among those Who have not skill to read his heart, When first he learns how summer friends At sight of wintry storms depart. My Saviour! and didst Thou too feel How sad it is to be alone, Deserted in the adverse hour By those who most thy love had known? Oh! how couldst Thou, foreseeing it, Forsaken by thy nearest friends, Surrounded by malicious foes, No kindly voice encouraged Thee, When the loud shout of scorn arose. Yet there was calm within thy soul, Nor Stoic pride that calmness kept, Nor Godhead, unapproached by woe, Like man Thou hadst both loved and wept. Thou wert not then alone, for God Sustained Thee by his mighty power; His arm most felt, his care most seen, When needed most in saddest hour; None else could comfort, none else knew How dreadful was the curse of sin ;He who controlled the storm without, Could gently whisper peace within. Who is alone, if God be nigh? Who shall repine at loss of friends, While he has One of boundless power, Whose presence felt, enhances joy, Whose love can stop the flowing tear, And cause upon the darkest cloud The pledge of mercy to appear. MERCY SOUGHT AND FOUND. PILGRIM, burdened with thy sin, Come the way to Zion's gate; There, till mercy speaks within, Knock and weep, and watch and wait: Knock, He knows the sinner's cry; Weep, He loves the mourner's tears; Watch, for saving grace is nigh; Wait, till heavenly grace appears. Hark, it is thy Saviour's voice! "Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest!" Now within the gate rejoice, Safe and owned, and bought and blest. Safe, from all the lures of vice; Owned, by joys the contrite know; Bought, by love, and life the price; Blest, the mighty debt to owe! Holy pilgrim! what for thee In a world like this remains? From thy guarded breast shall flee Fear and shame, and doubts and pains. Fear, the hope of heaven shall fly; Shame, from glory's view retire; Doubt, in full belief shall die; Pain, in endless bliss expire. THE END. |