WISDOM.

ERE God had built the mountains,
Or rais'd the fruitful hills;
Before he fed the fountains

That feed the running rills;
In me from everlasting,

The wonderful I AM

Found pleasures never wasting,

And Wisdom is my name.

When, like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad,
And swath'd about the swelling
Of ocean's mighty flood;

He wrought by weight and measure;

And I was with him then :
Myself the Father's pleasure,
And mine, the sons of men.

Thus wisdom's words discover
Thy glory and thy grace,
Thou everlasting lover
Of our unworthy race!
Thy gracious eye survey'd us
Ere stars were seen above;
In wisdom thou hast made us,
And died for us in love.

And couldst thou be delighted
With creatures such as we!

Who, when we saw thee slighted
And nail'd thee to a tree?
Unfathomable wonder,

And mystery divine!

The voice that speaks in thunder,
Says, "Sinner, I am thine!"

HOPE BEYOND THE GRAVE.

My soul, this curious house of clay,
Thy present frail abode,

Must quickly fall to worms a prey,
And thou return to God.

Canst thou by faith survey with joy

The change before it come?

And say, "Let death this house destroy, I have a heavenly home;

"The Saviour. whom I then shall see
With new admiring eyes,
Already has prepar'd for me
A mansion in the skies.

"I feel this mud-wall cottage shake,
And long to see it fall,

That I my willing flight may take
To him who is my all!"

Burden'd and groaning then no more,
My rescued soul shall sing,
As up the shining path I soar,
"Death, thou hast lost thy sting."

Dear Saviour, help us now to seek
And know thy grace's power;
That we may all this language speak,
Before the dying hour.

POOR, YET RICH.

"POOR and afflicted," Lord, are thine, Among the great unfit to shine;

But though the world may think it strange, They would not with the world exchange.

"Poor and afflicted," yes, they are,
They're not exempt from grief and care;
But he who saved them by his blood,
Makes every sorrow yield them good.

"Poor and afflicted," 'tis their lot, They know it, and they murmur not; 'Twould ill become them to refuse The state their Master deign'd to choose.

"Poor and afflicted," but ere long They'll join the bright celestial throng; Their sufferings then will reach a close, And heav'n afford them sweet repose.

And while they walk the thorny way,
They're often heard to sigh, and say-
"Dear Saviour, come, O quickly come!
And take thy mourning pilgrims home."

THE CHRISTIAN IN DEATH.

THY triumphs, Faith, we need not take
Alone from the blest martyr's stake;
In scenes obscure no less we see
That Faith is a reality;

An evidence of things not seen,
A substance firm whereon to lean.

Go, search the cottager's lone room,
The day scarce piercing through the gloom;
The Christian on his dying bed,
Unknown, unlettered, hardly fed;
No flattering witnesses attend,
To tell how glorious was his end;
Save in the book of life, his name
Unheard. He never dreamt of fame;

No human consolation near,

No voice to soothe, no friend to cheer;
Of every earthly stay bereft,

And nothing-but his SAVIOUR left.

Fast sinking to his kindred dust,
The word of life is still his trust;
The joy God's promises impart,
Lies like a cordial at his heart;
Unshaken Faith its strength supplies,
He loves, believes, adores, and dies!

HUMILITY.

THE bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,

Sings in the shade when all things rest :