Thus, though soul-sick, and wounded sore

With grievous sin,

Which doth begin

To fester, rankling more and more,

Thy Word shows whence help may be had, And doth me guide

To Christ's pierced side,

Whence flows the balm of Gilead.

Yea, though in me no life remain,
Thy Word is good,

And living food,

Which fetcheth me to life again.

Would I prolong this life for ever?
The Scripture shows

Whence water flows,

Pure streams, which whoso drinks dies never.

The Lord be blest who thus provides,
And filleth full

My empty soul,

With food which evermore abides.

Bless God, my soul, that thus hath given
Strength, light, guide, way,

Lest thou shouldst stray

In this thy pilgrimage to heaven.

This Book, these sentences, these lines,
Each word and letter

To me are better

Than chains of pearl and golden mines.

'Tis heaven transcribed, and glory penned ;

God's truth no doubt

Was copied out,

When He His gift to men did send.

'Tis truth itself: God doth intend
Man's word shall fall,

Heaven, earth, and all;

But this shall never have an end.

My soul, admire that hand and quill,
That did produce,

For sinner's use,

Th' eternal mind! the sovereign will!

Adore the Author too, and when
Thou canst not raise

Sufficient praise,

Sit down, and wondering say Amen!

THE OLDEST CHRISTIAN HYMN.

Said to be the most ancient hymn of the Primitive Church; it is found among the works of Clement of Alexandria, in Greek.

SHEPHERD of tender youth!

Guiding in love and truth,

Through devious ways;

Christ, our triumphant King,
We come thy name to sing,
And here our children bring,
To shout thy praise.

AUTUMN.

WITH bread, the heart of man to cheer,
See, bending low, the ripened ear

Bow its luxuriant head!

In vain, ye swains, had been your care,
Had not He caused the blight to spare
The promise of the summer fair;
And bid the sun, the rain, the air,
Their kindly influence shed.

He bade the soft, refreshing gale,
Blow gently down the teeming vale,
Nor hurt the rising grain ;

But when the ear began to rise,
To Him were raised our anxious eyes:
Oft from the cisterns of the skies
He sent, in mercy, rich supplies-
Early and latter rain.

And now His hand has crowned our toil,
We joy like those who share the spoil,
The harvest-home to bear!

With shouts the smiling pastures ring;
With grateful hearts, ye reapers, sing
The praise of Heaven's eternal King,
Through whose paternal care ye bring
The produce of the year!

COLLYER.

THE RULER OF THE STORM.

I WAS tossed on the billows of life;
I endeavoured their rage to control;
More fierce grew the turbulent strife;
The waters went over my soul.

In the midst of the pitiless storm
One appeared who was mighty to save;
The darkness was chased by His form;
He trod on the fathomless wave.

In His looks, in His words, was a charm
Which commanded the tempest to cease;

The billows were hushed to a calm;
Within and without there was peace.

CUNNINGHAM.

THE RANSOMED.

WEEP not for the ransomed; for the Master has come; And is calling His washed and redeemed ones home; The great and good Shepherd, of His infinite love,

Is gathering His flock to the sheepfold above.

They have gone to their rest, where the righteous rejoice,
For they ran at His bidding, and followed His voice.
Oh! His mercy and goodness have been ever of old
To the sheep of His pasture, and lambs of His fold ;