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Canaan was theirs, and in it all

The proudest hope of kings dare claim ; Sion was theirs; and at their call

Fire from Jehovah came.

Yet monarchs walk'd as pilgrims still

In their own land, earth's pride and grace ; And seers would mourn on Sion's hill

Their Lord's averted face.

Vainly they tried the deeps to sound

Even of their own prophetic thought, When of Christ crucified and crown'd

His Spirit in them taught :

But He their aching gaze repress'd

Which sought behind the veil to see, For not without us fully bless'd"

Or perfect might they be.

The rays of the Almighty's face

No sinner's eye might then receive;

n Hebrews xi. 40. That they without us should not be made perfect.

Only the meekest man found graceo

To sec his skirts and live.

But we as in a glass espy

The glory of His countenance, Not in a whirlwind hurrying by

The too presumptuous glance,

But with mild radiance every hour,

From our dear Saviour's face benign Bent on us with transforming power,

Till we, too, faintly shine.

Sprinkled with His atoning blood

Safely before our God we stand, As on the rock the Prophet stood,

Beneath His shadowing hand.



which see the things we see! And yet this tree of life hath prov'd To many a soul a poison tree,

Beheld, and not belov’d.

• Exod. xxxiii. 20-23.

So like an angel's is our bliss

(Oh! thought to comfort and appall) It needs must bring, if us'd amiss,

An angel's hopeless fall.



And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed ? but where are the nine ? There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger. St. Luke xvii. 17, 18,

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TEN cleans'd, and only one remain !
Who would have thought our nature's strain
Was dyed so foul, so deep in grain ?

Even He who reads the heart,
Knows what He gave and what we lost,
Sin's forfeit, and redemption's cost,-
By a short pang of wonder cross'd

Seems at the sight to start :

Yet 'twas not wonder, but His love
Our wavering spirits would reprove,


That heaven-ward seem so free to move

When earth can yield no more:
Then from afar on God we cry;
But should the mist of woe roll by,
Not showers across an April sky

Drift, when the storm is o'er,

Faster than those false drops and few
Fleet from the heart, a worthless dew,
What sadder scene can angels view

Than self-deceiving tears,
Pour’d idly over some dark page
Of earlier life, though pride or rage
The record of to-day engage,
A woe for future



Spirits, that wound the sick man's bed Watch’d, noting down each prayer he made, Were your unerring roll display'd,

His pride of health to'abase ; Or, when soft showers in season fall Answering a famish’d nation's call, Should unseen fingers on the wall

Our vows forgotten trace ;

How should we gaze

in trance of fear ! Yet shines the light as thrilling clear From heaven


that scroll severe, " Ten cleans'd and one remain !” Nor surer would the blessing prove Of humbled hearts, that own thy love, Should choral welcome from above

Visit our senses plain :

Than by Thy placid voice and brow,
With healing first, with comfort now,
Turnd upon him, who hastes to bow

Before thee, heart and knee; “ Oh! thou, who only would'st be blest, « On thee alone my blessing rest! “Rise, go thy way in peace, possess'd

66 For evermore of me."

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