Oh, when to-morrow's sun shall rise,
And light once more shall glad these eyes,
May I thy blessed Sabbath prove,
A day of holy rest and love.
May my Redeemer's praises claim
My constant thought; the Spirit's flame
Descend, my accents to inspire,
And fill my soul with ballow'd fire.
And when the night of death is come,
And 1 must slumber in the tomb,
Oh, then, my God, this faint heart cheer,
And far dispel the shades of fear;
And teach me, in thy strength, to tread
The path which leads me to the dead,
Assured, when life's hard toils are o'er,
Of rest with Thee for evermore!
THE COTTAGER'S EVENING SONG.
'Tis eventide, the sun's last gleam
Beneath the wave will soon be gone;
But ere it leaves the peaceful stream,
Our daily labour will be done.
'Tis sweet to rest from toil awhile,
And when the shades of night are come,
To meet the cheering welcome smile
That waits us at our peaceful home.
Hark! Hark! the pealing curfew bell
Proclaims the hour of welcome rest,
Ere yet we close our weary eyes
Be grateful hymns to heav'n addressed.
"Lo! I am with you always."-Matt. xxviii. 20.
Is my divine Redeemer near,
Will he be with me still ?
How should my spirit shrink with fear
From all approach of ill.
How should I cleanse my heart within,
And guard against the snares of sin!
When in the house of God I kneel,
And lift my heart to pray-
If wandering thoughts should o'er me steal,
And faith and love decay,
This shall revive my lifeless prayer,
That Christ is ever present there.
When pain and grief my heart oppress,
And dangers gather round,
When in the hour of deep distress,
No help on earth is found.
To comfort me, protect and guide,
The Lord is standing at my side.
When earthly gain, or earthly care,
Would tempt my feet astray,
And lead me into many a snare,
Far from the narrow way-
Yet in that hour I shall not fall,
For Christ is with me when I call.
When mourning o'er the silent dead,
My tears of sorrow flow
When those I loved from earth have fled.
And left me in my woe-
Yet Jesus is my constant Friend,
And will not leave me to the end.
When stretched upon my bed I lie,
In weariness and pain-
When no kind helping hand is nigh,
Or human help is vain-
My Saviour will be present there,
And listen to my dying prayer.
And in that last and awful day,
When heaven and earth shall flee,
Jesus the life, the truth, the way,
In love remember me!
Let me behold Thee face to face,
In thy eternal dwelling place.
WHEN brighter suns and milder skies
Proclaim the opening year,
What various sounds of joy arise!
What prospects bright appear !
The streams, all beautiful and bright,
Reflect the morning sky,
And then, with music in his flight,
The lark ascends on high,
Earth and her thousand voices give,
Their thousand notes of praise,
And we who by his mercy live,
To God our songs will raise.
SUGGESTED BY THE SIGHT OF BISHOP
COVERDALE'S ARM CHAIR, IN THE POS-
SESSION OF G. W. BRAIKENRIDGE, ESQ.,
BROOMWELL HOUSE, BRISTOL.
DID, then, the venerable Coverdale
Own this rude Chair? Did be, whose ardent zeal
First gave to England, God's eternal word
In her own language, rest his aged limbs
In this plain seat of simple workmanship?
Hail valued relic of departed days:
Memorial of past cares, and toil endured,
For God and virtue's sake! How does the sight
Of thy quaint antiquated form call up
The thought of times gone by, of studious hours,
Of nights consumed in anxious solitude,
In saintly meditation, and in prayer
To that most gracious Spirit, which instructs,
To read aright the oracles of God!
Methinks I see the reverend prelate sit,
His rapt eye raised to heaven, and lighted up
With glad anticipation of the fruit
Of that blest tree of knowledge, which his hand
Is planting in his native soil.
I see
His pale face brightly beaming as he reads
Of that all gracious promise, that the wise
Shall shine like to the firmament, and they
That turn their brethren unto righteousness
Even as the stars for ever and ever.
I mark him as he turns the sacred page,
How he draws comfort from the gracious words
Of his Redeemer: "Blessed is the man
Who suffereth persecution for the sake
Of righteousness; for heaven itself is his."
Cheer'd by his Saviour's promise, how his soul
Soars upward! how he plies his much loved task,
Reckless of torture, and the blood-stained sword
Of unrelenting bigotry! He bears
In mind the great Creator's first command,
"Let there be light," and lo, his task is done :
Now lettest thou, thy servant, Lord, depart
In peace, and holy triumph; for his eyes
Have seen the sacred volume shed its light
Upon his native land. England, the word"
Of life is thine ! O prize it as thou ought'st,
And venerate the name of him whose hand,
Dauntless, first gave it to his parent land.
WHO ASKED THE AUTHOR TO WRITE SOME LINES FOR A FIGURE OF TIME.
MAY she for whom these lines are penned,
By using well, make Time her friend;
Then whether he stands still or flies,
Whether the moment lives or dies,
She need not care,-for Time will be
Her friend throughout eternity.
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