Last, but not least, oh, turn within,
With humble hope and fervent prayer;
For in each heart redeemed from sin,
The eternal God is present there.
THE BEAUTIES OF CREATION.
I PRAISED the earth in beauty seen,
With garlands gay of various green;
I praised the sea, whose ample field,
Shone glorious as a silver shield;
And earth and ocean seemed to say,
"Our beauties are but for a day!"
I praised the Sun, whose chariot rolled,
On wheels of amber and of gold;
I praised the moon, whose softer eye,
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky!
And Moon, and Sun, in answer, said,
"Our days of light are numbered."
O God! O good, beyond compare!
If thus thy meaner works are fair!
If thus thy beauties gild the span,
Of ruined earth, and sinful man,
How glorious must the mansion be,
Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee !
BISHOP HEBER.
THOUGHTS ON HEARING THE
CHURCH BELLS CHIME.
YE gentle winds, O waft again that swell,
So soft and sweet, across the deepen'd dell;
Speak to my heart, and not my ear alone,
The hallow'd music of your chasten'd tone;
Chime not in vain, sweet bells, but faithful say,
To rich and poor, neglect me not to day!
Oft have I heard your sacred sounds, and made
Some faint excuse your summons to evade :
But now, to langour and disease a prey,
How doubly dear appears this hallow'd day!
O prove a Sabbath to my mind indeed,
A holy day, from worldly subjects freed.
Aloft my soul, may dove-like pinions bear
Thee far above this atmosphere of care;
Yes, onward bear, till thou a Pisgah's view
Of Canaan blest obtain-Jerusalem New.
Here let my spirit rest, nor back convey
Me down the hills of sin's backsliding way.
Rather like Moses, let me absent be
From all I love on earth, if safe with thee,
To die, with heaven in view, is life exchanged;
To live without it, death, from thee estranged.
Here, Lord, my forehead with thy signet stamp,
If life be spared, supply with oil my lamp.
That hence, how dark soe'er my way may be,
Thy light may guide, thy seal may rescue ine;
And when my Sabbaths on this earth are o'er,
Admit me where blest Sabbaths end no more.
"He is our peace."-Ephe. 11, 14.
PRINCE of peace! control my will,
Bid this struggling heart be still;
Bid my fears and doubtings cease,
Hush my spirit into peace:
Thou hast bought me with thy blood,
Open'd wide the gate to God:
Peace, I ask-but peace must be,
Lord, in being one with thee.
Thou, who still'd the raging deep,
Placidly to child-like sleep;
Thou, whose voice the maniac heard,
Knew, and straight confessed his Lord;
Thou, who hush'd the mourner's cry
Mid maternal agony,-
Chase these doubtings from my heart, Faith, and perfect peace impart.
King of Salem! strong to save,
No triumphant joy I crave;
Let thy spirit's soothing calm
Glide into my soul like balm :
Raise my heart to things above,
Modulate my soul to love:
May thy will, not mine, be done;
May thy will and mine be one.
Saviour at thy feet I fall;
Thou, my life, my God, my all;
Lord of glory, I am thine;
Let thy peace around me shine,
And thy happy servant be
One with God, since one with thee.
SORE was the famine throughout all the bounds
Of Israel, when Elijah, by command
Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook,
No rain-drops fall, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn
Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale;
The withering herbage dies: among the palms
The shrivelled leaves send to the summers gale
An autumn rustle: no sweet songster's lay
Is warbled from the branches; scarce is heard
The rill's faint sound. The prophet looks around
And trusts in God, and lays his silvered head
Upon the flowerless bank; serene he sleeps,
Nor wakes till dawning: then with hands en-
clasped,
And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays
To him who manna on the desert shower'd,
To him who from the rock made fountains gush;
Entranced the man of God remains, till, roused
By sounds of wheeling wings, with grateful heart
He sees the ravens fearless by his side
Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food.
WHO art thou stranger ? Nay, read on
I will not ask thy name or lot;
Whether thy days be well nigh gone
Or in their spring-it matters not;
Thou art my brother! and for thee
Stranger! shall my best wishes be.
Life is a sea of stormy pain;
Thou know'st it, or thou soon wilt know: Thine be the faith that braves the main, When its most angry tempests blow: Thine anchor cast within the veil! None ever knew that mooring fail.
Thine be the love,-refined from sense,-
That seeks its object in the skies,
Draws all its warmth and brightness thence
Its comfort, confidence, and joys;
And be thy best affections giv'n,
To Him, who lov'd thee first, in heaven.
Thine be the refuge,- -ever found
By them who seek in faith and pray'r From all the trials that abound
Throughout this wilderness of care, The faithfulness of him, whose love Storms cannot quench, nor death remove.
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