JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING.

SOMETIMES a light surprises

The Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord, who rises

With healing in His wings.
When comforts are declining,
He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining,
To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation,

We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,

And find it ever new;
Set free from present sorrow,
We cheerfully can say,
E'en let the unknown to-morrow
Bring with it what it may !

It can bring with it nothing
But He will bear us through;
Who gives the lilies clothing

Will clothe His people too.
Beneath the spreading heavens,
No creature but is fed;
And He who feeds the ravens

Will give His children bread.
The vine nor fig-tree neither

Their wonted fruit should bear, Though all the fields should wither,

Nor flocks nor herds be there:
Yet God the same abiding

His praise shall tune my voice,
For, while in Him confiding,
I cannot but rejoice.

CHARITY.

WILLIAM COWPER.

COULD I command, with voice or pen,
The tongues of angels and of men,
A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass,
My speech and preaching would surpass;
Vain were such eloquence to me,
Without the grace of charity.
Could I the martyr's flame endure,
Give all my goods to feed the poor-
Had I the faith from Alpine steep
To hurl the mountain to the deep-

What were such zeal, such power, to me Without the grace of charity?

Could I behold with prescient eye Things future, as the things gone byCould I all earthly knowledge scan, And mete out heaven with a spanPoor were the chief of gifts to me Without the chiefest-charity.

Charity suffers long, is kind—

Charity bears a humble mind
Rejoices not when ills befall,
But glories in the weal of all;
She hopes, believes, and envies not,
Nor vaunts, nor murmurs o'er her lot.
The tongues of teachers shall be dumb,
Prophets discern not things to come,
Knowledge shall vanish out of thought,
And miracles no more be wrought;
But charity shall never fail-
Her anchor is within the veil.

JAMES MONTGOMERY

FOR BELIEVERS. THOU hidden source of calm repost, Thou all-sufficient love divine, My help and refuge from my foes, Secure I am if Thou art mine! And lo! from sin, and grief, and shame, I hide me, Jesus, in Thy name.

Thy mighty name salvation is,

And keeps my happy soul above; Comfort it brings, and power, and peace, And joy, and everlasting love; To me, with Thy dear name, are given Pardon, and holiness, and heaven.

Jesus, my all in all Thou art—

My rest in toil, my ease in pain;
The medicine of my broken heart;

In war my peace; in loss my gain;
My smile beneath the tyrant's frown ;
In shame my glory and my crown:
In want my plentiful supply;

In weakness my almighty power:
In bonds my perfect liberty;

My light in Satan's darkest hour;
In grief my joy unspeakable;
My life in death, my heaven in hell.

CHARLES WESLNI

Nothing in heaven above;

DIVINE LOVE.

THOU hidden love of God! whose height,
Whose depth unfathomed, no man knows-
I see from far Thy beauteous light,
Inly I sigh for thy repose.

My heart is pained; nor can it be
At rest till it finds rest in Thee.

Thy secret voice invites me still

The sweetness of Thy yoke to prove; And fain I would; but though my will Seem fixed, yet wide my passions rove; Yet hindrances strew all the way

I aim at Thee, yet from Thee stray.

'Tis mercy all, that Thou hast brought My mind to seek her peace in Thee! Yet while I seek, but find Thee not,

No peace my wandering soul shall see. Oh when shall all my wanderings end, And all my steps to Theeward tend?

Is there a thing beneath the sun

That strives with Thee my heart to share i Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone

The Lord of every motion there! Then shall my heart from earth be free, When it hath found repose in Thee.

Oh hide this self from me, that I

No more, but Christ in me, may live! My vile affections crucify,

Nor let one darling lust survive! In all things nothing may I see, Nothing desire or seek, but Thee

O Love, Thy sovereign aid impart

To save me from low-thoughted care; Chase this self-will through all my heart, Through all its latent mazes there; Make me Thy duteous child, that I Ceaseless may "Abba, Father," cry!

Ah, no! ne'er will I backward turnThine wholly, Thine alone I am;

Give me Thy only love to know,

Give me Thy only love!

CHARLES WESLEY.

Earth's toys, for Thee his constant flame. Oh help, that I may never move

From the blest footsteps of Thy love!

Each moment draw from earth away
My heart, that lowly waits Thy call;
Speak to my inmost soul, and say

"I am thy love, thy God, thy all!" To feel Thy power, to hear Thy voice, To taste Thy love, be all my choice.

GERHARD TERSTEEGEN. (German.) Translation of JOHN WESLEY.

LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.

In the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick at heart, and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When his potion and his pill,
His or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill—
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing bell doth toll, And the Furies, in a shoal, Come to fright a parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said
Because my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I'm tost about
Either with despair or doubt,
Yet before the glass be out,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tempter me pursu'th With the sins of all my youth, And half damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the flaines and hellish cries Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the judgment is revealed,
And that opened which was sealed-
When to Thee I have appealed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

ROBERT HERRICK.

OH! FEAR NOT THOU TO DIE

Oh fear not thou to die-

Far rather fear to live!-for life

Has thousand snares thy feet to try,
By peril, pain, and strife.

Brief is the work of death;

But life the spirit shrinks to see

How full, ere heaven recalls the breath, The cup of woe may be.

Oh fear not thou to die

No more to suffer or to sin

No snare without, thy faith to try—
No traitor heart within;

But fear, oh rather fear

The gay, the light, the changeful scene, The flattering smiles that greet thee here From heaven thy heart to wean.

Оn fear not thou to die-
To die and be that blessed one

Who in the bright and beauteous sky
May feel his conflict done-

May feel that never more

The tear of grief, of shame, shall come, For thousand wanderings from the power Who loved and called thee home.

ANONYMOUS

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

VITAL spark of heavenly flame.
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying-
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper: angels say,
Sister spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul! can this be death?

The world recedes-it disappears;
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:

Lend, lend your wings! I mount, I fly!
O grave! where is thy victory?

O death! where is thy sting?

ALEXANDER Pope.

THE VALEDICTION.

VAIN world, what is in thee? What do poor mortals see Which should esteemed be

Worthy their pleasure?

Is it the mother's womb,
Or sorrows which soon come,
Or a dark grave and tomb;

Which is their treasure' How dost thou man deceive

By thy vain glory? Why do they still believe

Thy false history?

Is it children's book and rod,
The laborer's heavy load,
Poverty undertrod,

The world desireth?
Is it distracting cares,
Or heart-tormenting fears,
Or pining grief and tears,

Which man requireth?

Or is it youthful rage,

Or childish toying? Or is decrepit age

Worth man's enjoying?

Is it deceitful wealth,
Got by care, fraud, or stealth,
Or short, uncertain health,

Which thus befool men?
Or do the serpent's lies,
By the world's flatteries
And tempting vanities,

Still overrule them?
Or do they in a dream

Sleep out their season? Or borne down by lust's stream, Which conquers reason?

The silly lambs to-day
Pleasantly skip and play,
Whom butchers mean to slay,

Perhaps to-morrow;

In a more brutish sort
Do careless sinners sport,
Or in dead sleep still snort,
As near to sorrow;

Till life, not well begun,

Be sadly ended,
And the web they have spun
Can ne'er be mended.

What is the time that 's gone,
And what is that to come?
Is it not now as none?

The present stays not.
Time posteth, oh how fast!
Unwelcome death makes haste;
None can call back what's past--
Judgment delays not;

Though God bring in the light,
Sinners awake not-
Because hell's out of sight,

They sin forsake not.

Man walks in a vain show;
They know, yet will not know;
Sit still when they should go-
But run for shadows,
While they might taste and know
The living streams that flow,
And crop the flowers that grow,

In Christ's sweet meadows.

Life's better slept away

Than as they use it;

In sin and drunken play Vain men abuse it.

Malignant world, adieu!
Where no foul vice is new-
Only to Satan true,

God still offended;

Though taught and warned by God, And His chastising rod,

Keeps still the way that's broad,

Never amended. Baptismal vows some make,

But ne'er perform them; If angels from heaven spake, 'Twould not reform them.

They dig for hell beneath,
They labor hard for death,
Run themselves out of breath
To overtake it.
Hell is not had for naught,
Damnation 's dearly bought,
And with great labor sought-

They'll not forsake it.
Their souls are Satan's fee-

He'll not abate it. Grace is refused that 's freeMad sinners hate it.

Vile man is so perverse,
It's too rough work for verse
His badness to rehearse,

And show his folly;
He'll die at any rates-

He God and conscience hates,
Yet sin he consecrates,

And calls it holy.
The grace he 'll not endure
Which would renew him-
Constant to all, and sure,

Which will undo him.

His head comes first at birth,
And takes root in the earth-
As nature shooteth forth,

His feet grow highest,
To kick at all above,
And spurn at saving love;
His God is in his grove,

Because it's righost;

He loves this world of strife,

Hates that would mend it; Loves death that's called life,

Fears what would end it.

All that is good he'd crush,
Blindly on sin doth rush-
A pricking thorny bush,

Such Christ was crowned with; Their worship 's like to this

The reed, the Judas kiss:
Such the religion is

That these abound with;
They mock Christ with the knee
Whene'er they bow it-

As if God did not see

The heart, and know it.

Of good they choose the least,
Despise that which is best-
The joyful, heavenly feast.

Which Christ would give them:
Heaven hath scarce one cold wish:
They live unto the flesh;
Like swine they feed on wash-

Satan doth drive them. Like weeds, they grow in mire Which vices nourishWhere, warmed by Satan's fire,

All sins do flourish.

Is this the world men choose,
For which they heaven refuse,
And Christ and grace abuse.
And not receive it?
Shall I not guilty be

Of this in some degree,
If hence God would me free,

And I'd not leave it?
My soul, from Sodom fly,

Lest wrath there find thee; Thy refuge-rest is nigh

Look not behind thee! There's none of this ado, None of the hellish crew; God's promise is most true

Boldly believe it.

My friends are gone before,
And I am near the shore;
My soul stands at the door-
O Lord, receive it