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THE HEAVENLY CANAAN. WATTS.

There is a land-of pure delight,
Where saints-immortal-reign!
Eternal day excludes the night,
And pleasures-banish pain.
There-everlasting spring abides,
And never-fading flowers;
Death, (like a narrow sea,) divides
This heavenly land from ours.
Sweet fields,-beyond the swelling flood,
Stand dressed-in living green:
So to the Jews fair Canaan-stood,
While Jordan-rolled between.

But timorous mortals start—and shrink
To cross this narrow sea;

And linger,-trembling on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

Oh! could we make our doubts remove
Those gloomy doubts that rise,

And see the Canaan that we love
With unbeclouded eyes;-

Could we-but climb where Moses stood,

And view the landscape o'er,

Not Jordan's stream-nor death's cold flood
Should fright us from the shore.

TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS. CHARLES MACKAY,
Tell me,-ye winged winds,

That round my pathway roar,

Do you not know some spot
Where mortals-weep no more?
Some lone-and pleasant-dell,
Some valley-in the west,
Where,-free from toil-and pain,
The weary soul may rest?
The loud wind softened to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity as it whispered-"No!"
Tell me,-thou mighty-deep,

Whose billows round me-play,
Know'st thou some favored spot,
Some island far away,

Where weary man may find

The bliss-for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never-lives

And friendship never dies?

The loud waves,-rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer-"No!

And thou, serenest moon,

That with such holy face
Dost look upon the earth,
Asleep-in night's embrace,
Tell me, in all thy round,

Hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable-man

Might find a happier—lot?

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded-"No!"
Tell me, my secret soul,

Oh! tell me,-Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place

From sorrow,-sin,—and death?

Is there no happy spot

Where mortals may be blest,
Where grief may find a balm

And weariness a rest?

Faith,-Hope, and Love,-best boons to mortals given,—
Waved their bright wings, and whispered-"Yes!—in heaven!"

THE EXCELLENCE OF GOD'S LAW. PSALM XIX.

The heavens-declare the glory of God; and the firmament showeth his handiwork.

Day-unto day-uttereth speech, and night-unto night-showeth knowledge. There is no speech-nor language where their voice is not heard.

Their line is gone out through all the earth,—and their words to the end of the world. In them-hath he set a tabernacle for the sun.

Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth (as a strong man) to run a race.

His going forth-is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit-unto the ends of it; and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.

The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise-the simple.

The statutes of the Lord-are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the Lord-is pure, enlightening the eyes.

The fear of the Lord-is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the Lord-are true and righteous altogether.

More to be desired are they-than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey-and the honey-comb.

Moreover-by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward.

Who can understand his errors? cleanse thou me-from secret faults.

Keep back thy servant also-from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me: then-shall I be upright, and I shall be innocent from the great transgression.

Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation-of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.

MY PSALM. JOHN G. WHITTIER.

I mourn no more my vanished years;
Beneath a tender rain,

An April rain of smiles and tears,
My heart is young again.

The west winds blow, and, singing low,
I hear the glad streams run;
The windows of my soul I throw
Wide open to the sun.

No longer forward nor behind

I look in hope and fear;

But, grateful, take the good I find,
The best of now and here.

I plow no more a desert land
To harvest weed and tare;
The manna dropping from God's hand
Rebukes my painful care.

I break my pilgrim staff, I lay
Aside the toiling oar;

The angel sought so far away
I welcome at my door.

The airs of spring may never play
Among the ripening corn,
Nor freshness of the flowers of May
Blow through the autumn morn;
Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look
Through fringed lids to heaven,
And the pale aster in the brook
Shall see its image given.

The woods shall wear their robes of praise,

The south wind softly sigh,

And sweet, calm days in golden haze

Melt down the amber sky.

Not less shall manly deed and word

Rebuke an age of wrong;

The graven flowers that wreathe the sword
Make not the blade less strong.

But smiting hands shall learn to heal,

To build as to destroy;

Nor less my heart for others feel

That I the more enjoy.

All as God wills, who wisely heeds

To give or to withhold,

And knoweth more of all my needs

Than all my prayers have told!

Enough that blessings undeserved

Have marked my erring track-
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved
His chastening turned me back.

That more and more a Providence
Of love is understood,

Making the springs of time and sense
Sweet with eternal good.

That death seems but a covered way
Which opens into light,
Wherein no blinded child can stray
Beyond the Father's sight.

That care and trial seem at last,
Through memory's sunset air,
Like mountain ranges overpast,
In purple distance fair.

That all the jarring notes of life
Seem blending in a psalm,
And all the angles of its strife
Slow rounding into calm.

And so the shadows fall apart,

And so the west winds play;

And all the windows of my heart

I open to the day.

CONFIDENCE IN GOD'S PROTECTION. PSALM XXVII.

The Lord-is my light-and my salvation; whom-shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

When the wicked,—even mine enemies, and my foes,-came upon me-to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.

Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear; though war-should rise against me,-in this will I be confident.

One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord-all the days of life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.

For in the time of trouble, he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock.

And now shall mine head be lifted up-above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the Lord.

Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and

answer me.

When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart-said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek.

Hide not thy face far from me; put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help: leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.

When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up. Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine

enemies.

Deliver me not over-unto the will of mine enemies: for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty.

I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord-in the land of the living.

Wait-on the Lord: be of good courage, and he-shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.

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 spirit,-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?"

CHRIST IN THE TEMPEST. J. G. WHITTIER.

Storm-on the heaving waters! The vast sky—
Is stooping-with its thunder. Cloud-on cloud
Rolls heavily-in the darkness, like a shroud—
Shaken by midnight's Angel-from on high;
Through the thick sea-mist, faintly—and afar,
Chorazin's watch-light-glimmers like a star,
And (momently) the ghastly cloud-fires-play
On the dark sea-wall of Capernaum's bay;
And tower—and turret—into light spring forth,
Like specters-starting from the storm-swept earth;
And vast-and awful, Tabor's mountain form,
Its Titan forehead—(naked to the storm,)

Towers-for one instant,-full-and clear,-and then-
Blends with the blackness-and the cloud again.

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