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Hopes, from him, our hearts expanding, Like a river, still increase:

Hear him cry, with voice commanding, "Love as brethren, dwell in peace!"

As we trust a Saviour's merit,
And in heaven aspire to live,
Grant us, Lord! the quiet spirit,
Hearts that injuries can forgive.

Sins of ours, beyond recounting,
At the feet of Christ we lay;
What the virtues of that fountain
Which the whole can wash away!

Shall we anger's deep defilement
Cherish, in despite of heaven?
Shall we spurn at reconcilement,
Who so oft have been forgiven?

Shall we, brethren, young or hoary,
Hope to meet in yonder fold,
Yet while travelling on to glory,
With them no communion hold?

If offence, that folly gave us,
Should our faith and patience try;
Like our Lord, who died to save us,
Let us meekly pass it by.

What, our solemn obligation,

If true grace our hearts renew, While we seek our own salvation, To forgive our brother too!

DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN.

THOU art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,

Tho' sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb, Thy Saviour has pass'd through its portal before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the

gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave, we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side: But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died. Thou art gone to the grave, and its mansion forsaking, Perhaps thy tried spirit in fear linger'd long : But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on thy waking,

And the sound which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore

thee,

Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and

guide:

He gave thee, and took thee, and he will restore thee, And death has no sting, for the Saviour hath died. BP. HEBER.

MISSIONARY HYMN.

FROM Greenland's Icy mountains,

From India's coral strand,

Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand:

From many an ancient river,
From many a balmy plain,
They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft on Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile!

In vain, with lavish kindness,
The gifts of heaven are strewn,
The heathen, in his blindness,
Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to man benighted
The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! Oh, Salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation
Has learnt Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, his story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till like a sea of glory

It spreads from pole to pole:
Till o'er our ransom'd nature
The Lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign.

BP. HEBER.

THE PILGRIM'S SONG.

SONS of sorrow and care,

All pilgrims we are,

Pressing onward, and bound to the Canaan afar; The sunshine and rain,

Both trouble and pain,

We must cheerfully bear, the crown to obtain.

Come, let us rejoice,

With our heart and our voice,

Our master is God! and his service our choice; His image we bear,

His Spirit we share,

And with gladness like ours no joy can compare.

In our paths to and fro,
Wherever we go,

To his cloud, and his pillar, our safety we owe;
But the gift, not denied,

Which exceeds all beside,

Is the gift of his Son, who on Calvary died!

When from earth we remove,

The fruit of his love!

We shall dwell evermore in the mansions above! This inheritance pure,

This portion is sure,

Which, when suns pass away, with himself shall endure.

With Immanuel our friend,
While before him we bend,

We shall soon with the angels eternity spend !

In those regions of praise,

New songs we shall raise,

To the Lamb that was slain, and the Ancient of

Days!

HYMN TO NIGHT.

BEAUTEOUS Night-all hail!
Wert thou not given

For high devotion, and the deep
Utterance of burning thoughts that leap
Upwards to heaven.

Beauteous Night-all hail!
The earth, the sea,

And nature stretching far and wide,
Have language, grandeur, glory, pride,
Even from thee.

Beauteous Night-all hail!
Sweetly the soul

Amid thy dews can quench and steep
Those fiery longings that o'erleap
Nature's control.

Beauteous Night-all hail!
Thy raven plume

Fans giddy laughter from the brow,
And contemplation's holy glow
Is in thy gloom.

Beauteous Night-all hail!
Thou dost unseal

The sacred coffers of the soul,
And bid'st their hidden treasures roll,
Though lock'd in steel.

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