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Eternal Lord-I hail

The Night no more;

For where thou art there is no night,
And thou art with me ever bright;
Let me adore !

Teach me in love to hail
The sacred blaze

Of thy perfections, oft impress'd
Upon this darken'd world-the breast;
And let me praise.

Teach me in faith to hail
The thoughts that bear

The soul on eagle's wings afar,
Beyond dark night's remotest star,
In silent prayer.

W. MARTIN.

"YE ARE BORN OF LOVE."

OH! God, the bright effulgence of thy love
Alone commingles soul with soul,
And blends all spirits into one

Perfect and holy union,

Forming an eternal, happy whole
Of the redeem'd and good.

To the pure spirits in their purest glow
Can mingle-thou alone their light,
Their life, their essence; then they know
How beautiful and bright

Delightful friendship, sainted virtue, is;

Their thoughts true witnesses.

Indwelling, but yet circumscribing all,

Thy light and love are present-and when felt, The husks of this gross being fall,

And the fierce carnal passions melt.

God lives within us-we in him;

And worlds are but as dross, and suns grow dim.

Then we arise in a new atmosphere,

And glory that would dazzle, now becomes

Our vital air-all bright, all clear

The doubts and darkness-God illumes The soul, the sense, the universe of mind,

And being is within His brighter being shrined. W. MARTIN.

PREPARATION.

SUPREME High-Priest, the pilgrim's light,

My heart for thee prepare;

Thine image stamp, and deeply write

Thy superscription there :

Ah, let my forehead bear thy seal,

My arm thy badge retain,

My heart the inward witness feel
That I am born again.

Into thy humble mansion come,
Set up thy dwelling here:
Possess my heart, and leave no room
For sin to harbour there:

Ah, give me, Lord, the single eye,
Which aims at nought but thee:
I fain would live, and yet not I,
But Jesus live in me.

O that the penetrating sight,
And eagle's eyes were mine!
Undazzled at the boundless light
Of Majesty divine;

That with the armies of the sky
I, too, may sit and sing,

Add, Saviour, to the eagle's eye,
The dove's aspiring wing.

TOPLADY.

GOD THE INSCRUTABLE.

FATHER Eternal, when I think of thee
My Spirit sinks :

The blaze of thy Divinity,

Too much for poor humanity,

Makes vain Thought a shade;

The mind o'erpower'd with glory shrinks-
Shrinks in thy presence all so bright;
The soul is dazzled, and the senses fade,
Like darkness into light.

Yet though my Spirit seems in glory lost,
And though thy ways

Cannot be scann'd, or measured, and a host
Of thy perfections, and thy Wisdom most,
Around me blaze-

Yet thy diviner Love upon my heart
In full and gentle softness glows,

As the sweet evening sun-beam doth impart
Its beauty to the rose.

Yes, though my soul in thy Light still may blench,

Yet in thy Love

H

I languish, and my fiery longings quench,
Can draw a comfort and a solace thence;
And when above

I soar on wings of wondering ecstasy,
Oh, then it is I sink unto my rest,
As the exhausted lark drops from the sky
Into its native nest.

W. MARTIN.

RISE, MY SOUL.

RISE, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise from transitory things,

Toward heaven thy native place.
Sun, and moon, and stars decay,

Time shall soon this earth remove;

Rise, my soul, and haste away
To seats prepared above.

Rivers to the ocean run,

Nor stay in all their course;
Fire ascending seeks the sun;
Both speed them to their source.
So a soul that's born of God,

Pants to view his glorious face;
Upwards tends to his abode,
To rest in his embrace.

Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn,
Press onward to the prize;

Soon the Saviour will return

Triumphant in the skies.

IN JOY OR SORROW LET US PRAY.

Yet a season, and you know
Happy entrance will be given,
All our sorrow left below,

And earth exchanged for heaven.

MADAN.

IN JOY OR SORROW LET US PRAY.

WHEN joyfully and merrily
The golden hours fly by,

Like blithe young morning birds upon
A summer's cloudless sky.
When pleasure sparkles o'er the heart,
Like sun-beams on the sea,
Oh, let me not, all-righteous One,
Forget my prayers to thee.

For do not this false earth's delights,
That seem the eye to daze,

Scathe the young breast as fiercely as
The lightning's deadly blaze;
Yes, o'er the bosom bright they pass,
But darken still the mind,
Like a fierce meteor's glory, that
While brightening doth blind.

When stormily and wrathfully
Life's darkest ills come on,
And peace is shed, and joy is flown,
And health and hope are gone;
Oh, in the terror, in the might

Of tumult, let me flee

Unto thy throne, thou faithful One,
And breathe a prayer to thee.

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