As Christ Chooses.

RICHARD BAXTER.

LORD, it belongs not to my care
Whether I die or live;

To love and serve thee is my share,
And this thy grace must give.

If life be long, I will be glad
That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad

To soar to endless day?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms

Than he went through before;

He that unto God's kingdom comes

Must enter by his door.

Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet,

Thy blessed face to see;

For if thy work on earth be sweet,

What will thy glory be?

Then shall I end my sad complaints,

And weary,

sinful days,

And join with the triumphant saints
That sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small,
The eye of faith is dim;

But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,
And I shall be with him.

The Blessed Hope.

REV. AUGUSTUS M. TOPLADY.

WHEN languor and disease invade
This trembling house of clay,
'Tis sweet to look beyond our cage,
And long to fly away;

Sweet to look inward, and attend
The whispers of his love;
Sweet to look upward to the place
Where Jesus pleads above;

Sweet to look back, and see my name
In life's fair book set down;
Sweet to look forward, and behold

Eternal joys my own;

Sweet to reflect how grace divine

My sins on Jesus laid;

Sweet to remember that his blood

My debt of suffering paid;

Sweet in his righteousness to stand,
Which saves from second death;
Sweet to experience, day by day,
His Spirit's quickening breath;

Sweet on his faithfulness to rest,
Whose love can never end;
Sweet on his covenant of grace
For all things to depend;

Sweet in the confidence of faith
To trust his firm decrees;
Sweet to lie passive in his hands,
And know no will but his;

Sweet to rejoice in lively hope

That when my change shall come,
Angels shall hover round my bed,
And waft my spirit home.

Soon too my slumbering dust shall hear
The trumpet's quickening sound;
And by my Saviour's power rebuilt,
At his right hand be found.

Sweet, blessed hope! There I at last
Shall see him and adore;

Be with his likeness satisfied,

And grieve and sin no more;

Shall see him wear that very flesh
On which my guilt was lain;
His love intense, his merit fresh,
As though but newly slain.

If such the views which grace unfolds,
Weak as it is below,

What raptures must the Church above
In Jesus' presence know!

If such the sweetness of the stream,
What must the fountain be,

Where saints and angels draw their bliss
Immediately from thee!

Oh! may the unction of these truths

For ever with me stay;

Till from her sinful cage dismissed,
My spirit flees away.

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