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Trust in thy Saviour's might,

Yea, till thy latest breath,
Fight, and like him in fight,
By dying conquer death;

Then rise to glory from the field,
And with thy sword thy spirit yield.

Great words are these, and strong;
Yet, Lord, I look to thee,
To whom alone belong

Valour and victory;

If God be for me in the field,
Whom can I fear? I will not yield;

GOD, THE CHIEF GOOD.

Cowper.

THOU art the source and centre of all minds, Their only point of rest, Eternal Word! From thee departing, they are lost, and rove At random, without honour, hope, or peace : From thee is all that soothes the life of man, His high endeavour, and his glad success, His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.

But O, thou bounteous Giver of all good,

Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown!

Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor: And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

Milton.

WHEN I consider how my light is spent,

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent, which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he, returning, chide
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.

NATURE.

John Bedson.

OH! what beauty and perfection
Through the works of nature shine;
Who but must, on calm reflection,
See in all a Power divine.

Every object bears impression
Of his all-creating hand,

From the sun, that cheers creation,
To the smallest grain of sand.

Is there one endow'd with reason,
One who views the earth and sky,
One who marks each change of season,
Can this sacred truth deny?

Air and water, light and darkness,
Every animal and flower,

Do continually bear witness

To His wisdom, love, and power.

Yet the volume of creation

Speaks not to the troubled breast; Tells it not of a foundation,

Where its hopes and fears may rest.

Never have the works of nature
Yet to mortal man revealed,

How his much-offended Maker

May to him be reconciled.

Flower, nor tree, nor rock, nor mountain,
Ever yet have show'd the way,
Ever told him of a Fountain

That could wash his guilt away.

Man could never yet discover,

From the sky, the earth, or sea, When his days on earth are over, Where or what his state should be.

But the page of Inspiration

Casts a light upon the whole, Bringing peace and consolation

To the never-dying soul:

Guiding every true believer

To a land of pure delight, Purchased by a dying Saviour,

Far above yon starry height.

PRAYER.

John Davidson.

WHEN with the morn I first awake, And glance upon the new-born day, Be gratitude my earliest theme,

Then kindly, Lord, teach me to pray.

Amidst the busy hum of men,

When each pursues his worldly way, Detach my mind from earthly cares And lead me oft to Thee to pray.

When evening's sable period comes,
Memento fit of life's decay,

Teach me Thy goodness to record,
And ere I go to rest, to pray.

Whene'er temptation me besets,
Protect me, that I may not stray;
Defend my path, and grant me grace

To walk with Thee, I humbly pray.

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