I love to think on mercies past,
And future good implore;
And all my cares and sorrows cast
On Him whom I adore.

I love, by faith, to take a view

Of brighter scenes in heaven;
The prospect doth my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.

Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,
May its departing ray
Be calm as this impressive hour,
And lead to endless day.

PHOEBE HINSDALE BROWN

HYMN FOR THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH

WHERE ancient forests round us spread, Where bends the cataract's ocean-fall, On the lone mountain's silent head,

There are thy temples, God of all!

Beneath the dark-blue, midnight arch, Whence myriad suns pour down their

rays,

Where planets trace their ceaseless march, Father! we worship as we gaze.

The tombs thine altars are; for there, When earthly loves and hopes have fled,

To thee ascends the spirit's prayer,
Thou God of the immortal dead.

All space is holy; for all space

Is filled by thee; but human thought Burns clearer in some chosen place, Where thy own words of love are taught.

Here be they taught; and may we know That faith thy servants knew of old; Which onward bears through weal and woe,

Till Death the gates of heaven unfold !

Nor we alone; may those whose brow
Shows yet no trace of human cares,
Hereafter stand where we do now,
And raise to thee still holier prayers!
ANDREWS NORTON

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP

ROCKED in the cradle of the deep
I lay me down in peace to sleep;
Secure I rest upon the wave,

For thou, O Lord! hast power to save.
I know thou wilt not slight my call,
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall;
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

When in the dead of night I lie
And gaze upon the trackless sky,
The star-bespangled heavenly scroll,
The boundless waters as they roll,
I feel thy wondrous power to save
From perils of the stormy wave:
Rocked in the cradle of the deep,
I calmly rest and soundly sleep.

And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine,
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death.
In ocean cave, still safe with Thee
The germ of immortality!
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

THE FUGITIVE SLAVE'S APOSTROPHE TO THE NORTH STAR

STAR of the North! though night winds drift

The fleecy drapery of the sky Between thy lamp and me, I lift,

Yea, lift with hope, my sleepless eye

To the blue heights wherein thou dwellest,

And of a land of freedom tellest.

Till, where its rays directly fell,
They found the Hope of Israel.

Wise were the men who followed thus
The star that sets man free from sin !
Star of the North! thou art to us,

Who 're slaves because we wear a skir Dark as is night's protecting wing,Thou art to us a holy thing.

And we are wise to follow thee!

I trust thy steady light alone: Star of the North! thou seem'st to me

To burn before the Almighty's throne. To guide me, through these forests dim And vast, to liberty and HIM.

Thy beam is on the glassy breast

Öf the still spring, upon whose brink I lay my weary limbs to rest,

And bow my parching lips to drink.
Guide of the friendless negro's way,
I bless thee for this quiet ray!

In the dark top of southern pines

I nestled, when the driver's horn Called to the field, in lengthening lines, My fellows at the break of morn. And there I lay, till thy sweet face Looked in upon "my hiding-place."

The tangled cane-brake, where I crept

For shelter from the heat of noon, And where, while others toiled, I slept Till wakened by the rising moon, As its stalks felt the night wind free, Gave me to catch a glimpse of thee.