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EVENING HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP,

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O LORD, another day is flown,

And we, a lonely band,
Are met once more before thy throne,

To bless thy fostering hand.
And wilt thou bend a list'ning ear,

To praises low as ours?
Thou wilt! for Thou dost love to hear

The song which meekness pours.
And Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deigu,

As we before thee pray!
For thou didst bless the infant train,

And are we less than they?
O let thy grace perform its part,

And let contention cease ;
And shed abroad in every heart

Thine everlasting peace !
Thus chasten'd, cleans'd, entirely thine,

A flock by Jesus led ;
The sun of Holiness shall shine,

In glory on our head.
And thou wilt turn our wand'ring feet,

And thou wilt bless our way ;
*Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet

The dawn of lasting day.

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H. K. WHITE

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PRAYER
Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,

Unutter'd or exprest ;
The motion of a hidden fire,

That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burthen of a sigh,

The falling of a tear;
The upward glancing of an ye,

When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech

That ir fant lips can try ;
Prayer the sublimest strains that reach

The Majesty on high.
Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,

The Christian's native air;
His watchword at the gates of death.

He enters heaven by prayer.
Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,

Returning from his ways;
While angels in their songs rejoice,

And say, “ Behold he prays!”
The saints in prayer appear as one

In word, and deed, and mind,
When with the Father and his Son,

Their fellowship they find.
Nor prayer is made on earth alone,

The Holy spirit pleads ;
And Jesus on the eternal throne

For sinners intercedes.
O thou by whom we come to God,

The Life, the Truth, the Way;

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HYMN.
Awake, sweet harp of Judah, wake,
Retune thy strings for Jesus' sake;
We sing the Saviour of our race,
The Lamb, our shield and hiding-place.
When God's right arm is bared for war,
And thunders clothe his cloudy car,
Where, where, O where, shall man retire,
To escape the horrors of his ire?
'Tis he, the Lamb, to him we fly,
While the dread tempest passes by;
God sees his Well-beloved's face,
And spares us in our hiding-place.
Thus while we dwell in this low scene,
The Lamb is our unfailing screen ;
To him, though guilty, still we run,
And God still spares us for his Son.
While yet we sojourn here below,
Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow;
Fall’n, abject, mean, a sentenc'd race,
We deeply need a hiding-place.
Yet courage-days and years will glide,
And we shall lay these clods aside;
Shall be baptized in Jordan's food,
And wash'à in Jesus' cleansing blood.
Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed,
We through the Lamb shall be decreed;

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H. K. WHITE.

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ON A SKULL.
Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall,
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul.
Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall,
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul:
Behold through each lack-lustre eyeless hole,
The gay recess of wisdom and of wit,
And passions hot that never brook'd control.
Can all saint, sage, or sophist, ever writ,
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit?

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BYRON.

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THE OCEAN AN IMAGE OF ETERNITY.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore;-upon the wat'ry plain
The wrecks are all thy dead, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell d, uncoffin'd, and un-

known.
His steps are not upon thy paths,—thy fields
Are not a spoil for him,-thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strength he

wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,

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And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies

His petty hopes in some near fort or bay,
And dashesthim again to earth:—there let him lay,

The armaments which thunder-strike the walls
Of rock-built cities, hidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy fake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada’s pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires changed in all save thee.
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free;
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou,
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play-

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-
Such as creation's dawn bebeld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving ;-boundless, endless, and sub-

lime-
The image of Eternity—the throne
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless,

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BYRON

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