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Speed, speed on thy journey, and linger not near, To hear the glad music, the festival song,
In the gay haunts of pleasure, but shun them with fear,
Resist the temptation, and hasten along.
A guerdon awaits thee, a heavenly crown,
But Christ shall bestow on the faithful and true.
Then haste on thy journey, and look not behind thee,
But cast the first 'thought of temptation away; That Christ when He cometh in glory, may find thee
Still watchful, still faithful, and call thee away.
THE CROSS AND THE CROWN.
"THEN said Jesus unto His disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me."-Matt. xvi. 24.
"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love His appearing "-2 Timothy iv. 7, 8.
YES, Lord, there is a cross below,
The world without, the flesh within;
But swift Thy heavenly succour flies,
Like a bright angel from the skies,
To cure my wounds, and ease the smart
For Thou hast been a man of woe
In this sad wilderness below
And now, before the Father's throne,
THE SAVIOUR'S BRIDE.
"WHO is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?"-Canticles viii. 5.
As longs the wandering bird to gain her nest, Sheltered and safe her wearied wing to rest; So longs the Saviour's bride her Lord to see, To know His love, and feel her liberty.
"Oh! take me hence," she cries, "and let me share
Thy heavenly joys, Thy radiant image bear.
Alone I sit, and mourn Thy long delay,
To dwell for ever at Thy sheltering side."
Cease sorrowing mourner, hear the loving voice That calms thy fears, and bids thy heart rejoice.
Its gentle strains shall soothe thy yearning
And hush thy troubled spirit into rest.
"Weep not, my purchased one, a little while With patience wait, thy longing heart beguile; Am I not now preparing thee a place
Meet for my bride, my blood-bought bride, to
While still thou wanderest through the desert
Lean upon me, my pure, my undefiled,
Rest in that sheltering cleft, that home of love, My wounded side, thou weak and trembling dove.
Dwell near my riven heart, which, rent for thee, Poured forth its living streams to set thee free