6 I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless: Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death's sting? where, grave, thy victory?

I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

7 Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes,

Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies:

Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

884 Psalm xlii. 8. L. M. SIR T. BROWNE

1

TH

HE night is come; like to the day, Depart not Thou, great God, away; Let not my sins, all black as night, Eclipse the lustre of Thy light.

2 Keep Thou still in my heaven; for me
The sun makes not the day, but Thee
O Thou whose nature cannot sleep,
O'er my closed eyelids sentry keep.

3 Guard me against those watchful foes, Whose eyes are open while mine close; Let no ill dreams my sleep infest,

But such as Jacob's slumbers bless'd.

4 That so I may, my rest being wrought, Awake into some holy thought;

And with an active vigour run

My course, as doth the unwearied sun.

5 Sleep is a death; O make me try,
By sleeping what it is to die;
And then as gently lay my head
Upon my grave, as now my bed.

885

1

FOR SATURDAY EVENING.

Luke xxiii. 54. Heb. iv. 9. 8.7.

SOUL, thy week of toil is ended,

And a voice, whilst world-cares fly,
With the closing hours is blended,
Rest is coming, rest is nigh.

2 Nearing Sabbath, how I bless thee!
Let thy calmness fill my breast;
Let me even now possess thee;
And anticipate thy rest.

3 Is my journey full of sadness,

Through a desert wild and drear? Be to me a well of gladness;

Bid me quite forget my fear.

4 Clouds on clouds my way may darken; But thy rainbow gleams above,

And the storms and wild winds hearken
To thy still small voice of love.
5 So when life's long week is over,
Blessed it will be to die;
Angels whispering as they hover,
Rest is coming, rest is nigh.

6 Then the heavenly rest to enter,
In Thy mercy, Lord, be mine:
Rest of God! the sun and centre
Of the bliss that is divine.

886 Luke xxiil. 54. D.S.M. CONDER.

1

HE hours of evening close:
Its lengthened shadows drawn

O'er scenes of earth, invite repose,

And wait the Sabbath dawn.

So let its calm prevail

O'er forms of outward care;

Nor thought for "many things" assail

The still retreat of prayer.

2 Our guardian Shepherd near,
His watchful eye will keep;
And, safe from violence or fear,
Will fold His flock to sleep.
So may a holier light

Than earth's, our spirits rouse,

And call us, strengthened by His might, To pay the Lord our vows.

887 FAR

1

Jer. ix. 2. C. M.

COWPER.

from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

2 The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem by Thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow Thee.

3 There, if Thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

O with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

4 There like the nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;

Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise.

5 Author and Guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine,
And-all harmonious names in one-
My Saviour, Thou art mine.

6 What thanks I owe Thee, and what love, A boundless, endless store,

Shall echo through the realms above
When time shall be no more.

888 Job xiil. 15.

1

FOR

OR what shall I praise Thee,
My God and my King?

For what blessings the tribute
Of gratitude bring?

Shall I praise Thee for pleasure,
For health, and for ease,
For the spring of delight,

And the sunshine of peace?

2 Shall I praise Thee for flowers
That bloomed on my breast,
For joys in perspective,

And pleasures possess'd?
For the spirits that heightened
My days of delight,
And the slumbers that sat
On my pillow by night?

3 For this would I praise Thee!
But if only for this,

I should leave half untold
The donation of bliss:
I thank Thee for sickness,
For sorrow, for care,
For the thorns I have gathered,
The anguish I bear:

4 For nights of anxiety,
Watchings, and tears,

A present of pain,

A perspective of fears;
I praise Thee, I bless Thee,
My King and my God,
For the good and the evil
Thy hand hath bestowed.
5 The flowers were sweet,
But their fragrance is flown,
They yielded no fruits,

They are withered and gone;

The thorn it was poignant,
But precious to me,-
"Twas the message of mercy-
It led me to Thee.

889

1

Zech. xiii. 9. P. M.

R. HEY.

ORD, unto Thee I lift a troubled heart,
A tearful eye;

L°

But if Thy hand have sent the sting-the

smart,

If Thou art nigh,

Nigh though unseen, upon my knees I pray, Dry not those tears: take not that sting away!

2 Clothe me with sackcloth, mingle Thou my food

With ashes still;

I'll bless the hand that is educing good
From seeming ill:

Should I thus walk in darkness, if my sight Could bear undazzled more of heaven's own light?

3 Not till the molten gold be purified, Slack Thou the flame:

Give me but grace Thy pleasure to abide, To see Thy aim;

To know that Thou art with me in the fire: I need no more; I nothing else desire.

890

1

1 Peter i. 24, 25.

7.6.

LYTE.

THE leaves around me falling

Are preaching of decay;

The hollow winds are calling,
66 'Come, pilgrim, come away !"