She desired that the family would sing that hymn; in doing which she joined heartily with them. As she approached eternity, her joy and confidence increased. When about to die, she prayed that the Lord would favour her with an easy passage; and God was pleased to hear her in this also, to the astonishment of all her friends; for she did not even utter a sigh; but, falling asleep in Jesus, she awoke in glory, aged eleven years and nine months. WILLIAM FOWLER.
CHRISTIAN DECISION.
JESUS, I my cross have taken,
All to leave, and follow thee;
Naked, poor, despised, forsaken,
Thou, from hence, my all shalt be!
Perish every fond ambition,
All I've sought, or hoped, or known;
Yet how rich is my condition,-
God and heaven are all my own!
Let the world despise and leave me,
They have left my Saviour too;
Human hopes and looks deceive me,
Thou art not, like them, untrue:
And whilst thou shalt smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love, and might,
Friends may hate, and foes may scorn me,-
Show thy face, and all is right.
Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In thy service, pain is pleasure;
With thy favour, loss is gain.
I have call'd thee Abba, Father,
I have set my heart on thee;
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
All must work for good to me!
Man may trouble and distress me,
'Twill but drive me to thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
'Twill but bring me sweeter rest.
O'tis not in grief to harm me,
While thy love is left to me;
O'tis not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmix'd with thee!
Soul! then know thy full salvation,
Joy to find in every station,
Something still to do or bear!
Think what Spirit dwells within thee,
Think what heavenly smiles are thine;
Think that Jesus died to save thee,-
Child of Heaven, canst thou repine?
Haste thee on, from grace to glory,
Arm'd by faith, and wing'd by prayer;
Heaven's eternal day 's before thee;
God's own hand shall guide thee there :
Soon shall close thy earthly mission,
Soon shall pass thy pilgrim days;
Hope shall change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise !
ON HEARING A SACRED SONG OF MOZART.
BY THE REV. W. LISLE BOWLES.
O STILL, as with a seraph's voice, prolong
The harmonies of that enchanting song,
Till, listening, we might almost think we hear,
Beyond this cloudy world, in the pure sphere
Of light, acclaiming hosts the throne surrounding,
The long hosannas evermore resounding,
Soft voices, interposed, in pure accord,
Breathing a holier charm:
O every word Falls like a drop of silver, as the strain, In winding sweetness, swells, and sinks again. Sing ever thus, beguiling life's long way, As here, poor pilgrims of the earth, we stray; And, Lady, when thy pilgrimage shall end, And late the shades of the long night descend, May sister-seraphs meet with welcome song, And gently say, "Why have you stay'd so long?"
SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMN.
THERE is a light of holy beaming,
Enkindled from the' eternal throne;
O'er our benighted earth 'tis gleaming,
And on the darkest mind has shone.
The desert blooms beneath its glowing,
And flow'rets spring where all was drear,
And beauteous buds of grace appear
Where'er its hallow'd rays are flowing.
To Thee the praise belongs,
O Source of light and truth!
Receive the grateful tribute!-songs
O, long the youthful mind, neglected,
A dreary waste uncultured lay,
"Till Sabbath-schools a beam directed,
To chase the mental gloom away :
Across the rayless mind it darted,
Where ignorance had darkly dwelt,
And "moral moonless night" was felt,
And science from the skies imparted.
To Thee, &c.
Since then the harvest truly plenteous
Has waved in honour to thy name;
And still the beaming skies portentous,
Of thy continuing love proclaim:
The garden of the Lord shall flourish,
While Bethlehem's beams shall o'er it glow,
And Calvary's tides around it flow,
The tender plants of grace to nourish.
THE BOY'S PRAYER.
PURE Source of Good, ineffable, divine! With heavenly light upon my nature shine; The blessings promised in thy word impart; Replenish with thy grace my youthful heart. Let no vain thoughts upon my mind intrude Save me from idle words, from actions rude. May no mean trifle, no alluring toy,
No foolish sport, my precious time employ.
All vice dispel, each bad desire control,
And by thy Spirit dwell within my soul.
My understanding counsel by thy light;
My will, so wayward, govern by thy might';
Enshrined within the temple of my breast,
A constant resident, a welcome guest,
Sealing thy pardoning mercy on my heart;
And never let me force thee to depart.
Be thy blest word my pleasure and delight,
And when the long'd-for holy Sabbath-day
Calls me from earth and its pursuits away,
Then may I, in the fervour of my youth,
Worship thee, Lord, in spirit and in truth
And in thy holy temple while I kneel,
May I thy purifying influence feel:
The Spirit's fire, the Saviour's softening love,
Lift my whole spirit to thy throne above;
That through the changes of the' approaching week,
No worldly passion may the influence break.
With filial reverence may I still respect
My parents dear, whatever they direct;
Those authors of my being under thee,
Be always honour'd, always loved by me.
May I affection to my brethren show,
And as in years may we in friendship grow;
All wrangling, envy, pride, and hatred cease;
So may we live in harmony and peace.
And while our hands are busily employ'd,
May we of worldly wisdom be devoid;
But fill'd with Christian meekness, holy love,
With all the wisdom coming from above.
Thus may I live, O God, for Jesu's sake;
And should afflictions dreary overtake,
Then in thy mercy do not me forsake.
Should racking pain shake every trembling limb,
Resign'd to suffer, may I think of Him
Who suffer'd for me in my sinful stead,
In anguish bowing down his guiltless head.
My Saviour, may I glory in thy cross,
And for its sake count all things else but loss.
Shouldst thou with prosperous lot my horn uplift,
May I regard the Giver in the gift!
O whatsoe'er my earthly lot may be,
Joyous or adverse, be it blest by thee!
Then when the work allotted me is done,
My battle fought, my race of duty run,
May my Redeemer, by my dying bed,
Strengthen my heart, and lift my sinking head;
And take my spirit, in his loving breast,
To his own heaven of everlasting rest.
Bushmills, County Antrim.
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