GOD bless my native place
With mercy from above! With all the riches of His grace, The treasures of his love! Bestow upon each humble cot, The peace from heaven that faileth not.
Within this little fold,
Are faithful hearts and true, Lord, let thy blessing manifold, Descend like early dew;
Watch o'er our footsteps lest we stray, Guide and defend us day by day.
And those who wander still,
Nor heed thy gracious call,-
Safely conduct to Zion's hill,
Thou Shepherd of us all!
Let beams of light around them shine,
Forsake them not, for they are thine.
Lord hear me whilst I plead,
That all may seek thy face! for help in time of need, The weak for strengthening grace,The sick-since Thou alone can'st heal, And mercy to their soul reveal
Let every mourning breast,
Cast all its care on Thee; Let weary souls by sin opprest, To thy salvation flee!
And those who tread a thorny way,
Find Thee their comfort and their stay.
And let the young, oh Lord!
The little lambs below,
Feed on the milk of thy pure word,
And thus in wisdom grow:
Yea, lead us all in pastures fair,
To drink of living waters there.
Thus joined in bands of love,
May we, thy flock on earth,
Gentle and kind, and faithful prove,
Like those of heavenly birth;
Each blessing each with tender care,
And joining in a common prayer.
Thus passing one by one,
Along Death's shadowy vale,
Conduct us Heavenly Shepherd on
To joys that never fail,
Thus may we all in glory shine,
For ever safe-for ever Thine!
THE BETTER LAND.
I HEAR thee speak of the better land;
Thou call'st its children a happy band:
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore,-
Shall we not seek it and weep no more:
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?
"Not there, not there, my child."
Is it where feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?
"Not there, not there, my child."
Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold-
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand-
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ?
"Not there, not there, my child."
Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy;
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there!
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb
"It is there, it is there, my child."
ANOTHER day has pass'd along,
And we are nearer to the tomb;
Nearer to join the heavenly song,
Or hear the last eternal doom.
These moments of departing day,
When thought is calm, and labours cease,
Are surely solemn times to pray,
To ask for pardon and for peace.
Thou God of mercy, swift to hear,
More swift than man to tell his need;
Be THOU to us this evening near,
And to thy fount our spirits lead.
Teach us to pray--and, having taught,
Grant us the blessing that we crave;
Without thy teaching-prayer is nought,
But with it-powerful to save!
SEASON of REST! the tranquil soul
Feels thy sweet calm, and melts in love;
And while these sacred moments roll,
FAITH sees a peaceful heaven above.
Yet will our journey not be long,
Our pilgrimage will soon be trod:
And we shall join the ceaseless song,
The endless sabbath of our GOD.
EDMESTON
CHILD of the flowing locks and laughing eye,
Culling with hasty glee the flow'rets gay,
Or chasing with light feet the butterfly;
I love to mark thee at thy frolic play.
Near thee I see thy father stand;
His anxious eye pursues thy roving track, And oft with warning voice, and beck'ning hand, He checks thy speed and gently draws thee back.
Why dost thou meekly yield to his decree ?
Fair boy, his fond regard to thee is known;
He does not check thy joys from tyrrany-
Thou art his loved, his cherish'd, and his own.
When worldly lures, in manhood's coming hour, Tempt thee to wander from discretion's way, Oh! grasp not eagerly the offer'd flowers;
Pause, if thy heavenly Father bid thee stay.
Pause, and in him revere a friend and guide,
Who does not willingly thy faults reprove;
But ever, when thou rovest from his side,
Watches to win thee back with pitying love.
MRS. ABDY.
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