Kindle like Jacob's, when he felt his power
With God, and wrestled till the day-break hour;
Shine like the face of Moses, when he came,
All radiant, from the mount that burned with flame; Flash like Elisha's, when, his sire in view,
He caught the mantle and the spirit too;
Darken like Jonah's, when with "Woe" he went
Through trembling Nineveh, and cried "Repent ;"
Brighten like Stephen's, when his foes amazed,
As if an angel stood before them, gazed;
And like that Martyr's at his latest breath,
Reflect his Saviour's image full in death.
TIME on swift wings pursues his rapid course
Through months and years with unabated force;
Bearing vast millions in his hasty flight,
To realms of bliss, or everlasting night.
Are we pursuing pleasure, honour, wealth,
With anxious minds, warmed by the pulse of health?
Yet time is short, and health will soon decay,
While like a leaf our bodies fade away.
Time flies! Death strikes! Eternity appears,
Rich with immortal joys, or filled with tears;
With joy to all, whose lively hopes rely
On Him whose word produced the earth and sky.
Sinner be wise! direct to heaven each thought;
Lift up thine eyes from earth, and count it nought:
Christ is the way to God-his word believe,
Then shall thy soul eternal life receive.
“Man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until the evening."-Psalm civ. 23.
WHO is this, at dawn of day,
Hastening from his home away ?
'Tis the honest labourer's tread,
Called to seek his daily bread;
Called by God's almighty will,
His appointment to fulfil.
Dost thou mark the eastern sky
As the daylight draweth nigh,
How the shadows disappear,
Sunshine coming, bright and clear?
Thus, oh thus! within thy heart,
May the shades of sin depart,
Thus may beams of light divine
Through the love of Jesus shine.
Dost thou see the early dew,
Making all things fresh and new?
Lift thy heart to God and pray
For his grace from day to day;
Like the precious dew of heaven,
To thy longing spirit given.
Is there music in the air,
Feathered songsters warbling there?
Thus awakened from thy rest,
Let thanksgivings fill thy breast;
Then, in glad contentment still,
Bless thy Heavenly Father's will.
LABOURER cease! thy work is done, now at set of sun;
And upon thy homeward way,
Think, and meditate, and pray.
Think of all thy daily toil
On the hard and barren soil.
Think of thorns and briers growing
Mid the seed thou hast been sowing.
Think upon the sun and rain,
Which can fertilize the plain.
Then, O turn thine eye within,
On the hardened soil of sin:
Thorns of evil to uproot,
Ere thou bearest holy fruit,
And the Spirit's gentle power,
Coming like a welcome shower.
God hath bid thee till the ground,
That the harvest may abound;
Bid thee work within thy soul,
Till His grace shall make thee whole.
Then, as evening shadows close,
Leading thee to calm repose,
Think upon the night of death,
When shall cease thy fleeting breath:
Think upon thy rest above,
Given by the Saviour's love:
On an everlasting life,
Free from toil, and sin, and strife.
And as thou art drawing near
To thy house and comforts here,
Pray that heaven thy home
Through a bright eternity.
I SEE them fading round me,
The beautiful, the bright,
As the rose-red lights that darken,
At the falling of the night.
I had a lute whose music
Made sweet the summer wind, But the broken strings have vanished, And no string remains behind.
I had a lovely garden,
Fruits and flowers on every bough, But the frost came too severely'Tis decayed and blighted now.
That lute is like my spirits
They have lost their buoyant tone; Crushed and shattered, they've forgotten The glad notes once their own.
And my mind is like that garden-
It had its early store;
But, wearied and exhausted,
It has no strength for more.
I will look on them as warnings
Sent, not in wrath, but love,
To call my spirit onward
To its better home above.
THE SIMPLICITY OF THE GOSPEL.
O How unlike the complex works of man,
Heaven's easy, artless, unencumbered plan!
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No clustering ornaments to clog the pile;
From ostentation as from weakness free,
It stands like the blue arch of heaven we see,
Majestic in its own simplicity.
Inscribed above the portal, from afar
Conspicuous, as the brightness of a star,
Legible only by the light they give,
Stand the soul-quickening words- Believe and
THOU art the way, and he who sighs
Amid this cheerless waste of woe,
To find a pathway to the skies,
In Thee the light of heaven shall know.
Thou art the truth, whose stedfast day
Shines on through earthly blight and bloom;
The pure, the everlasting ray,
The light that shines beyond the tomb.
Thou art the life, the blessed well,
With living water flowing o'er,
Which those who drink shall ever dwell
Where sin and death are known no more.
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