« PreviousContinue »
Keep thy robe white, nor stain its spotless hue,
spire.” “Worthy the Lamb who died to set us free, Who bought with his heart's blood our endless
“LET my prayer be set forth before Thee as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.”—Psalm cxli. 2.
WHEN the soft zephyr whispers through the
And the melodious choristers of Spring
wing In quiet rest, and the dim twilight creeps With deepening shadow o'er the sky, and
weeps The falling dew o'er the departing day, The closing flowers, the sun's last gilded ray; Then, Christian, in thy solitude repair To the still chamber,—'tis the hour of prayer. Now breathe the hidden feelings of thy soul, Now breathe thy griefs and cares without
control Into thy gracious Saviour's tender breast And His deep love shall soothe thy heart to
WAKE, slumbering Christian, ere the first faint
blush Of morning tinge the sky with crimson flush ; Ere nature and her train with beauty rife Spring in a joyous bound to light and life, And the glad sky-lark as she soars on high, With liquid sweetness trills her melody. As the bold eagle with unflinching gaze, Steers his swift course towards the sun's brignt
rays, Plume thy soul's wings, and with a stedfast eye Mount up by faith to joys beyond the sky; Forget the things of earth, and upward move On holy pinions to thy home above, And let thy morning sacrifice ascend As fragrant incense to thy God and Friend, Till it descend upon thee in a shower Of heavenly blessings multiplied each hour.
THE DYING CHRISTIAN.
“PRECIOUS in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”—Psalm cxvi. 15.
“Oh, loose this frame, this knot of man untie,
“I FEAR not death, for Christ has pass'd
Its terrors through ;
With heaven in view.
These ebon arrows tipp'd with love
Affright me not:
All else forgot.
Like the free bird which springs on high,
I leave my clay;
To realms of day.
To see His face who died for me
Whose precious blood, Offered in love upon the tree,
Brought me to God.
Though feebly gasps my failing breath,
For Christ is near.
His arm of love supports my head
He whispers peace ;
My sorrows cease.
Loosely these earthly fetters hang
One struggle more,