Accept it, Lord, and say, this thou hadst rather; The beauty of the golden mine. Jeremy Taylor. WHEN JORDAN HUSHED HIS WATERS STILL. WE HEN Jordan hushed his waters still, And silence slept on Zion's hill; When Salem's shepherds through the night Watched o'er their flocks by starry light, Hark! from the midnight hills around, Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul. Then swift to every startled eye, New streams of glory gild the sky; On wheels of light, on wings of flame, High heaven with songs of triumph rung, "O Zion! lift thy raptured eye: The long-expected hour is nigh; The joys of nature rise again; The Prince of Salem comes to reign. See Mercy, from her golden urn, Pours a rich stream to them that mourn; He comes to cheer the trembling heart, O Zion! lift thy raptured eye: Thomas Campbell. WATCHMAN! TELL US OF THE NIGHT. W "ATCHMAN! tell us of the night, What its signs of promise are. Traveller! o'er yon mountain's height, See that glory-beaming star. Watchman! does its beauteous ray Aught of hope or joy foretell? Traveller! yes; it brings the day, Promised day of Israel. Watchman! tell us of the night; Watchman! will its beams alone See, it bursts o'er all the earth! Watchman! tell us of the night, Watchman! let thy wanderings cease; Traveller! lo, the Prince of Peace, John Bowring. Calvary, the Mount. CALVARY. EE where the Author of all life is dying: O fearful day! he dead, what hope of living? See where the hopes of all our lives are buying. O cheerful day! they bought, what fear of grieving? Love, love for hate, and death for life is giving : His radious head with shameful thorns they tear, They jolly at his grief, and make their game, That all might come to see, and all might see that came. Whereat the Heaven put out his guilty eye And the pale stars, struck with unwonted fright, And at his birth, as all the stars Heaven had Giles Fletcher. WE MATER DOLOROSA. EEPING stood his mother, sighing Through her soul, in sorrow moaning, Bowed in grief, in spirit groaning, Filled with grief beyond all others, Who could there refrain from weeping, Who could fail to share her anguish, For the trespass of his nation By their scourges suffering. Dying by their torturing. Mother, fountain of affection, Let me share thy tenderness; All his stripes, O, let me feel them, |