For all Thy blessings shower'd around
My kindred and my race,

I bless Thee, Lord, but most of all,
For riches of Thy grace.

For peace of mind, for health of frame,
And joys-a mighty store,

Accept my thanks, and to Thy name
Be glory evermore.

'T'

"The Kingdom Come."

ELIZA COOK.

IS human lot to meet and bear

The common ills of human life; There's not a breast but hath its share

Of bitter pain and vexing strife.

The peasant in his lowly shed,

The noble 'neath a gilded dome,

Each will at some time bow his head,

And ask and hope, "Thy kingdom come!"

When some deep sorrow, surely slow,

Despoils the cheek and eats the heart, Laying our busy projects low,

And bidding all earth's dreams depart

Do we not smile, and calmly turn

From the wide world's tumultuous hum,

And feel the immortal essence yearn,

Rich with the thought, "Thy kingdom come?"

By the Rivers of Babylon.

The waves of Care may darkly bound
And buffet, till, our strength outworn,
We stagger as they gather round,

All shatter'd, weak, and tempest-torn :
But there's a lighthouse for the soul,
That beacons to a stormless home;
It safely guides through roughest tides-
It shines, it saves! “Thy kingdom come!"

To gaze upon the loved in death,
To mark the closing beamless eye,

To press

dear lips, and find no breath-

This, this is life's worst agony ! But God, too merciful, too wise

To leave the lorn one in despair,

Whispers, while snatching those we prize,

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"My kingdom come !-Ye'll meet them there!"

By the Rivers of Babylon.

LORD BYRON. — Music by J. Nathan.

E sate down and wept by the waters

WE

Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the love of his slaughters, Made Salem's high places his prey;

And ye, oh, her desolate daughters!

Were scatter'd, all weeping, away.

While sadly we gazed on the river
Which roll'd on in freedom below,
They demanded the song; but, oh, never
That triumph the stranger shall know!
May this right hand be wither'd for ever
Ere it string our high harp for the foe.

On the willow that harp is suspended,
O Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!

The Death-Bed.

THOMAS HOOD.-Music by John Blockley.

WE watch'd her breathing through the night,

Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak,
So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;

We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed,-she had
Another morn than ours.

Touta Nika.

Touta Nika.

MRS G. LINNÆUS BANKS.

WE read on the historic page,

The monarch Constantine,

Whilst marching 'gainst a Pagar foe,
Invoked the Power Divine,

In choice of a religious creed
To lead his steps aright,

To grant him knowledge of the truth,
And aid him in the fight.
When in the dusky evening sky
Appear'd the Christian's sign:
The Cross, in unimagined light,
And bore these words divine,-
"In this overcome."

The startled monarch stood amazed,
Own'd the God-given guide,
Uprear'd the standard of the Cross,
And fought, faith-fortified.

For, trusting not in human strength,
He sought help from on high,
And, ever in the cause of truth,
March'd but to victory.

Still far and wide his conquests spread
In temple, council, field;

And wheresoe'er the Cross was rear'd,
And God in Christ reveal'd,
"In this overcome."

And so the Christian, whensoe'er
Assail'd by doubts or fears,
Should turn the inner eye above,

And, lo! the Cross appears!

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On the willow that harp is suspended,
O Salem! its sound should be free;
And the hour when thy glories were ended
But left me that token of thee:

And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended
With the voice of the spoiler by me!

The Death-Bed.

THOMAS HOOD.-Music by John Blockley.

WE

WE watch'd her breathing through the night,
Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

So silently we seem'd to speak,

So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied;

We thought her dying when she slept,
And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

Her quiet eyelids closed,-she had
Another morn than ours.