The Voice of Praise.

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The Voice of Praise.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

P to the throne of God is borne

UP

The voice of praise at early morn, And He accepts the punctual hymn, Sung as the light of day grows dim.

Nor will He turn His ear aside
From holy offerings at noontide:
Then here reposing let us raise
A song of gratitude and praise.

What though our burthen be not light,
We need not toil from morn to night;
The respite of the mid-day hour
Is in the thankful creature's power.

Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
That, drawn from this one hour of rest,
Are with a ready heart bestow'd

Upon the service of our God.

Each field is then a hallow'd spot,

An altar is in each man's cot,

A church in every grove that spreads

Its living roof above our heads.

Look up to Heaven! the industrious sun
Already half his race hath run;

He cannot halt nor go astray;
But our immortal spirits may.

Lord! since his rising in the east,
If we have falter'd or transgress'd,

Guide, from Thy love's abundant source,
What yet remains of this day's course.

Help with Thy grace, through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way;

And glorify for us the west,

When we shall sink to final rest!

Lord! unto Thee we Try.

J. E. CARPENTER.-Music by N. 7. Sporle.

L

ORD! unto Thee we cry,

When trouble o'er us steals,

Our refuge is on high,

Our trust Thy love reveals;
To Thee alone we bend,-

For Thine alone the power,—

Our Father and our Friend,

In sorrow's darkest hour!

Lord! unto Thee we cry,

For whither should we go?

The fount is never dry

From whence Thy mercies flow!

Grant that those sacred streams
Of Thine eternal love

May waft us from our dreams

To sunnier shores above!

MY

Far from my home on life's rough way,.

Oh, teach me from my heart to say,—

"Thy will be done!"

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me be still, and murmur not;
And breathe the prayer divinely taught,—
"Thy will be done!"

What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved no longer nigh,
Submissive still would I reply,-

"Thy will be done!"

If Thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize-it ne'er was mine;
I have but yielded what was Thine,-
"Thy will be done!"

Should grief or sickness waste away
My life in premature decay,
My Father! still I'll strive to say,—
"Thy will be done!"

Let but my fainting heart be blest
With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest,
My God, to Thee I leave the rest,—
66 Thy will be done!"

Renew my will from day to day,
Blend it with Thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,—

"Thy will be done!"

Then, when on earth I breathe no more The prayer, oft mix'd with tears before, I'll sing upon a happier shore,—

Submission.

Praying Together.

ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD.

WOW blest the sacred tie that binds,

In union sweet, according minds;

How swift the heavenly course they run,

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Whose hearts, whose faith, whose hopes are one!

To each the soul of each how dear!

What jealous love, what holy fear!
How doth the generous flame within

Refine from earth, and cleanse from sin!

Their streaming tears together flow
For human guilt and mortal woe;
Their ardent prayers together rise

Like mingling flames in sacrifice.

Together both they seek the place
Where God reveals His awful face;
How high, how strong, their raptures swell,
There's none but kindred souls can tell.

Nor shall the glowing flame expire
When nature droops her sickening fire;
Then shall they meet in realms above,—
A heaven of joy, because of love.

Submission.

WILLIAM COWPER.

LORD, my best desire fulfil,

And help me to resign

Life, health, and comfort to Thy will,
And make Thy pleasure mine.