But Thou art here to nerve and fashion
With better hopes our world of care,
To calm each base and lawless passion,
And so the heavenly life repair.

For 'mid thy countless forms of being,
One shines supreme o'er all beside;
And man, in all thy wisdom seeing,
In Him reveres-a sinless guide.
In Him alone, no longer shrouded
By mists that dim all meaner things,
Thou dwell'st O God! unveil'd, unclouded;
And fearless peace Thy presence brings.

Then, teach my heart, celestial Brightness,
To know that Thou art hid no more,
To sun my spirit's dear-bought whiteness
Beneath thy rays, and upward soar.
In all, that is, a law unchanging

Of Truth and Love may I behold,
And own 'mid thought's unbounded ranging
The timeless one proclaimed of old.

J. STERLING.

There are hours and they come to us all at some period of life or other, when the hand of mystery seems to lie heavy on the soul; when some life-shock scatters existence, leaves it a blank and dreary waste for ever, and there appears nothing of hope in all the expanse which stretches out, except that merciful gate of death which opens at the end-hours when the sense of misplaced or ill-requited affection, the feeling of personal worthlessness, the un

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certainty and meanness of all human aims, and a doubt of all human goodness, unfix the soul from all its old moorings and leave it drifting-drifting over the vast Infinitude with an awful sense of solitariness. Then the man, whose faith rested

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Well! in such moments you doubt all-whether Christianity be true: whether Christ was a Man or God, or a beautiful fable. You ask bitterly, like Pontius Pilate, what is Truth? In such an hour what remains? I reply, obedience leave those thoughts for the present : act be merciful and gentle-honest force yourself to abound in little services: try to do good to others be true to the duty that you know. That must be right, whatever else is uncertain. And by all the laws of the human heart, by the Word of God, you shall not be left to doubt. Do that much of the will of God, which is plain to you. You shall know of the doctrine whether it be of God. REV. F. ROBertson.

Sweet daughter of the voice of God,
O Duty! if that name thou love,

Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring and reprove.

Thou, who art victory and law

When empty terrors overawe,

From vain temptations dost set free

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity.

WORDSWORTH.

I met a reverend good old man,
Whom when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began :-
"There was a Prince of old

At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase
Of flock and fold.

"He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save

His life from foes.

But after death, out of his grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat,

Which many, wondering at, got some of these
To plant and set.

"It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth,

For they, that taste it do rehearse,

That virtues lie therein

A secret virtue bringing peace and mirth
By flight of sin.

"Take of this grain, which in my garden grows,

And grows for you;

Make bread of it; and that repose

And peace which everywhere

With so much earnestness thou dost pursue

Is only there."

HERBERT.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid.

Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining;
Low lies His bed with the beasts of the stall ;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,

Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all.

HEBER.

God, the uncreated, the incomprehensible, the invisible, attracted but few worshippers. A philosopher might admire so noble a conception, but the crowd turned away in disgust from words which presented no image to their minds. It was before Deity, embodied in a human form, walking among men, partaking of their infirmities, leaning on their bosoms, weeping over their graves, slumbering in the manger, bleeding on the cross, that the prejudices of the synagogue, and the doubts of the academy, and the pride of the portico, and the fasces of the lictor, and the swords of thirty legions were humbled in the dust.

MACAULAY.

For Thou wert born of woman!

Thou didst come

Oh Holiest to this world of sin and gloom,

Not in thy dread omnipotent array,

And not by thunders strew'd

Was Thy tempestuous road,

Nor indignation burnt before Thee on thy way—

But Thee, a soft and naked child,

Thy mother undefiled

In the rude manger laid to rest

From off her virgin breast.

The heavens were not commanded to prepare

A gorgeous canopy of golden air;

Nor stoop'd their lamps th' enthroned fires on high.
A single silent star

Came wandering from afar,

Gliding uncheck'd and calm along the liquid sky,
The eastern sages leading on,

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And, when Thou did'st depart, no car of flame
To bear Thee hence in lambent radiance came.

Nor o'er Thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake;
A little while the conscious earth did shake

At that foul deed, by her fierce children done.
A few dim hours of day

The world in darkness lay,

Then basked in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun;

While Thou didst sleep within the tomb

Consenting to Thy doom,

'Ere yet the white robed angel shone

Upon the sealed stone.

And, when Thou didst arise, Thou didst not stand

With devastation in thy red right hand,

Plaguing the guilty city's murderous cries,

But Thou didst haste to meet

Thy mother's coming feet,