174

C. M.

ROBERT NICOLL.

Feast of the Reformation.

1 AN offering to the shrine of power
Our hands shall never bring;

A garland on the car of pomp
Our hands shall never fling;
Applauding in the conqueror's path
Our voices ne'er shall be;

But we have hearts to honor those
Who bade the world go free!

2 Praise to the good, the pure, the great,
Who made us what we are!

Who lit the flame which yet shall glow
With radiance brighter far.

Glory to them in coming time,

And through eternity,

Who burst the captive's galling chain,

And bade the world go free!

1

Charitable, Anniversary, Missionary and other Meetings.

175

7s. M.

J. NEWTON.

New Year.

1 WHILE with ceaseless course, the sun

Hasted through the former year,

Many souls their race have run,

Never more to meet us here:

Fixed in an eternal state,

They have done with all below;

We a little longer wait,

But how little none can know.

2 As the winged arrow flies,

Speedily the mark to find,

As the lightning from the skies

Darts, and leaves no trace behind,

176

Swiftly thus our fleeting days

Bear us down life's rapid stream:
Upwards, Lord, our spirits raise;
All below is but a dream.

3 Thanks for mercies past receive;
Pardon of our sins renew;
Teach us, henceforth, how to live
With eternity in view;

Bless thy word to young and old,
Fill us with a Saviour's love,
And when life's short tale is told,
May we dwell with thee above.

10s. M.

E. TAYLOR.

Old or New Year.

1 God of the changing year, whose arm of power
In safety leads through danger's darkest hour,
Here in thy temple bow thine creatures down,
To bless thy mercy, and thy might to own.

2 Thine are the beams that cheer us on our way,
And pour around the gladdening light of day; .
Thine is the night, and the fair orbs that shine
To cheer its hours of darkness - all are thine.

3 If round our path the thorns of sorrow grew,
And mortal friends were faithless, thou wert true:
Did sickness shake the frame, or anguish tear
The wounded spirit, thou wert present there.

4 Yet when our hearts review departed days,
How vast thy mercies! how remiss our praise!
Well may we dread thine awful eye to meet,
Bend at thy throne, and worship at thy feet.

5 O lend thine ear, and lift our voice to thee;

Where'er we dwell, still let thy mercy be;
From year to year, still nearer to thy shrine
Draw our frail hearts, and make them wholly thine.

1 ETERNAL Source of every joy!

Well may thy praise our lips employ,
While in thy temple we appear,

Whose goodness crowns the circling year.

2 Wide as the wheels of nature roll,
Thy hand supports the steady pole;
The sun is taught by thee to rise,
And darkness when to veil the skies.

3 Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days,
Demand successive songs of praise;
Still be the cheerful homage paid,
With opening light and evening shade.

4 O may our more harmonious tongues
In worlds unknown pursue the songs;
And in those brighter courts adore,
Where days and years revolve no more!