Holy, Holy, Holy !-Thee,
One Jehovah evermore,
Father, Son, and Spirit!-we,
Dust and ashes, would adore:
Lightly by the world esteem'd,
From that world by thee redeem'd,
Sing we here with glad accord,
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord!

Holy, Holy, Holy !—All

Heaven's completed choir shall sing,

When the ransom'd nations fall
At the footstool of their King;
Then shall saints and seraphim,
Harps and voices swell one hymn,
Crying, with sublime accord,
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord!

JERUSALEM'S DOOM.

BY THE REV. W. HENDERSON,

HE came-the Saviour of mankind,
The hope of Israel's race,

The sun that lights the contrite mind
With rays of heavenly grace :-
He came and midst his own displayed
His grace in lowliness arrayed!

But ah! his own received him not,
Nor to his words gave ear;
Contempt and insult was his lot,
Suffering and grief severe :-

His love,—his mercy,—all were scorned,
And for his goodness hate returned.

Kings of the earth together joined

Against the Son of God;

Rulers, and Priests, and Scribes combined To shed his guiltless blood :—

Oh dreadful guilt!-oh cursed rage!—
Which nothing but his blood could 'suage.

Still from his lips no curse had come,
He breathed his soul in prayer ;
But now is sealed thy fearful doom—
Even mercy cannot spare :

O Zion!-once beloved of God,-
On thee now rests a Saviour's blood!

Removed is now thy strong defence,
Delusive now thy boast;

God is no more thy confidence,

His arm no more thy trust;

Since scorned the messenger of love,
Thy Saviour sent thee from above.

Already vengeance hovers near ;—
The Roman in his pride,

Has fixed his eagle-standards here,
Thy hallowed towers beside:-
Ah, Zion! trust not to thy wall,

E'en now it totters to its fall.

Discordant factions in thee burn;

Thy sons, with deadly hate, 'Gainst their own friends their fury turn,

And hasten on thy fate:

Thy pavements even now are red
With Jewish blood, by kinsmen shed.

And famine's there with pallid hue;
There pestilence devours;

And the death-flame of lambent blue
Plays round thy sacred towers :-
Thy warriors fall,-thy pride is gone,—
"Thy temple's 'reft of every stone."

Go, wretched, weeping exiles, go!
You have no more a home;

Hope not for comfort 'midst your woe—
No comforter shall come :-

An outcast race, despised, opprest, Driven from your land of promised rest.

Where'er you come, you still shall find
The same unceasing hate;

The various tribes of earth combined
To triumph in your fate;

Contempt, and scorn, and deep disgrace,
Shall be the portion of your race.

The blood of that Just One shall rest
Upon your guilty head;

This shall your banishment invest

With heart-appalling dread :

Nor, till

your stubborn heart receive

Your injured Lord, can aught relieve.

But yet the eye, which wept to see
The tempest gathering round

Thy sacred walls, still weeps o'er thee,
And longs to heal thy wound:
Now, seated on his heavenly throne,
He claims thy children as his own,