THE NATIVITY.

WHEN Jordan hushed his waters still,
And silence slept on Zion hill;

When Bethlehem's shepherds through the night
Watched o'er their flocks by starry light;

Hark! from the midnight hills around,
A voice of more than mortal sound,

In distant hallelujahs stole,

Wild murm'ring o'er the raptured soul.
Then swift to everv startled eye,
New stretory light the sky;
Heaven bursus un dznre gates to pour
Her spirits e midnight nour.

On wheels

t, on wings of fame,

The glorions hosts of Zion came:

High heaven with songs of triumph rung,
While thus they struck their harps and sung.

O Zion lift thy raptured eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh
The joys of nature rise again,

The Prince of Salem comes to reign.

See, Mercy from her golden urn

tours a rich stream to them that mourn;
Behold, she binds, with tender care,
Ing bleeding bosom of despair.

He comes, to cheer the trembling heart,
Bids Satan and his host depart;
Again the day-star gilds the gloom,
Again the bowers of Eden bloom!

O Zion! lift thy raptured eye,
The long expected hour is nigh;
The joys of nature rise again,

The Prince of Salem comes to reign.-CAMPBELL.

GOD GLORIFIED IN ALL HIS WORKS.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.

Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,

Does his Creator's praise display,

And publishes to every land

The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly, to the list'ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth;

While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball,
What though nor voice nor minstrel sound
Among their radiant orbs be found:

With saints and angels they rejoice,
And utter forth their glorious voice;
For ever singing as they shine,

"The hand that made us is Divine !"-ADDISON.

THE RAINBOW.

WHEN the floods of the deluge to ocean had rolled,
And the green-mantled hills reappeared;
When the valleys unfolded their blossoms of gold,
And Noah, the patriarch, came forth from his hold,
The voice of Jehovah was heard-
The voice of Jehovah brought tidings of bliss
To the world late entombed in the fearful abyss.

The smoke of thine offering hath come up on high,
Thor father of nations to be!

And now I my rainbow shall set in the sky,
When tempests are dark to thy terrified eve,
That shall bring consolation to thee--
To thousands of thousands that after thee tread
The regions of life to the realms of the dead.

"It is for a sign that I never again

With waters shall cover the earth;

And the birds in the arbors shall warble their strain, And the cattle shall browse on the nourishing plain, And give to their progeny birth;

And die as they died by the curse that I spoke, When my cov'nant of old by thy father was broke.

"And thou, Noah, thou art preserved for thy worth, To repeople the desolate world;

To the climes of the south, to the isles of the north, To the east and the west, shall thy children go forth, With the white flags of ocean unfurled

To publish my praises throughout every land,

And the judgments of vengeance that come from my hand. "And seed-time and harvest shall duly be given

To the hopes and the hands of mankind; And summer and winter, and morning and even, And the dew-drops of earth, and the light-rays of heaven, And the cloud, and the rain, and the wind, While earth on her orbit is destined to run, And give her green breast to the beams of the sun."

THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS.
Nor to the mount that burned with fire,
To darkness, tempest, and the sound
Of trumpet waxing higher and higher,
Nor voice of words that rent the ground,
While Israel heard, with trembling awe,
Jehovah thunder forth his law:

But to Mount Zion we are come,
The city of the living God,
Jerusalem, our heavenly home,
The courts by angel-legions trod,
Where meet, in everlasting love,
The church of the first-born above:

To God, the Judge of quick and dead,
The perfect spirits of the just,
Jesus, our great new-covenant Head,
The bio of sprinkling-from the dust,
Tha etter things than Abel's cries,
And pleads a Savior's sacrifice.

Oh, heaven to the healing voice,

KNOX.

That speaks from heaven in tones so mild!
To-day are life and death our choice,
To-day, through mercy reconciled,
Our all to God we yet may give;
Now let us hear his voice and live.

MONTGOMERY,

THE EXEMPLARY WIFE.

O BLEST is he whose arms enfold
A consort virtuous as fair!
Her price is far above the gold
That worldly spirits love to share.
On her, as on a beauteons isle,
Amid life's dark and inv sea,
In all his trouble, all his cou,
He rests with deep security.

Even in the night-watch, jork 2nd lone,
The distaff fills her busy hand:
Her husband in the gates is known
Among the elders of the land;
Her household all delight to share
The food and raiment she bestows-
Even she with a parent's care

Regards their weakness and their woes.

Her pitying hand supplies the poor,
The widowed one, the orphan child,
Like birds assembled round her door,

When sweeps the winter tempest wild.
Her lips, with love and wisdom fraught,
Drop, like the honeycomb, their sweets;
The young are by her dictates taught,
The mourner her condolence meets.
Her lovely babes around her rise--
Fair scions of a holy stem!
And deeply shall her bosom prize

The blessings she receives from them. Beauty is vain as summer bloom

To which a transient fate is given; But hers awaits a lasting doom

In the eternal bowers of heaven.-KNOX.

HYMN BEFORE THE SACRAMENT.
BREAD of the world, in mercy broken!
Wine of the soul, in mercy shed!
By whom the words of life were spoken,
And in whose death our sins are dead!
Look on the heart by sorrow broken,

Look on the tears by sinners shed,

And be thy feast to us the token

That by thy grace our souls are fed!-HEBER.

HYMN OF PRAISE.

SOURCE of being, source of light,
With unfading beauties bright;
Thee, when morning greets the skies,
Blushing sweet with humid eyes;
Thee, when soft declining day
Sinks in purple waves away;
Thee, O parent, will I sing,
To thy feet my tribute bring!

Yonder azure vault on high,
Yonder blue, low, liquid sky;
Earth on its firm basis placed,
And with circling waves embraced;
All creating power confess,
All their mighty Maker bless;
Shaking nature with thy nod,
Earth and heaven confess their God.
Source of light, thou bidst the sun
On his burning axles run;
Stars kke dust around him fly,
Strew the area of the sky;
Fills the queen of solemn night
From his vase her orb of light;
Lunar lustre, thus we see,
Solar virtue shines by thee.
Father, King, whose heavenly face
Shines serene upon our race;
Mindful of thy guardian care,
Blow to punish, prone to spare:
We thy majesty adore,

We thy well-known aid implore;

Not in vam thy aid we call,

Nothing want, for thou art al !—WESLEY.

GOD VISIBLE IN HIS WORKS

ABOVE-below-where'er 1 gaze,
Thy guiding finger, Lord, I view.
Traced in the midnight planets' blaze,
Or glistening in the mcing dew;
Whate'er is beautiful or fau,
Is but thine own reflection here.

I hear thee in the stormy wn,

'That turns the ocean wave to foam; Nor less thy wondrous power I find,

When summer airs around me roam; The tempest and the calm declare Thyself-for thou art everywhere.

I find thee in the noon of night,

And read thy name in every star That drinks its splendor from the light

That flows from mercy's beaming car: Thy footstool, Lord, each starry gem Composes-not thy diadem.

And when the radiant orb of light

Hath tipped the mountain tops with gold,
Smote with the blaze my weary sight
Shrinks from the wonders I behold:
That ray of glory bright and fair,

Is but thy living shadow there.
Thine is the silent noon of night,

The twilight, eve-the dewy morn;
Whate'er is beautiful and bright,

Thine hands have fashioned to adorn :
Thy glory walks in every sphere,
And all things whisper, "God is here!"

A DOMESTIC SCENE.

TWAS early day-and sunlight streamed
Soft through a quiet room,

That hushed, but not forsaken seemed→→
Still, but with naught of gloom;
For then, secure in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,

A father communed with the page

Of heaven's recorded love.

Pure fell the beam and meekly bright,

On his gray holy hair,

And touched the book with tenderest light

As if its shrine were there;

But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone
With something lovelier far-

A radiance, all the Spirit's own,
Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of light e'en then had met
His calm benignant eye,

Some ancient promise, breathing yet
Of immortality:

Some heart's deep language when the glow
Of quenchless faith survives,
For, every feature said-" I know
That my Redeemer lives."
And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thought, o'er-sweeping death:
Silent-yet did not each young breast
With love and reverence melt ?

Oh! blest be those fair girls-and blest The home where God is felt.-HEMANS.

THE SABBATH.

LORD of the sabbath and its light;
I hail thy hallowed day of rest;
It is my weary soul's delight,

The solace of my care-worn breast.
Its dewy morn-its glowing noon-
Its tranquil eve-its solemn night-
Pass sweetly; but they pass too soon,
And leave me saddened at their flight.

Yet sweetly as they glide along,

And hallowed though the calm they yield; Transporting though their rapturous song, And heavenly visions seem revealed:

My soul is desolate and drear,

My silent harp untuned remains; Unless, my Savior, thou art near,

To heal my wounds and sooth my pains.

O ever, ever let me hail

Thy presence with thy day of rest: Then will thy servant never fail

To deem thy sabbaths doubly blest.-EAST

A PRAYER TO JESUS.

WHEN our heads are bowed with wo,
When our bitter tears o'erflow;
When we mourn the lost, the dear,
Gracious Son of Mary hear!

Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn,
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne,
Thou hast shed the human tear;
Gracious son of Mary, hear!

When the sullen death-bell tolls
For our own departed souls;
When our final doom is near,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

Thou hast bowed the dying head;
Thou the blood of life hast shed;
Thou hast filled a mortal bier;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

When the heart is sad within,
With the thought of all its sin;
When the spirit shrinks with fear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

Thou the shame, the grief, hast known,
Though the sins were not thine own,
Thou hast deigned their load to bear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !—HEBER.

THE REST OF THE GRAVE. How still and peaceful is the grave! Where, life's vain tumults past,

The appointed house, by Heaven's decree,
Receives us all at last.

The wicked there from troubling cease,
Their passions rage no more;

And there the weary pilgrim rests
From all the toils he bore.

There rest the prisoners, now released
From slavery's sad abode :

No more they hear the oppressor's voice,
Or dread the tyrant's rod.

There, servants, masters, small and great,
Partake the same repose;
And there, in peace, the ashes mix
Of those who once were foes.

All, levelled by the hand of Death,
Lie sleeping in the tomb;

Till God in judgment calls them forth,
To meet their final doom.

SATURDAY NIGHT.

AGAIN the week's dull labors close;
The sons of toil from toil repose;
And fast the evening gloom descends,
While home the weary peasant wends.
This night his eyes, in slumber sweet,
Shall droop their lids; to-morrow greet
A day of calm content and rest-
To Labor's aching limbs how blest!

Now, ere I seek my peaceful bed,
And on the pillow rest my head,
Oh, come, my soul, and wide display
The mercies of the week and day!
From danger who my frame hath kept,
While waking, and what time I slept ?
Who hath my every want supplied,
And to my footsteps proved a guide?
Tis thou, my God!-to thee belong
Incense of praise, and hallowed song;
To Thee be all the glory given,
Of all my mercies under heaven.

From thee my daily bread and health,
Each comfort-all my spirit's wealth,
Have been derived; iny sins alone,
And errings I can call my own.

Oh, when to-morrow's sun shall rise,
And light once more shall glad these eyes,

May I thy blessed Sabbath prove,

A day of holy rest and love.
May my Redeemer's praises claim
My constant thought; the Spirit's flame
Descend, my accents to inspire,

And fill my soul with rapture's fire.

And when the night of Death is come,
And I must slumber in the tomb,
Oh, then, my God, this faint heart cheer,
And far dispel the shades of fear,
And teach me, in thy strength, to tread
The path which leads me to the dead,
Assured, when life's hard toils are o'er,
Of rest with thee for evermore !-WALKED.

CHRIST A PRESENT HELP.
WHEN gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who not in vain,
Experienced every human pain.
He sees my griefs, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.

If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the thing I would not do;
Still He, who felt temptation's power,
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.

If wounded love my bosom swell,
Despised by those I prized too well;
He shall his pitying aid bestow,
Who felt on earth severer wo;
At once betrayed, denied, or fled,
By those who shared his daily bread.
When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And, sore dismayed, my spirit dies ;
Yet He who once vouchsafed to bear
The sickening anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly sooth, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.

When, mourning, o'er some stone I bend,
Which covers all that was a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while;
Thou Savior, markst the tears I shed,
For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.

And, oh, when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last,
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed-for thou hast died:
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.-GRANT.

MARY MAGDALENE.

THERE is a tender sadness in that air,
While yet devotion lifts the soul above;
Mournful though calm, as rainbow-glories prove
The parting storm, it marks the past despair!
Heedless of gazers, once with flowing hair
She dried his tear-besprinkled feet, whose love,
Powerful alike to pardon and reprove,
Took from her aching heart its load of care,
Thenceforth nor time nor pain could e'er efface
Her Savior's pity; through all worldly scorn,
To her he had a glory and a grace,

Which made her humbly love and meekly mourn.
Till by his faithful care she reached the place-
Where his redeemed saints above all griefs are borne.
NOEL

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft on Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness,

The gifts of God are strown,
The heathen, in his blindness,
Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to man benighted
The lamp of life deny ?
Salvation! oh, salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation

Has learnt Messiah's name.
Waft, waft, ye winds, his story
And you, ye waters, roll;
Till like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole! Till o'er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator,

In bliss returns t reign.-HEBER.

WHAT IS TIME?

I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares,
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs;
"Time is the warp of life," he said, "O tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!"

I asked the ancient venerable dead,
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled:
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed,
"Time sowed the seeds we reap in this abode !"

I asked a dying sinner, ere the stroke

Of ruthless death life's "golden bowl had broke;"
I asked, What is time? "Time," he replied,
"I've los. it, Ah, the treasure!" and he died!

I asked the golden sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years;
They answered, "Time is but a meteor's glare,"
And bade me for Eternity prepare.

I asked the seasons, in their annual round
Which beautify, or desolate the ground;
And they replied (no oracle more wise),
""Tis folly's blank, and wisdom's highest prize.❞

I asked a spirit lost, but, O the shriek
That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak!
It cried, "a particle! a speck! a mite
Of endless years, duration infinite!"

Of things inanimate, my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply,
"Time is the season fair of living well
The path to glory, or the path to hell."

I asked my Bible, and methinks it said,
"Thine is the present hour, the past is fled;
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any human being rose or set!"

I asked old father Time himself at last;
But in a moment he flew swiftly past;
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, that left no trace behind.

I asked the mighty Angel, who shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land;
"By heavens, great King, I swear the mystery's o'er!
Time was," he cried,-" but Time shall be no more!"
MARSDEN.

THE BETTER LAND.

I HEAR thee speak of the better land,
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore-
Shall we not seek it and weep no more?

Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs ↑
"Not there, not there, my child."

Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?
"Not there, not there, my child."

Is it far away in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold-
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand--
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?
"Not there, not there, my child.

"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams can not picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!"-HEMANS.

OF

POOR JACK.

And under reefed foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !

} heard our good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch:
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me
That Providence takes us in tow:

"For," says he, "do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !"

I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry,

When last we weighed anchor for sea

"What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye? Why, what a damned fool you must be !

Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all,
Both for Beamen and lubbers ashore ?

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,
You never will hear of me more:

What then? all's a hazard: come, don't be so soft;
Perhaps I may laughing come back,

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack !"

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world without offering to flinch,
From the moment the anchor's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,
Naught's a trouble from duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's,
And as for my life, 'tis the king's:

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft
As for grief to be taken aback,

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack

THE GOOD SHIP THE KITTY.

I SAILED in the good ship the Kitty,
With a smart blowing gale and rough sea;
Left my Polly, the lads call so pretty,

Safe here at an anchor-Yo, Yea!
She blubbered salt tears when we parted,
And cried, "Now be constant to me!"

I told her not to be down-hearted,

So up went the anchor--Yo, Yea!
And from that time, no worse nor no better,
I've thought on just nothing but she;
Nor could grog nor flip make me forget her,
She's my best bower-anchor-Yo, Yea!

When the wind whistled larboard and starboard,
And the storm came on weather and lec,
The hope I with her should be harbored
Was my cable and anchor-Yo, Yea!

And yet, my boys, would you believe me?
I returned with no rhino from sea;
Mistress Polly would never receive me,
So again I heaved anchor-Yo, Yea!

THE JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.

AND did not you hear of a jolly young waterman,
Who at Blackfriars bridge used for to ply?
He feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity,
Winning each heart, and delighting each eye.
He looked so neat and rowed so steadily,
The maidens all flocked to his boat so readily;
And he eyed the young rogues with so charming an aut,
That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

What sights of fine folks he rowed in his wherry,
'Twas cleaned out so nice and so painted withal
He was always first oars when the fine city ladies
In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall.
And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering,
But 'twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering:
For loving or liking he little did care,

For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare.

And yet but to see how strangely things happen,
As he rowed along thinking of nothing at all,
He was plied by a damsel so lovely and charming,
That she smiled, and so straightway in love he did fall
And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow,
He'd wed her to-night, before to-morrow.
And how should this waterman ever know care,
When he's married and never in want of a fare?