Thy love has never changed, nor succours

fail'd,

When foes without and fears within assail'd.

When my heart rested on

good,

some fancied

If thou the favorite object hast withstood,
'Twas all in love, that future days might tell,
Thou, in denying, hast done all things well.
Now memory glances at the changeful past,
Surveying how and where my lot was cast;
In each, in all events thy grace I see,
And I must justify thy ways to me.

This faith enacts; while much is still

obscure,

I trust thy wisdom, of thy love secure ;
But soon the vision of eternal day

Shall chase these shadows and these doubts

away.

F

As sings the bird at close of day,
And warbles forth her sweetest lay;

So would I spend my latest breath,
And sing my Saviour's praise in death.
Chesham.

J. HALL.

I PACE along life's narrow shore,
Eternity is near at hand,

I hear the everlasting roar

Of billows striking on the strand.

O Thou, who still hast been my guide Through life, and led me to its verge; Pilot me on this unknown tide,

And bear me o'er the boundless surge.

In vain, through nature's brooding night,

The unfathom’d future I explore;

Give me to see it in thy light,

A sea of bliss without a shore.

THE HOPE OF HEAVEN.

WHAT is the joy that gladness gives,
Refreshing as the dew of even,

When earthly hope no longer lives?

The Hope of Heaven.

It lives through life-in death still lingers, The best of hopes to mortals given;

Smiles at the tyrant's icy fingers

That Hope of Heaven.

The light of life, the "joy of sorrow,"

When darkness o'er the soul is driven : Care stamps in vain the deepened furrow; In death we have the Hope of Heaven.

FUTURE REST.

ONE hour-no more of sighing here,

And then shall we be free,

And leave, O earth, thy cloudy sphere, Where joy lives droopingly;

Then bid, thou sorrow-telling tear,

Farewell to earth and thee!

The anguished heart may throb awhileThat throb shall shortly close;

The tear drop brighten to a smile,

And sorrow find repose:

For heavenly sunbeams soon beguile

The dew-tear from the rose!

Then weary pilgrim, speed thee on,
Thou soon shall gain thy rest!

And, warrior, fight till thou hast won
A wreath to crown thy crest :-
Morn's envious clouds, the setting sun
Will make his richest vest.

"Christ in you the hope of glory."

GIVE me that hope which will remain
When the death pillow bears my head;

When every bond is reft in twain,
And every hope beside has fled :
When life and all its actions seem
Like the departing of a dream.