“When J Awake J am Still with Thee.”

TILL, still with thee, when purple

morning breaketh,

When the bird waketh and the shadows

Aee;

Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee!

Alone with thee! amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with thee in breathless adoration,

In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.

As in the dawning, o'er the waveless ocean,
The image of the morning star doth rest,
So in this stillness, thou beholdest only

Thine image in the waters of my breast.

Still, still with thee! as to each new-born morning
A fresh and solemn splendour still is given,
So doth this blessed consciousness awaking,

Breathe each new day, nearness to thee and heaven.

When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eye looks up to thee in prayer,
Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,
But sweeter still, to wake and find thee there.

So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,

When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee; Oh! in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought—I am with thee. Mrs. Stowe,

B

Gethsemane.

EYOND where Cedron's waters flow,
Behold the suffering Saviour go

To sad Gethsemane ;

His countenance is all divine,
Yet grief appears in every line.

He bows beneath the sins of men ;
He cries to God, and cries again,
In sad Gethsemane ;

He lifts His mournful eyes above-
My Father, can this cup remove?"

With gentle resignation still,
He yielded to his Father's will
In sad Gethsemane ;

"Behold Me here, thine only Son ;
And, Father, let thy will be done."

The Father heard; and angels, there,
Sustained the Son of God in prayer,
In sad Gethsemane ;

He drank the dreadful cup of pain-
Then rose to life and joy again.

When storms of sorrow round us sweep,
And scenes of anguish make us weep,
To sad Gethsemane

We'll look, and see the Saviour there,
And humbly bow, like Him, in prayer.

S. F. Smith

Calvary.

SACRED Head, now wounded,

With grief and shame weighed down ; Now scornfully surrounded

With thorns, thine only crown;

O sacred Head, what glory,

What bliss till now was thine;

Yet though despised and gory,
I joy to call thee mine.

What thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners' gain :

Mine, mine was the transgression,
But thine the deadly pain.

Lo, here I fall, my Saviour!
'Tis I deserve thy place;
Look on me with thy favour
Vouchsafe to me thy grace.

The joy can ne'er be spoken,
Above all joys beside,
When, in thy body broken,
I thus with safety hide.
Lord of my life, desiring,
Thy glory now to see,
Beside thy cross expiring

I'd breathe my soul to thee.

What language shall I borrow

To thank thee, dearest Friend,
For this thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end!

O make me thine for ever;
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love for thee.

Be near me when I'm dying,
O, show thy cross to me!
And to my succour flying,
Come, Lord, and set me free!

These

eyes, new faith receiving, From Jesus shall not move, For he who dies believing,

Dies safely, through thy love.

Gerhardt, translated by J. W. Alexander.

Strength from the Cross.

T is finished!" Man of Sorrows!
From thy cross our frailty borrows
Strength to bear and conquer thus.

While extended there we view thee,
Mighty sufferer! draw us to thee,
Sufferer victorious!

Not in vain for us, uplifted,
Man of Sorrows, wonder-gifted!
May that sacred emblem be;

Lifted high amid the ages,

Guide of heroes, saints, and sages,
May it guide us still to thee!

Still to thee! whose love unbounded,
Sorrow's depths for us hath sounded,

Perfected by conflicts sore.