While the great and wise reject Him,
Fond of outward pomp and show;
Oh, let none of us neglect Him
In His members mean and low,
But as princes

Treat the poorest saints we know.

Think (at the last trumpet's sounding,
When the creatures all appear,
Christ on His white throne surrounding),
What delight 'twill be to hear
Him confessing

Us as those that served Him here!

"Come, ye bless'd, whom tribulation,
Sin, and Satan could not move
From embracing my salvation;
Come, enjoy my perfect love :
Live for ever

With me on my throne above."

This to hear, before the Father
And the bright, angelic train,
When all worlds are met together,
Is the glory we would gain :
This is honour;

Crowns, compared with this, are vain.

CHRIST'S UNPARALLELED LOVE.*

A FRIEND there is-your voices join,
Ye saints, to praise His name,-
Whose truth and kindness are Divine,
Whose love's a constant flame.

When most we need His helping hand,

This friend is always near;

With heav'n and earth at His command,
He waits to answer prayer.

* Written on the occasion of the death of the author's only son.

His love no end nor measure knows ;
No change can turn its course ;
Immutably the same it flows,

From one eternal source.

When frowns appear to veil His face,
And clouds surround His throne,
He hides the purpose of His grace
To make it better known.

And if our dearest comforts fall,
Before His sov'reign will,
He never takes away our all;
Himself He gives us still!

Our sorrows in the scale He weighs,
And measures out our pains;
The wildest storm His word obeys,
His word its rage restrains.

No hand can move in earth or hell
Against the soul He loves,

But as directed by His will,

But as His love approves.

Then let Him raise His chastening hand; We bend beneath His rod,

Resign His gifts at His command,

And still adore our God.

Silent be all my anxious fears;
My heart, no more repine,
Since Jesus in His bosom wears
The flow'r that once was mine.

I'll love the Lord, and trust His word,
Though He thinks fit to frown,
And kiss the hand that holds the sword
Which cuts my comforts down.

MERCY IN JESUS.

COME, ye souls by sin afflicted,
Bowed with fruitless sorrow down;
By the broken law convicted,

Through the cross behold the crown!
Look to Jesus,

Mercy flows through Him alone.

Take His easy yoke, and wear it ;
Love will make obedience sweet;
Christ will give you strength to bear it,
While His wisdom guides your feet
Safe to glory,

Where His ransom'd captives meet.

Sweet as home to pilgrims weary,
Light to newly opened eyes,
Or full springs in deserts dreary,
Is the rest the cross supplies;
All who taste it

Shall to rest immortal rise.

Blessed are the eyes that see Him,

Blest the ears that hear His voice;
Blessed are the souls that trust Him,
And in Him alone rejoice;

His commandments
Then become their happy choice.

But to sing the rest of glory

Mortal tongues far short must fall;
Tongues celestial strive to reach it;
But it soars beyond them all:

Faith believes it-Hope expects it-Love desires it;
But it overwhelms them all.

JANE TAYLOR.

THE sister of Mrs. Gilbert, previously noticed, JANE TAYLOR was born at Islington, London, on the 23rd September, 1783. By her father she was initiated in the art of engraving. In 1811, she abandoned engraving for a literary career. She published, conjointly with her sister Ann afterwards Mrs. Gilbert, a series of volumes of sacred lyrics for youthful readers. She died in April, 1823. Her "Poetical Remains" were published in 1825, by her brother, Isaac Taylor, in two volumes, 8vo.

THE HEAVENLY PATH.

THERE is a path that leads to God;
All others go astray:
Narrow, but pleasant, is the road,
And Christians love the way.

It leads straight through this world of sin,
And dangers must be pass'd;
But those who boldly walk therein
Will get to heaven at last.

How shall an infant pilgrim dare

This dangerous path to tread?

For on the way is many a snare,

For youthful travellers spread;

While the broad road, where thousands go,

Lies near and opens fair,

And many turn aside, I know,

To walk with sinners there.

But, lest my feeble steps should slide
Or wander from the way,

Lord, condescend to be my guide,

And I shall never stray.

HYMN FOR CHILDREN.

JESUS, our gentle Shepherd, see

These tender lambs of Zion's fold:

Lo! we are come to follow Thee;
Gather and guard us as of old ;
While through the desert world we stray,
Preserve us in the narrow way.

Where Thy refreshing pastures grow,
Where all Thy chosen flock is fed,
Where living waters gently flow,

There may our wandering feet be led :
Direct us towards the heavenly hill,
And bear us in Thy bosom still.

Much do we need Thy watchful care,
Through every day and every hour;
For life is set with many a snare,

And Satan wanders to devour :
But we are safe from all alarms,
Within our heavenly Shepherd's arms.

Here in the gospel we are told

What great compassion was in Thee,
When mothers brought their babes of old—
Poor helpless children, such as we-
E'en to Thy tender bosom brought,
And Thou didst say "Forbid them not."

And thus, encouraged by Thy grace,

To those still open arms we fly;
And, though we cannot see Thy face,
Yet Thou canst bless us from on high;
For still Thy gracious word, we see,
Says, "Suffer them to come to me."