WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, the distinguished poet, and uncle of the preceding writer, was born at Cockermouth, Cumberland, on the 7th April, 1770. He studied at St. John's College. Cambridge, where he took B.A. in 1791. He early devoted himself to a literary career. His first poetical efforts were published in 1793. The first volume of his "Lyrical Ballads" appeared in 1798. In 1814, he gave to the world his great poem, "The Excursion." From his thirtieth year, he resided amidst the beautiful scenery of the Cumberland lakes. In 1813, he was appointed distributor of stamps for Westmoreland, which yielded him £500 a year. In 1842, he received a civil list pension of £300, and in the year following was appointed PoetLaureate. He died at his residence of Rydal Mount, near Grasmere, on the oth April, 1850.

HYMN FOR NOONDAY.

Up to the throne of God is borne
The voice of praise at early morn;
And He accepts the punctual hymn,
Sung as the light of day grows dim.

Nor will He turn His ear aside,
From holy offerings at noontide :
Then, here reposing, let us raise
A song of gratitude and praise.

What though our burden be not light,
We must not toil from morn to night;
The respite of the midday hour

Is in the thankful creature's power.

Blest are the moments, doubly blest,

That, drawn from this one hour of rest,
Are with a ready hand bestowed
Upon the service of our God.

Each field is then a hallow'd spot,

An altar is in each man's cot,
A church in every grove that spreads
Its living roof above our heads.

Look up to heaven! the industrious sun
Already half his race hath run;

He cannot halt nor go astray,
But our immortal spirits may.

Lord, since his rising in the east,
If we have faltered or transgressed,
Guide, from Thy love's abundant source,
What yet remains of this day's course.

Help with Thy grace, through life's short day,
Our upward and our downward way;

And glorify for us the west,

When we shall sink to final rest.

ANDREW YOUNG.

ANDREW YOUNG is a native of Edinburgh. His father, David Young, was upwards of fifty years one of the most successful teachers in that city. The subject of this notice passed through a literary and theological course of study at the University of Edinburgh. In 1830. he was elected by the Edinburgh Town-Council to the Head-Mastership of the Niddry Street School. In this situation he remained eleven years. In 1840, he was preferred to the English Mastership in Madras College, St. Andrews, an appointment which he held for thirteen years. Since his retirement from public duty, Mr. Young has resided in Edinburgh. The following Sunday-school hymn, which he composed many years ago, appears anonymously in the Collections. A correct copy has been kindly supplied to us by the author.

THE HAPPY LAND.

THERE is a happy land,

Far, far away,

Where saints in glory stand,

Bright, bright as day.
Oh how they sweetly sing,
Worthy is our Saviour King;
Loud let His praises ring—
Praise, praise for aye.

Come to this happy land,

Come, come away;

Why will ye doubting stand-
Why still delay?

T T

Oh we shall happy be,
When, from sin and sorrow free,
Lord, we shall live with Thee—
Blest, blest for aye.

Bright in that happy land
Beams every eye:

Kept by a Father's hand,
Love cannot die.

On then to glory run;

Be a crown and kingdom won; And bright above the sun

Reign, reign for aye.

APPENDIX.

WILLIAM BALL.

WILLIAM BALL was originally engaged in legal pursuits. In 1835, he purchased the beautiful estate of Glen Rothay, near Rydal, Westmoreland. He has employed a portion of his time in poetical composition. Among a number of volumes which he has printed, intended chiefly for private circulation, are "Hymns or Lyrics," 1864, 12mo; "Notices of Kindred and Friends Departed." 1865; and "The Story of James Beattie, the Aberdeenshire Schoolmaster, versified," 1866. Mr. Ball is a member of the Society of Friends. The two following lyrics, from his pen, have been inserted with his permission.

"THE WORD WAS MADE FLESH."

PRAISE to Jesus! Praise to God
For the love He sheds abroad,
Lightening o'er a world of sin-
Glowing in the heart within.

For the pristine promise made
E'en in Eden's darken'd shade,

For the light of sacrifice,

Till the Morning Star should rise.

For the harp of prophecy,
Singing of redemption nigh;
For the Branch of Jesse's stem;
For the birth at Bethlehem.

For the sacred standard spread;
For the life our Pattern led;
For His precept pure and true;
For His doctrine, like the dew.

For His love's inviting call,
All embracing, seeking all;
For the grace and truth He brought,
For the ransom He hath wrought.

For the crown of thorns He wore ;
For the painful cross He bore;

For the dying word He said,

Seal'd with "blood of sprinkling" shed.

For the radiant rising dawn,

For the sting of death withdrawn ;

For the victory gain'd so well

O'er the grave, and over hell.

For His glorious reign on high,
When He rose from Bethany;
For the heavenly peace He leaves;
For the Comforter He gives.

For His parting promise dear

Of His presence, alway near;
For the blest assurance made
Of His intercessory aid.

For the pledge that we shall rise,
In His likeness, to the skies;
For the merciful decree

That our Friend our Judge shall be.

All redeeming bounty gives:
All that humble faith receives :
All that rising doubt restrains :
All that drooping hope sustains.

Saviour! these to Thee we owe,
From Thy dying love they flow;
And we praise, for grace so free,
Thee, Jehovah-Jesus, Thee.

STREAMS IN THE DESERT.

"He showed me a pure river of water of life."-Rev. xxii. 1.

THERE is a pure and tranquil wave

That rolls around the throne of love,
Whose waters gladden, as they lave,
The peaceful shores above;