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Preface.

THE private commonplace-book which found its way into print some years ago, and to which, from a certain flavor of antiquity in its contents, we gave the title of Hymns of the Ages, is swelling to an anthology.

In editing our firft series we hardly knew from what a perennial ftream we had dipped, and to what an indulgent public the draught was offered. More careful research has surprised and bewildered us with our riches. We have not room to-day for half the material which lies before us in manuscript.

The Ages all resound with sacred song, "the elders having every one of them harps, and golden vials full of odors, which are the prayers of saints"; and for this youngeft age, with its "teachings of God," who is so dull that he would not turn from all traditions of the elders rather than lose its ring, — none surer to reach the Throne!

The present differs from our previous series in the larger space accorded to hymns "In Time of War," and "For Old Age." We have been advised to include hymns by Watts, Wefley, Cowper, and others, which had been rejected hitherto as common in Church collections; and have also given as many as we could find of the myftical, tender songs of Madame Guyon, they being out of print in this country.

Nor have we failed to discover a few more of the rich old Latin hymns which, filtering down through German and Englifh tranflations, sink as deeply into the heart to-day as if they had only now reached native ground; proving ftill that before the Eternal all hearts are one, and the centuries are but as watches of a night.

"Every inmost aspiration is God's angel undefiled;
And in every 'O my Father!' flumbers deep a 'Here, My
Child!"'

C. S. W.
A. E. G.

Roxbury, Oitober 3, 1864.

IN TIME OF WAR.

TO-DAY IF YE WILL HEAR HIS VOICE!

OUR God! our God! Thou fhineft here;
Thine own this latter day;
To us thy radiant fteps appear;
Here leads thy glorious way!

We mine not only with the light

Thou didft fhed down of yore;
On us thou ftreameft ftrong and bright;

Thy comings are not o'er.

The fathers had not all of thee;

New births are in thy grace; All open to our souls mall be

Thy glory's hiding-place.

We gaze on thy outgoings bright,

Down cometh thy full power; We, the glad bearers of thy light;

This, this thy saving hour!

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