THE LOVE OF GOD.

Y God! Thy boundless love I praise;

M How bright on high its glories blaze!

How sweetly bloom below!

It ftreams from Thine eternal throne;
Through heaven its joys forever run,
And o'er the earth they flow.

'Tis love that paints the purple morn,
And bids the clouds, in air upborne,
Their genial drops diftil ;
In every vernal beam it glows,
And breathes in every gale that blows,
And glides in every rill.

But in Thy word I see it shine
With grace and glories more divine,

Proclaiming fins forgiven;

There, Faith, bright cherub, points the way To realms of everlasting day,

And opens all her heaven.

Then let the love, that makes me bleft,
With cheerful praise inspire my breast,
And ardent gratitude;

And all my thoughts and passions tend
To Thee, my Father and my Friend,

My soul's eternal good.

Henry Moore.

1806.

GOD OUR SHEPHERD.

HE Lord my pafture fhall prepare,

THE

And feed me with a fhepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye:
My noonday walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads.
My weary, wandering fteps He leads,
Where peaceful rivers, soft and flow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious, lonely wilds I ftray,
Thy bounty fhall my pains beguile;
The barren wilderness fhall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crowned,
And ftreams fhall murmur all around.

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart fhall fear no ill,
For Thou, O Lord! art with me still;
Thy friendly crook fhall give me aid,

And guide me through the dreadful fhade.

Joseph Addison. 1728.

SOWING AND REAPING.

"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy."— PSALM CXXVI. 5.

OW with a generous hand;

Sow

Pause not for toil or pain;

Weary not through the heat of summer,

Weary not through the cold spring rain;

But wait till the autumn comes,

For the fheaves of golden grain.

Scatter the seed, and fear not, –
A table will be spread;
What matter if you are too weary
To eat your hard-earned bread?

Sow while the earth is broken,
For the hungry must be fed.

Sow;

while the seeds are lying

In the warm earth's bosom deep,

And your warm tears fall upon it,
They will stir in their quiet fleep,
And the green blades rise the quicker,
Perchance, for the tears you weep.

Then sow,

for the hours are fleeting,

And the seed must fall to-day,

And care not what hands fhall reap it,
Or if you shall have paffed away
Before the waving cornfields
Shall gladden the sunny day.

Where the starry light appears,

Where, in spite of the coward's doubting,
Or your own heart's trembling fears,
You fhall reap in joy the harvest

You have sown to-day in tears.

Miss A. A. Procter.

A DESIRE.

TO have dwelt in Bethlehem

When the star of the Lord fhone bright!

To have sheltered the holy wanderers

On that blefféd Chriftmas night!

To have kiffed the tender, way-worn feet

Of the Mother undefiled,

And, with reverent wonder and deep delight, To have tended the Holy Child!

Huh! such a glory was not for thee;
But that care may ftill be thine;
For are there not little ones ftill to aid
For the sake of the Child divine?
Are there no wandering pilgrims now,
To thy heart and thy home to take?
And are there no mothers whose weary hearts
You can comfort for Mary's sake?

O to have knelt at Jesus' feet,

And to have learnt His heavenly lore!
To have liftened the gentle lessons He taught
On mountain and sea and shore!

While the rich and the mighty knew Him not,
To have meekly done His will!—
Hush! for the worldly reject Him yet,

You can serve and love Him ftill.
Time cannot filence His mighty words,
And though ages have fled away,
His gentle accents of love divine
Speak to your soul to-day.

O to have solaced that weeping one
Whom the righteous dared despise !