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Thou lovest me, Father, with the love

Wherewith Thou lovedst Christ thy Son,
And so a brightness from above

Still glads me, though my tears may run;
For in Thy love I find and know
What all the world could ne'er bestow.

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THE world can neither give nor take,

1 Nor can they comprehend, The peace of God, which Christ has bought,

The peace which knows no end.

The burning bush was not consumed

While God remained there ;
The three, when Jesus made the fourth,

Found fire as soft as air.

God's furnace doth in Zion stand;

But Zion's God sits by,
As the refiner views his gold,

With an observant eye.

His thoughts are high, His love is wise,

His wounds a cure intend;
And, though He does not always smile,
He loves unto the end.
Cento by Selina, Countess of Huntingdon.

From John Mason. 1683.



M Y God protects; my fears begone!

1 What can the Rock of Ages move? Safe in thine arms I lay me down, Thine everlasting arms of love.

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“So that there was neither hammer nor axe, nor any tool of iron, heard in the house while it was building.” — 1 KINGS vi. 7.

W HEN God upheaved the pillared earth,
VV Hung out the stars, to light gave birth,
Opened its deeps, its carpet spread,
'T was silence all, as chaos Aed.

When rose the fane on Zion's hill,
A work of matchless power and skill,
No axe was heard, no hammer there ;
But all was still as summer air.

Thus laboring through life's working day,
In gold or marble, wood or clay,
Let Art, through us, its empire pure
By quiet toil and skill secure.

Thus air and Aame shall space o'ercome,
And bring the distant near to home;
While thought in channels new shall flow,
And round the world in silence go.

Great God! thus let the temple rise
Whose altar-stone within us lies,
Silent and calm, with skill divine,
Till light immortal round it shine.

Lewis G. Pray.


AS, down in the sunless retreats of the ocean,
A Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises, filent, to Thee,

My God! silent, to Thee, -
Pure, warm, filent, to Thee.

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,

The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark when I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns, trembling, to Thee,

My God! trembling, to Thee,
True, sure, trembling, to Thee.

T. Moore.


DEACE, troubled soul! Thou needst not fear,

1 Thy great Protector still is near ;
He who has fed will feed thee still ;
Be calm, and sink into His will ;
Who hears the ravens when they cry
Will all His children's needs supply.

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