What shall the future progress be

Of life with me?

God knows, I roll on Him my care, -
Night is not night if He be there.
When daylight is no longer mine,
And ftars forbidden are to fhine,
I'll turn my eyes

To where eternal day fhall rise.

That coming light no mortal cloud
Can quite enfhroud!

Through all our doubts, —above the range
Of every fear, and every change,

My faith can see, with weary eye,
The dawn of heaven on earth's dim sky;

And from afar

Shines on my soul the morning star.

Hymns of the Church Militant.

OD of my childhood and my youth,

GThe Guide of all my days,

I have declared thy heavenly truth,
And told thy wondrous ways.

Wilt thou forsake my hoary hairs,
And leave my fainting heart?
Who fhall suftain my finking years,
If God, my ftrength, depart?

Let me thy power and truth proclaim
Before the rifing age,

And leave a savor of thy name
When I fhall quit the ftage.

The land of filence and of death

Attends my next remove;

O may these poor remains of breath
Teach all the world thy love!

Isaac Watts. 1674-1748.

W

HEN life's tempeftuous ftorms are o'er,
How calm he meets the friendly shore,
Who lived averse from fin!

Such peace on virtue's paths attends,
That, where the finner's pleasure ends,
The Chriftian's joys begin.

See smiling patience smooth his brow!
See bending angels downward bow,
To cheer his way on high!

While, eager for the bleft abode,

He joins with them to praise the God
Who taught him how to die.

No sorrow drowns his lifted eyes;
No horror wrests the struggling fighs,
As from the finner's breaft;

His God, the God of peace and love,
Pours kindly solace from above,

And soothes his soul to reft.

O grant, my Father and my Friend,
Such joys may gild my peaceful end,
So calm my evening close;

While, loosed from every earthly tie,
With fteady confidence I fly

To Thee from whom I rose.

W. Bofton Coll.

ΤΗ

HE hour of my departure 's come;
I hear the voice that calls me home:
Now, O my Lord, let trouble cease,
Now let thy servant die in peace.

The race appointed I have run;
The combat 's o'er, the prize is won;

And now my witness is on high,

And now my record 's in the sky.

I leave the world without a tear,
Save for the friends I held so dear:
To heal their sorrows, Lord, descend,
And to the friendless prove a friend.

I come, I come; at thy command,
I give my spirit to thy hand;
Stretch forth thine everlasting arms,
And fhield me in the laft alarms.

The hour of my departure 's come;
I hear the voice that calls me home:
Now, O my God, let trouble cease;
Now let thy servant die in peace.

John Logan. 1770.

How

OW bleft is he whose tranquil mind,
When life declines, recalls again
The years that time has caft behind,
And reaps delight from toil and pain.

So, when the tranfient ftorm is past,
The sudden gloom and driving shower,

The sweeteft sunshine is the laft;

The lovelieft is the evening hour.

THE RIVER PATH.

O bird-song floated down the hill,
The tangled bank below was still;

No ruftle from the birchen stem,
No ripple from the water's hem.

The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew;

For, from us, ere the day was done,
The wooded hills fhut out the sun.

But on the river's farther fide
We saw the hill-tops glorified, -

A tender glow, exceeding fair,
A dream of day without its glare.

With us the damp, the chill, the gloom:
With them the sunset's rosy bloom;

While dark, through willowy viftas seen,
The river rolled in fhade between.

From out the darkness where we trod
We gazed upon those hills of God,

Whose light seemed not of moon or sun.
We spake not, but our thought was one.