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MATTHEW v. 3- 10.

THERE is a dwelling-place above ;
1 Thither, to meet the God of love,

The poor in spirit go :
There is a paradise of rest;
For contrite hearts and souls distrest

Its streams of comfort flow.

There is a goodly heritage,
Where earthly passions cease to rage ;

The meek that haven gain :
There is a board, where they who pine,
Hungry, athirst, for grace divine,

May feast, nor crave again.

There is a voice to mercy true ;
To them who mercy's path pursue

That voice shall bliss impart :
There is a fight from man concealed;
That sight, the face of God revealed,

Shall bless the pure in heart.

There is a name, in heaven bestowed ;
That name, which hails them sons of God,

The friends of peace shall know :

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Lord! be it mine like them to choose
The better part, like them to use

The means Thy love hath given
Be holiness my aim on earth,
That death be welcomed as a birth
To life and bliss in Heaven !

Bishop R. Mant. 1831.

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n BIRDS from out the east, O birds from out the

west, Have ye found that happy city in all your weary quest? Tell me, tell me, from earth's wandering may the heart

find glad surcease, Can ye show me as an earnest any olive-branch of

peace ? I am weary of life's troubles, of its sin and toil and

care ; I am faithless, crushing in my heart so many a fruitless


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Say, doth a dreamy atmosphere that blesséd city crown? Are there couches spread for sleeping softer than the

eider-down? Does the silver sound of waters, falling 'twixt its marble

walls, Hush its solemn silence even into stiller intervals ? Doth the poppy shed its influence there, or doth the

fabled moly With its leafy-laden Lethe lade the eyes with sumber

holy? Do they never wake to sorrow, who, after toilsome

quest, Have entered in that city, the name of which is Rest?

Doth the fancy wile not there for aye? Is the restless

soul's endeavor Hushed in a rhythm of solemn calm, forever and forever? Are human natures satisfied of their intense desire ? Is there no more good beyond to seek, or do they not

aspire ? But weary, weary of the ore within its yellow sun, Do they lie and eat its lotus-leaves and dream life’s toil

is done? O tell me, do they there forget what here hath made

them blest, Nor sigh again for home and friends, in the city named


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Bless God, I hear a still small voice, above life's clam

orous din, Saying, Faint not, O weary one, thou yet mayst enter in; That city is prepared for those who well do win the

fight, Who tread the wine-press till its blood hath washed

their garments white, Within it is no darkness, nor any baleful flower Shall there oppress thy weeping eyes with stupefying

power. It lieth calm within the light of God's peace-giving

breast, Its walls are called Salvation, the city's name is Rest!

Household Words.


M Y God, it is not faithlessness

V That makes me say, “How long?It is not heaviness of heart

That hinders me in song ; 'T is not despair of truth and right,

Nor coward dread of wrong.

But how can I with such a hope

Of glory and of home,
With such a joy before my eyes,

Not wish the time were come,
Of years the jubilee, – of days

The Sabbath and the sum !

These years, what ages have they been!

This life, how long it seems! And how can I, in evil days,

Mid unknown hills and streams, But sigh for those of home and heart,

And visit them in dreams?

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