Thou knowest that the time thy God Let faith, not fear nor fretfulness, Right comes, truth dawns, and night departs THE CITY OF GOD. The Cross-Bearer. IN Thee po wife, N Thee my powers, my treasures live, To Thee my life must tend; Giving Thyself, Thou all doft give, And wherefore fhould I seek above, Since firm in faith, and deep in love, Since in a life of peace and prayer, Where pain the soul hath purified, And truth is crowned and glorified, There only there is heaven! Eliza Scudder. 1858. SUNDAY. SUNDAY MORNING. OW sweet, how calm this Sabbath morn! HOW How pure the air that breathes, And soft the sounds upon it borne, It seems as if the Chriftian's prayer, Let each unholy paffion cease, THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL. SLEEP, LEEP, fleep to-day, tormenting cares, Ye fhall not dim the light that streams To-morrow will be time enough Sleep, fleep forever, guilty thoughts; And, purged from fin, may I behold Mrs. Barbauld. 1825. A HYMN FOR THE SABBATH. DAY of rest and gladness, O balm of care and sadness, On thee, the high and lowly, To the Great Three in One. On thee, at the creation, The light firft had its birth; On thee for our salvation Chrift rose from depths of earth; On thee our Lord victorious The Spirit sent from Heaven, And thus on thee moft glorious A triple Light was given. Thou art a port protected From ftorms that round us rise; A garden intersected With ftreams of Paradise; Thou art a cooling fountain In life's dry, dreary sand; From thee, like Pisgah's mountain, We view our Promised Land. Thou art a holy ladder, Where angels go and come; A day of resurrection From earth to things above. |