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Thou knoweft that the time thy God
Let faith, not fear nor fretfulness,
Awake the cry, "How long?" Let no faint-heartedness of soul
Damp thy aspiring song; Right comes, truth dawns, and night departs
Of error and of wrong.
THE CITY OF GOD.
IN Thee my powers, my treasures live,
And wherefore fhould I seek above,
The City in the fky?
Its broad foundations lie?
Since in a life of peace and prayer,
By humbleft toil, by ceaseless care,
Where pain the soul hath purified,
And penitence hath fhriven,
There — only there — is heaven!
Eliza Scudder. 1858. SUNDAY.
HOW sweet, how calm this Sabbath morn!
It seems as if the Chriftian's prayer,
For peace and joy and love, Were answered by the very air
That wafts its ftrain above.
Let each unholy paflion cease,
Each evil thought be crufhed,
In faith and love be hufhed.
THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL.
SLEEP, fleep to-day, tormenting cares,
To-morrow will be time enough
To feel your harm control; Ye fhall not violate, this day,
The Sabbath of my soul.
Sleep, fleep forever, guilty thoughts;
Let fires of vengeance die;
A God of purity!
On thee, the high and lowly,
Sing Holy, Holy, Holy,
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; Each Sunday finds us gladder,
Nearer to heaven, our home; A day of sweet reflection,
Thou art a day of love; A dav of resurrection
From earth to things above.