To-day on weary nations The heavenly manna falls; To holy convocations The filver trumpet calls, Where Gospel-light is glowing With pure and radiant beams, And living water flowing With soul-refreshing streams. New graces ever gaining From this our day of reft, Rev. Dr. Wordsworth. 1858. THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH. WE bless Thee for this sacred day, Thou who haft every bleffing given, Which sends the dreams of earth away, And yields a glimpse of opening heaven. Rich day of holy, thoughtful rest! Lord! may thy truth upon the heart May prayer now lift her sacred wings, Mrs. C. Gilman. 1848. THE LORD'S DAY. TIME of tranquil joy and holy feeling! When sacred thoughts, like angels, come appealing How peaceful are thy fkies! thy air is clearer, The sweetness of its prime Bleffeth the world, and Eden's days seem nearer: O, while thy hallowed moments are diftilling Turns to a temple! He whose converse thrilling Comes sudden to my fide. 'Tis light at evening time when Thou art present; Thy coming to the eleven in that dim room Brightened, O Chrift! its gloom : So bless my lonely hour that memories pleasant Raise each low aim, refine each high emotion, And, braced for sacred duty by devotion, I long to see Thee, for my heart is weary: The scenes are cheerless, and the days are dreary; Even now I see the golden city fhining There breaks a day which never knows declining; 7. D. Burns. 1855. THE PRISONER OF THE LORD. A Sabbath Hymn for a Sick-Chamber. HOUSANDS, O Lord of Hofts! this day THOU Around Thine altar meet; And tens of thousands throng to pay Their homage at Thy feet. They see Thy power and glory there They read, they hear, they join in prayer, They fing Thy deeds as I have sung, For Thou art in their midft, to teach I, of such fellowship bereft, The dew lies thick on all the ground, The manna rains from heaven around, – Shall I of hunger die? Behold Thy prisoner; loose my bands. If 't is Thy gracious will; If not contented in Thy hands, Behold Thy prisoner still! I may not to Thy courts repair, |