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To-day on weary nations

The heavenly manna falls ;
To holy convocations

The silver trumpet calls,
Where Gospel-light is glowing

With pure and radiant beams,
And living water fowing

With soul-refreshing streams.

New graces ever gaining

From this our day of rest,
We reach the rest remaining

To spirits of the bleft;
To Holy Ghost be praises,

To Father and to Son ;
The Church her voice upraises,
To Thee, blest Three in One.

Rev. Dr. Wordsworth. 1858.

THE CHRISTIAN SABBATH.

W E bless Thee for this sacred day,

V Thou who hast every blessing given, Which sends the dreams of earth away, And yields a glimpse of opening heaven.

Rich day of holy, thoughtful rest !
May we improve thy calm repose,
And, in God's service truly blest,
Forget the world, its joys and woes.

Lord ! may thy truth upon the heart
Now fall and dwell as heavenly dew,
And Aowers of grace in freshness start
Where once the weeds of error grew.

May prayer now lift her sacred wings,
Contented with that aim alone
Which bears her to the King of kings,
And rests her at his sheltering throne.

Mrs. C. Gilman. 1848.

THE LORD'S DAY.

TIME of tranquil joy and holy feeling!
When over earth God's Spirit from above

Spreads out His wings of love ;
When sacred thoughts, like angels, come appealing
To our tent doors; O eve, to earth and heaven

The sweetest of the seven!

How peaceful are thy skies ! thy air is clearer,
As on the advent of a gracious time:

The sweetness of its prime
Blesseth the world, and Eden's days seem nearer:
I hear, in each faint stirring of the breeze,

God's voice among the trees.

O, while thy hallowed moments are distilling
Their fresher influence on my heart like dews,

The chamber where I muse
Turns to a temple! He whose converse thrilling
Honored Emmaus, that old eventide,

Comes sudden to my side.

'T is light at evening time when Thou art present; Thy coming to the eleven in that dim room

Brightened, O Christ! its gloom :
So bless my lonely hour that memories pleasant
Around the time a heavenly gleam may cast,

Which many days shall last!

Raise each low aim, refine each high emotion,
That with more ardent footstep I may press

Toward Thy holiness;
And, braced for sacred duty by devotion,
Support my cross along that rugged road

Which Thou hast sometime trod!

I long to see Thee, for my heart is weary :
O when, my Lord! in kindness wilt Thou come

To call Thy banished home?

The scenes are cheerless, and the days are dreary ; From sorrow and from sin I would be free,

And evermore with Thee !

Even now I see the golden city shining
Up the blue depths of that transparent air :

How happy all is there!
There breaks a day which never knows declining;
A Sabbath, through whose circling hours the bleft
Beneath Thy shadow rest!

7. D. Burns. 1855.

THE PRISONER OF THE LORD.

A Sabbath Hymn for a Sick-Chamber.

THOUSANDS, O Lord of Hosts ! this day

Around Thine altar meet;
And tens of thousands throng to pay

Their homage at Thy feet.

They see Thy power and glory there

As I have seen them too;
They read, they hear, they join in prayer,

As I was wont to do.

They sing Thy deeds as I have sung,

In sweet and solemn lays;
Were I among them, my glad tongue

Might learn new themes of praise.

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The dew lies thick on all the ground,

Shall my poor feece be dry ? 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,

Yet here Thou surely art;
Lord, consecrate a house of prayer

In my surrendered heart.

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