Set hours and written rule are good,
Long prayer can lay our fears;

But it is better calm for thee
To count the Eternal Years.

Oh! many things are good for souls,
In proper times and spheres;
Thy present good is in the thought
Of the Eternal Years.

Thy self-upbraiding is a snare,
Though meekness it appears;
More humbling is it far for thee
To face the Eternal Years.

Brave quiet is the thing for thee,
Chiding thy scrupulous fears;
Learn to be real from the thought
Of the Eternal Years.

Bear gently, suffer like a child,
Nor be ashamed of tears;

Kiss the sweet Cross, and in thy heart
Sing of the Eternal Years.

Thy Cross is quite enough for thee,

Though little it appears;

For there is hid in it the weight

Of the Eternal Years.

And knowit thou not how bitterness

An ailing spirit cheers?

Thy medicine is the ftrengthening thought Of the Eternal Years.

One Cross can sanctify a soul;

Late saints and ancient seers

Were what they were because they mused Upon the Eternal Years.

Death will have rainbows round it seen
Through calm contrition's tears,

If tranquil Hope but trims her lamp
At the Eternal Years.

Frederick Faber.

"WHAT ARE THESE IN BRIGHT ARRAY?"

WHAT are these in bright array?

This innumerable throng,

Round the altar, night and day,

Hymning one triumphant song : Worthy is the Lamb once flain, Bleffing, honor, glory, power, Wisdom, riches, to obtain,

New dominion every hour."

These through fiery trials trod;
These from great affliction came;
Now before the throne of God,

Sealed with his almighty name,
Clad in raiment pure and white,
Victor-palms in every hand,
Through their dear Redeemer's might,
More than conquerors they stand.

Hunger, thirst, disease unknown,
On immortal fruits they feed;
Them the Lamb, amidst the throne,
Shall to living fountains lead:
Joy and gladness banish sighs,
Perfect love dispels all fear,

And forever from their eyes

God fhall wipe away the tear.

James Montgomery. 1803-1853.

"Take away the dross from the filver, and there shall come forth a vessel

ICKNESS is a school severe,

Where the soul, (in childhood here,)

Wayward, 'neath a milder sway,

Learns to think, and learns to pray.

Bleft and wise its discipline,
There the teacher is divine..

Wert thou thoughtless, led away
By each folly of the day?
Cleaving to the things of earth,
Mindless of thy heavenly birth?
Bless the hours which broke their spell,
Made thee fick to make thee well.

Wert thou selfish, thinking not
On the starving sufferer's lot?
Fed with dainties, gayly dreffed,
Wert thou by the poor unbleffed?
Now for sufferers thou wilt feel,
God has wounded but to heal.

Wert thou fretful, harsh, unkind,
Finding nothing to thy mind?

Though with countless mercies bleft,
Never thankful, ne'er at rest?
Sickness comes to purge thy dross,
Prove thy gain, and not thy loss.

Wert thou proud, exalted high
By affluence, ftation, ancestry?
Oft with supercilious ken
Glancing at thy fellow-men?

God now ftrips thee, lays thee low,

All thy nothingness to fhow.

Dwelt thy soul at ease, affured
All was well, and heaven secured?
Didft thou need no better dress
Than thy fancied righteousness?
Sickness comes to probe thy heart,
Comes to fhow thee what thou art.

Is the one thing needed most

That which scarce thy mind has croffed?
Haft thou earthly science prized,
But the themes of heaven despised?
God now warns thee, thus he saith:

"Soul, awake, thy fleep is death!"

Charlotte Elliott.

BEREAVEMENT.

FLO

LOW on, thou Fountain of my joy,
Through all the wilderness!

Thou seeft what will work for good,

Thou knoweft how to bless. Get thyself glory, O my God, Be praised in my distress!

O, let Thy true, refining love
Its utmost pleasure see;