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Where is it? tell me where?
Thou that art kind and gentle, tell me where?

Friend, thou muft truft in him who trod before

The desolate paths of life;
Muft bear in meekness, as he meekly bore,

Sorrow, and pain, and ftrife!

Think how the Son of God

These thorny paths hath trod;

Think how he longed to go,
Yet tarried out for thee the appointed woe:
Think of his weariness in places dim,
When no man comforted nor cared for him!

Think of the blood-like sweat

With which his brow was wet,
Yet how he prayed, unaided and alone,
In that great agony, "Thy will be done!"

Friend, do not thou despair,
Chrift from his heaven of heavens will hear thy prayer!

From the German of Uhland. 1804.


COME! said Jesus' sacred voice,
Come, and make my paths your choice,
I will guide you to your home;
Weary pilgrim, hither come!

Thou, who, houseless, sole, forlorn,
Long haft borne the proud world's scorn,
Long haft roamed the barren wafte,
Weary pilgrim, hither hafte!

Ye, who, tofled on beds of pain,
Seek for ease, but seek in vain;
Ye, whose swollen and fleepless eyes
Watch to see the morning rise;

Ye, by fiercer anguifh torn,
In remorse for guilt who mourn;
Here repose your heavy care!
Conscience wounded who can bear?

Sinner, come! for here is found
Balm that flows for every wound;
Peace that ever mall endure;
Reft eternal, sacred, sure.

Mrs. Barbauld. 1825.


O'ER the dark wave of Galilee
The gloom of twilight gathers faft,
And on the waters drearily

Descends the fitful evening blaft.

The weary bird hath left the air,
And sunk into his fheltered neft;

The wandering beaft has sought his lair,
And laid him down to welcome reft.

Still near the lake, with weary tread,
Lingers a form of human kind;

And on his lone, unfheltered head

Flows the chill night-damp of the wind.

Why seeks He not a home of reft?

Why seeks He not a pillowed bed? Beafts have their dens, the bird its neft;

He hath not where to lay his head.

Such was the lot He freely chose,
To bless, to save, the human race;

And through His poverty there flows
A rich, full ftream of heavenly grace.


^ O to dark Gethsemane,

Your Redeemer's conflict see;
Watch with him one bitter hour:

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Ye that feel temptation's power;

Turn not from his griefs away;
Learn of Jesus Chrift to pray.

Follow to the judgment-hall;

View the Lord of life arraigned: O the wormwood and the gall!

O the pangs his soul suftained! Shun not suffering, fhame, or loss; Learn of him to bear the cross.

Calvary's mournful mountain climb;

There, admiring at his feet, Mark that miracle of time,

God's own sacrifice complete: "It is finifhed," hear him cry; Learn of Jesus Chrift to die.

Early haften to the tomb

Where they laid his breathless clay;
All is solitude and gloom:

Who has taken him away?
Chrift is risen; he meets our eyes:
Saviour, teach us so to rise!

J. Montgomery. 1803-1853. FELLOWSHIP IN SUFFERING.

"That I may know Him, and tne power of His resurreiSion, and the fellowfhip of His sufferings." — Philippians iii. 10.

HUMBLY while my soul doth prove
Sweeteft joys of pardoning love,
Still, my Saviour, doth it yearn
Love's deep myftery to learn,
In the fhadow of Thy cross
Counting earthly gain but loss,
Breathing ftill its fervent plea
For a closer life with Thee,
By that high and holy thing,
Fellowfhip in suffering.

O my Lord, the Crucified!
Who for love of me haft died,
Mould me by Thy living breath
To the likeness of Thy death;
While the thorns Thy brows entwine,
Let no flower-wreath reft on mine.
In Thy hands the cruel nail,
Blood-sweat on Thy forehead pale;
Clasp me to Thy wounded side,
O my Lord the Crucified!

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