Thou knoweft that the time thy God
Appoints for thee is best.

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.

The Cross-Bearer.

INTo Thee my life mult tend;

N Thee my powers, my treasures live,

Giving Thyself, Thou all doft give,
O soul-sufficing Friend!

And wherefore fhould I seek above,
The City in the sky?

Since firm in faith, and deep in love,
Its broad foundations lie?

Since in a life of peace and prayer,
Nor known on earth nor praised,
By humbleft toil, by ceaseless care,
Its holy towers are raised?

Where pain the soul hath purified,
And penitence hath fhriven,
And truth is crowned and glorified,

SUNDAY.

SUNDAY MORNING.

OW sweet, how calm this Sabbath morn!

HOW

How pure the air that breathes,

And soft the sounds upon it borne,

And light its vapor wreaths!

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 paffion cease,
Each evil thought be crushed,
Each anxious care that mars thy peace
In faith and love be hushed.

SL

THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL.

LEEP, fleep to-day, tormenting cares,
Of earth and folly born;

Ye fhall not dim the light that streams
From this celeftial morn.

To-morrow will be time enough
To feel your harsh control;
Ye fhall not violate, this day,
The Sabbath of my soul.

Sleep, fleep forever, guilty thoughts;
Let fires of vengeance die;

And, purged from fin, may I behold
A God of purity!

Mrs. Barbauld. 1825.

A HYMN FOR THE SABBATH.

DAY of rest and gladness,
O day of joy and light,

O balm of care and sadness,
Moft beautiful, moft bright;

On thee, the high and lowly,
Bending before the Throne,
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 day of resurrection

From earth to things above.