THE DESCENT OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.
CREATOR SPIRIT! by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious mind,
Come, pour thy joys on all mankind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make us temples worthy Thee.
Thou Strength of his Almighty hand,
Whose power does heaven and earth command!
Thrice Holy Fount! Thrice Holy Fire!
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire:
Come, and thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us while we sing.
Plenteous of grace, descend from high;
Rich in thy seven-fold energy;
Give us Thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son by Thee;
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe.
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the' Almighty Father's name!
Let God the Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died!
And equal adoration, be,
Eternal Spirit! paid to Thee.
FOR THE GUIDANCE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.
COME, gracious Spirit, heavenly Dove,
With light and comfort from above:
Be Thou our Guardian, Thou our Guide;
O'er every thought and step preside.
The light of truth to us display,
And make us know and choose thy way;
Plant holy fear in every heart,
That we from God may not depart.
Lead us to holiness-the road
That we must take to dwell with God;
Lead us to Christ, the living way,
Nor let us from his precepts stray;-
Lead us to God, our final rest
In his enjoyment to be blest;
Lead us to heaven, the seat of bliss,
Where pleasure in perfection is.
THE YOUNG CUT OFF IN THEIR PRIME.
THE morning flowers display their sweets,
And gay their silken leaves unfold,
As careless of the noon-tide heats,
As fearless of the evening cold.
Nipt by the wind's unkindly blast,
Parch'd by the sun's directer ray,
The momentary glories waste,
The short-lived beauties die away.
So blooms the human face divine,
When youth its pride of beauty shows:
Fairer than Spring the colours shine,
And sweeter than the virgin-rose.
Or worn by slowly-rolling years,
Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,
The short-lived beauties die away.
Yet these, new-rising from the tomb,
With lustre brighter far shall shine;
Revive with ever-during bloom,
Safe from diseases and decline.
Let sickness blast, let death devour,
If heaven must recompense our pains;
Perish the grass, and fade the flower,
If firm the word of God remains.
HARK! 'tis the bell with solemn toll,
That speaks the spirit's flight
From earth to realms of endless day,
Or everlasting night.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,'
Sin's awful curse demands;
O well! if pure before the throne
The soul accepted stands.
O well!--for if uncleansed from guilt,
Through Christ's atoning blood,
With what dismay she now beholds
The presence of her God!
To live through an eternal death,
Eternal wo to bear!-
Father of mercy! God of grace!
Inspire and hear our prayer.
From sin, the sting of death and hell,
From enmity to Thee,
Extend thine own almighty arm,
To set the bond-slaves free.
So when the bell with solemn toll,
Shall speak our spirit's flight,
Angels their glad approach shall hail
To realms of bliss and light.
HEAVEN hath confirm'd the great decree,
That Adam's race must die;
One general ruin sweeps them down,
And low in dust they lie.
Ye living men, survey the tomb,
Where you must quickly dwell:
Hark, how the awful summons sounds
In every funeral knell.
Once you must die-and once for all
The solemn purport weigh;
For know, that heaven and hell depend
On that important day.
Those eyes, though long in darkness veil'd,
Must wake, the Judge to see;
And every deed, and word, and thought,
Must pass his scrutiny.
May we in Thee, the Judge, behold
Our Saviour and our Friend;
And far above the reach of death,
With all thy saints ascend.
THE HOUSE APPOINTED FOR ALL LIVING.
How swift the torrent rolls,
That hastens to the sea;
How strong the tide that bears our souls
Our fathers, where are they?
With all they call'd their own;
Their joys and griefs, and hopes and cares,
And wealth and honour, gone!
There, where the fathers lie,
Must all the children dwell;
Nor other heritage possess,
But such a gloomy cell.
God of our fathers, hear,
Thou everlasting Friend!
While we, on life's extremest verge,
Our souls to Thee commend.
Of all the pious dead
May we the footsteps trace,
Till with them in the land of light
We dwell before thy face.
SWIFT as the arrow cuts its way,
Through the soft-yielding air;
Or as the sun's more subtle ray,
Or lightning's sudden glare;
Or as an eagle to the prey,
Or shuttle through the loom,—
So haste our fleeting lives away,
So pass we to the tomb.
Like airy bubbles, lo! we rise
And dance upon life's stream:
Till soon the air that caused, destroys
The' attenuated frame.
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