THE CHILD.-PSALM LXXIII., 28.
S when a child, secure from harms,
A Hangs at the mother's breast,
Safe folded in her anxious arms,
Receiving food and rest ;
And while through many a painful path
The travelling parent speeds,
The fearless babe, with passive faith,
Lies still and yet proceeds.
2 Should some short start his quiet break,
He fondly strives to fling
His little arms around her neck,
And closer seems to cling;
Poor child! maternal love alone
Preserves thee first and last;
Thy parent's arms, and not thine own,
Are those that hold thee fast.
3 So souls that would to Jesus cleave,
And hear His secret call,
Must every fair pretension leave,
And let the Lord be all.
"Keep close to me, thou helpless sheep,”
The Shepherd softly cries;
"Lord, tell me what 'tis, close to keep,"
The listening sheep replies.
4 "Thy whole dependence on me fix,
Nor entertain a thought
Thy worthless schemes with mine to mix,
But venture to be nought:
Fond self-direction is a shelf ;-
Thy strength, thy wisdom, flee;
When thou art nothing in thyself,
Then thou art close to me."
THE SAVIOUR'S INVITATION.
HARK! the Saviour's voice is speaking,
Words of kindness and of love :
"Come to me, ye heavy laden,
I will give you rest above."
2 Come, ye tempest toss'd and weary,
Sinking in the stormy way,
Filled with tender love and mercy,
He is calling you to-day.
3 Leave, O leave this world of sorrow,
Lasting pleasure is not here,
Brightest scenes are quickly blighted,
Smiles are followed by a tear.
4 Why delay? the time is fleeting,
Life is passing with the day,
Every stroke the pulse is beating,
Bears us farther on our way.
"I SHALL BE SATISFIED WHEN I AWAKE WITH THY LIKENESS."
OT here! not here! not where the sparkling
Fade into mocking sands as we draw near, Where in the wilderness each footstep falters, I shall be satisfied !-but, oh, not here.
2 Shall it be satisfied? the soul's deep longing, The aching void, which nothing earthly fills? O! what desires upon my heart are thronging, As I look upward to the heavenly hills.
3 Thither my weak and weary steps are tending, Saviour and Lord, with Thy frail child abide ! Grant me Thine image, all my wanderings ending, In Thee and in Thy love, I shall be satisfied.
With sweetness fills my breast,
But sweeter far Thy face to see,
And in Thy presence rest.
2 Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
Nor can the memory find,
A sweeter sound than Thy blest name,
Thou Saviour of mankind!
3 Oh hope of every contrite heart,
Oh joy of all the meek;
To those who fall, how kind Thou art,
How good to those who seek.
4 But what to those who find? Ah, this,
Nor tongue, nor pen, can show,
The love of Jesus, what it is?
None but His loved ones know.
LUTHER'S HYMN.
"IS not too hard, too high an aim,
Secure thy part in Christ to claim;
The sensual instinct to control,
And warm with purer fires the soul.
* The Original Latin may be found in "Daniel's Thesaurus Hymnologicus," Vol. I., p. 227.
Nature will raise up all her strife,
Foe to the flesh-abasing life,
Loth in a Saviour's death to share,
Her daily cross compell'd to bear;
But grace omnipotent at length
Shall arm the saint with saving strength;
Through the sharp war with aids attend,
And his long conflict sweetly end.
2 Act but the infant's gentle part,
Give up to love Thy willing heart;
No fondest parent's tender breast
Yearns like thy God's to make thee blest;
Taught its dear mother soon to know,
The simplest babe its love can show :
Bid bashful, servile fear retire,
The task no labour will require.
3 The sovereign Father, good and kind,
Wants but to have His child resigned;
Wants but thy yielded heart (no more)
With His rich gifts of grace to store,
He to thy soul no anguish brings,
From thy own stubborn will it springs;
That foe but crucify, thy bane,
Nought shalt thou know of frowns or pain.
4 Shake from thy soul, o'erwhelmed, deprest, The incumbering load that galls its rest; That wastes her strength with bondage vain, With courage break the enslaving chain ; Let faith exert its conquering power; Say, in thy fearing, trembling hour, "Father! Thy pitying aid impart," 'Tis done; a sigh can reach His heart.
5 Yet, if more earnest plaints to raise,
Awhile His succours He delays,
Though His kind hand thou canst not feel,
The smart let lenient patience heal;
Or if corruption's strength prevail,
And oft thy pilgrim footsteps fail,
Lift for His grace thy louder cries,
So shalt thou cleans'd and stronger rise.
6 If haply still thy mental shade,
Deep as the midnight's gloom be made,
On the sure, faithful arm divine,
Firm let thy fast'ning trust recline,
The gentlest Sire, the best of friends,
To thee, nor loss, nor harm intends;
Though tossed upon the boist'rous main,
No wreck thy vessel shall sustain.
Should there remain of rescuing grace
No glimpse, no shadow left to trace,
Hear thy Lord's voice: ""Tis Jesus' will,"
Believe, thou dark, lost pilgrim, still.
7 Then thy sad night of terrors past,
Though the dread season long may last,
Sweet peace shall from the smiling skies
Like a new dawn before thee rise;
Then shall thy faith's firm grounds appear,
Thy soul shall see salvation clear.
Be hence encouraged more, when tried,
In the best Father to confide.
O my too blind but nobler part,
Be moved! be won by these, my heart!
See of how rich a lot, how bless'd
The true believer stands possess'd.
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