To pour the light of truth.-O task divine!
O more than angel teacher! He had words
To soothe the barking waves, and hush the winds;
And when the soul was tossed in troubled seas,
Wrapt in thick darkness and the howling storm,
He, pointing to the star of peace on high,
Armed it with holy fortitude, and bade it smile
At the surrounding wreck.

When with deep agony his heart was racked,
Not for himself the tear-drop dewed his cheek,
For them He wept, for them to Heaven He prayed,
His persecutors-"Father, pardon them,

They know not what they do."

Angels of Heaven, Ye who beheld him fainting on the cross,

And did him homage, say, may mortal join
The hallelujahs of the risen God?

Will the faint voice and grovelling song be heard
Amid the seraphim in light divine?

Yes, he will deign, the Prince of Peace will deign,
For mercy, to accept the hymn of faith,

Low though it be and humble.-Lord of life,
The Christ, the Comforter, thine advent now,
Fills my uprising soul.-I mount, I fly
Far o'er the skies, beyond the rolling orbs;
The bonds of flesh dissolve, and earth recedes.
And
care, and pain, and sorrow, are no more

YET once again, my harp, yet once again,
One ditty more, and on the mountain ash

I will again suspend thee. I have felt

The warm tear frequent on my cheek, since last
At even-tide, when all the winds were hushed,
I woke to thee, the melancholy song.

Since then with Thoughtfulness, a maid severe,
I've journeyed, and have learned to shape the freaks
Of frolic fancy to the line of truth;

Not unrepining, for my froward heart.

Still turns to thee, mine harp, and to the flow
Of spring-gales past-the woods and storied haunts
Of my not songless boyhood.-Yet once more,
Not fearless, I will wake thy tremulous tones,
My long-neglected harp.-He must not sink;
The good, the brave-he must not, shall not sink
Without the meed of some melodious tear.

Though from the Muse's chalice I may pour
No precious dews of Aganippe's well,
Or Castaly, though from the morning cloud
I fetch no hues to scatter on his hearse:
Yet will I wreathe a garland for his brows,
Of simple flowers, such as the hedgerows scent
Of Britain my loved country; and with tears
Most eloquent, yet silent, I will bathe
Thy honored corse, my Nelson, tears as warm
And honest as the ebbing blood that flowed
Fast from thy honest heart.-Thou Pity too,
If ever I have loved, with faltering step,
To follow thee in the cold and starless night,
To the top-crag of some rain-beaten cliff;
And as I heard the deep gun bursting loud
Amid the pauses of the storm, have poured
Wild strains, and mournful, to the hurrying winds,
Thy dying soul's viaticum; if oft

Amid the carnage of the field I've sate
With thee upon the moonlight throne, and sung
To cheer the fainting soldier's dying soul,
With mercy and forgiveness; visitant

Of Heaven, sit thou upon my harp,

And give it feeling, which were else too cold
For argument so great, for theme so high.

How dimly on that morn the sun arose,
'Kerchiefed in mists, and tearful, when-

In Heaven we shall be purified, so as to be able to endure the splendors of the Deity.

I.

AWAKE, Sweet harp of Judah, wake,
Retune thy strings for Jesus' sake;
We sing the Saviour of our race,
The lamb, our shield, and hiding place.

II.

When God's right arm is bared for war,
And thunders clothe his cloudy car,
Where, where, oh where, shall man retire,
To escape the horrors of his ire?

III.

'Tis he, the Lamb, to him we fly,
While the dread tempest passes by:
God sees his Well-beloved's face,
And spares us in our hiding place.

IV.

Thus while we dwell in this low scene,
The Lamb is our unfailing screen;
To him, though guilty, still we run,
And God still spares us for his Son.

V.

While yet we sojourn here below,
Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow;
Fallen, abject, mean, a sentenced race.
We deeply need a hiding place.

VI.

Yet, courage!-days and years will glide,
And we shall lay these clods aside;
Shall be baptized in Jordan's flood,
And washed in Jesus' cleansing blood.

VII.

Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed,

We through the Lamb shall be decreed;
Shall meet the Father face to face,

And need no more a hiding place.

The last stanza of this hymn was added extemporaneously, by the author, one summer evening, when he was with a few friends on the Trent, and singing it, as he was used to do on such occasions.

A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.

I.

O LORD, another day is flown,

And we, a lonely band,

Are met once more before thy throne,
To bless thy fostering hand.

II.

And wilt thou bend a listening ear,

To praises low as ours?

Thou wilt! for thou dost love to hear
The song which meekness pours.

III.

And Jesus thou thy smiles will deign,
As we before thee pray :

For thou didst bless the infant train,
And we are less than they.

IV.

O let thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease;

And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace!

V.

Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine, A flock by Jesus led;

The Sun of Holiness shall shine

In glory on our head.

VI.

And thou wilt turn our wandering feet,
And thou wilt bless our way;

Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet
The dawn of lasting day.