HUS to thee, O Lord, submitting,
We our dearest pledge resign;
And thy mercies ne'er forgetting,
Own that all we have is thine.

But ah! when we treasured them most,
The storm of affliction came on;
It withered the hopes we had nursed,
And darkened the brightness that shone.

AKE all, great God, I will not grieve, But still will wish that I had still to give. I hear thy voice; thou bid'st me quit My paradise: I bless and do submit. I will not murmur at thy word,

Nor beg thy angel to sheath up his sword.

JOHN NORRIS.

J

N all our troubles may we wait,
And meekly kiss the rod;

Deliverance never comes too late
To those who hope in God.

IS God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave;

He gives; and, blessed be his name,
He takes but what he gave.

EEP not o'er fading dross,
Lay your will down;

Shrink not from present loss,
But from Him take the cross
Who gives the crown.

MY spirit mourns to leave thee thus alone,

Beneath this grey, this cold sepulchral stone; Stern seemed the hand, that tore thee thus from me, But Heaven ordains submission to this sad decree.

USHED be the murmuring thought!

Thy will be done.

O arbiter of life and death, I bow

To thy command; I yield the precious gift
That was bestowed, and to the silent grave
Move sorrowing, yet submissive.

Peace, my bursting heart!

Oh! I submit. The will of God be done!

OOK down, blest soul, and, from the realms

above,

Accept this last sad tribute of our love;

The last-e'en now our sorrows we resign,

And lose our feelings to rejoice in thine.

ROM sun to sun

My race will run;

I only bow, and say, My God,

Thy will be done.

KIRKE WHITE.

HY do we mourn departing friends,
Or shake at death's alarms?
'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms.

HE Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

HO the sorrows would not bear
Of such a transient world as this,

When hope displays, beyond its care,
So bright an entrance into bliss?

I HAVE WAITED FOR THY SALVATION, O LORD.

GIVE us quietly to tarry!

Till for all thy glory meet;
Waiting like attentive Mary,
Happy at the Saviour's feet.

JESUS, we come at thy command,

With faith, and hope, and humble zeal; Resign our spirits to thy hand,

To mould and guide us at thy will.

WATTS.

F thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize, it ne'er was mine;
I only yield thee what is thine,

Thy will be done.

IS finished now! the cold, cold hand of death
Has struck my bosom with his iron rod;

My spirits sink; I falter in my breath;
And go to meet my Saviour and my God.

HUS my submissive soul would bow,
And, taught by Jesus, lie as low;

My heart, and not my lips alone,

Would say, Thy will, not mine, be done.

REAT God, I own thy sentence just,

And nature must decay;

I yield my body to the dust,

To dwell with fellow clay.

HERE'S the ever sad reverting

To the loved ones death has claimed;
To the marble still asserting

For what virtues they were famed.
We accept the holy chastening,
And reflect on our own doom;
For we feel that we are hastening
To the same sad silent tomb.

AARON SMITH.

REFERRING TO THE BREVITY OF LIFE.

OW false is hope, and how regardless fate, That so great worth should have so short a date.

FEW more days, or months, or years,
In this dark desert to complain;

A few more sighs, a few more tears,

And we shall bid adieu to pain.