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THE INFLUENCE OF THE CROSS.

Thou art the Life, the blessed well,

With living water gushing o'er, Which those who drink shall ever dwell Where sin and death are known no more.

AMERICAN.

THE INFLUENCE OF THE CROSS.

ALL graces which adorn the mind,
An ardent love, a will resigned;
A lamb-like meekness, conscience clean,
A patience humble and serene:
Obedience, constant and sincere,
Undaunted courage, filial fear:

Large charity, a temper sweet,
All men like brethren prone to treat;
Devotion fixed, a zeal right-aimed;
Self-sacrificed, all passions tamed,
I, with all these and numerous more,
From Jesus Christ, myself may store.

All praise to the incarnate God,
Who, for my sake, the wine-press trod;
Who, in pure boundless love, inclined
To give his life for lapsed mankind.
Who miseries immense endured,
That I might live from all secured.

BISHOP KEN.

WHAT IS THY HOPE?

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WHAT IS THY HOPE?

WHAT is thy hope ?-Oh, if to the earth,
Like the grovelling vine, it clings,
Nor shoots one aspiring tendril forth
In search after higher things;

In vain is it nurtured with ceaseless toil,
Confined to the cold world's ungenial soil;
Each prop that supports it must perish, and all
Its buds of fair promise unopened fall.

Alas! for the hopes that are nourished here,
'Midst the storms of earth's changeful atmo-
sphere.

Say, what is thy hope? Dost thou

Of pleasure the giddy round,

pursue

With the phantom of happiness ever in view,
Where true happiness never was found?
Oh, plunge not in search after bliss supreme,
'Midst the whirlpool of pleasure's polluted
stream;

Amidst her mad orgies thou never cans't find
Joys worth the pursuit of a rational mind;
Oh, fly her seductions, resist her control,
She poisons, debases, and ruins the soul.

But what is thy hope? Dost thou pant to find
Of riches a treasure untold?

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WHAT IS THY HOPE?

Thou never canst purchase peace of mind
Nor a length of days with gold.

It procures no exemption from worldly woe,
Nor will death for a bribe his prey forego;
Though thou hoard up wealth, and “add field
to field,"

No advantage in death will thy treasures yield, Thou must leave thy possessions to other men, And where will thy hope and thy soul be then?

Then what is thy hope? Consider how high
Is thy destiny; think on the worth
Of a soul that is born for eternity

Though it sojourns awhile upon earth.
Oh! why are the views of immortals confined
To narrower limits than heaven assigned?
Why, when formed to exist in a happier sphere,
Should we bury our expectations here;
And vainly seek for substantial good
In a world of unceasing vicissitude?

What is thy hope? Will it stand the test
Of nature's expiring hour?

Like armour of proof, will it shield thy breast
Against the grim tyrant's power?

Will it gladden thy soul, and dispel the gloom, The horror of darkness that veils the tomb,

TO THE PAST.

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When the damps of death to thy brow shall start,
And the life-blood ebbs from thy freezing heart?
Away with it else !—it is worse than vain
To cherish a hope that shall fail thee then.

But hope thou in God! To a dying hour
This hope sweet assurance brings,

When worldly preferments, and wealth, and power,

Shall all be forgotten things.

Aye, hope thou in God, though a feeble worm, And thy soul shall be safe, and thy confidence firm;

Thou shall traverse in triumph the gloomy abyss Which divides the eternal world from this,

And consigning in hope thy frail flesh to the sod, Thy soul shall ascend to thy Saviour and God.

TO THE PAST.

THOU unrelenting past!

Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, And fetters sure and fast

Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.

Far in thy realm withdrawn,

Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,
And glorious ages gone

Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.

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TO THE PAST.

Childhood, with all its mirth,

Youth, manhood, age, that draws us to the ground,

And last, man's life on earth,

Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Thou hast my

better years:

Thou hast my earlier friends-the good, the kind, Yielded to thee with tears

The venerable form, the exalted mind.

My spirit yearns to bring

The lost ones back-yearns with desire intense, And struggles hard to wring

Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.
In vain; thy gates deny

All passage save to those who hence depart;
Nor to the streaming eye

Thou givest them back, nor to the broken heart.

In thy abysses hide

Beauty and excellence unknown; to thee
Earth's wonder and her pride

Are gathered, as the waters to the sea.

Labours of good to man, Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, Love that 'midst grief began,

And grew with years, and faltered not in death: