For us pray, and for us plead ;' God, who ever hears the sinless,

May through you the sinful heed; Pray that, through Christ's mediation, All our faults may be forgiven;

Plead that

ye be sent to greet us At the gates of heaven!

STAND BACK! UNCOVERED STAND!

STAND back! uncovered stand for, lo!
The parents that have lost their child
Bow to the majesty of woe..

He came, a herald from above;

Pure from his God he came to them,
Teaching new duties, deeper love;
And, like the child of Bethlehem,

He

grew

in stature and in grace.

From the sweet spirit of his face
They learnt a new, more heavenly joy,
And were the better for their boy.

But God hath taken whom he gave,
Recalled the messenger he sent ;

And now beside the infant's grave

The spirit of the strong is bent.

But though the tears must flow, the heart
Ache with its vacant, strange distress,
Ye did not from your infant part

When his clear eye grew meaningless.
That eye is beaming still; and still
Upon his Father's errand, he

Your own dear, bright, unearthly boy –
Worketh the kind, mysterious will;
And from this fount of bitter grief
Will bring a stream of joy.

O, may this be your faith, and your relief!

Then will the world be full of him; the sky,
With all its placid myriads, to your eye

Will tell of him; the wind will breathe his tone;
And slumbering in the midnight, they alone,
Your Father and your child, will hover nigh.
Believe in him, behold him everywhere,
And sin will die within you; earthly care

Fall to its earth; and heavenward, side by side,
Ye shall go up, your infant for your guide.
Ye shall go up, beyond this realm of storms,
Quick, and more quick; till welcomed there
above,

His voice shall bid ye, in the might of love,
Lay down these weeds of earth, and wear your
native forms.

BEHOLD THE GLORIOUS MORN!

BEHOLD the glorious morn! And where art thou, To feel its first rich breath on thy sweet brow, Child of our hope and love,

And stand, with the spring-flowers about thee waking, And catch the early music that is breaking

From valley and fresh grove?

Were these to thee a weariness,

the birds,

And the bright waters, and the earnest words

Of strong affection shed,

A mother's love, whose holy influence fell,

In its deep truth and its unchanging spell,
Like light upon thy head?