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A BAPTISM OF TEARS.

BY MARY HOWITT.

LIKE a weak ship amid the sea,

Is human life through misery;

And storms would wreck, and billows whelm,
Did no good angel guide the helm;

Therefore, O God, on thee we call,
Almighty One, to succour all!

Not on the whirlwind's wing upborne,

Not in the glory of the morn,
Ask we thy presence; but thy power
To strengthen each frail child of clay
In life's adverse, o'erclouded hour,
When his own spirit dies away!

Ah, though the day be calm and bright,
And glorious the sublimer night,

And fields, and flowers, and waters shine

As fair as on their earliest day,

Yet man, a creature half divine,

Goes drooping, mourning on his way! Then, from the heavens thy dwelling-place, Father of all, look down and see,' How wo hath left its darkening trace Upon thy human family!

The poor,their heritage is toil; Their fourscore years are given as spoil

To the rich man; their bread they gain
By watching, weariness, and pain;

Hope knows them not; and cares and fears
Have bowed them like a load of years.

Their life, through caring for to-day,
Doth pass like one long pang away.
Behold them, Father, where they lie,
Blighted by many miseries,

Hungry and cold; to wan disease
A prey; unmarked by human eye,
Unpitied by a human heart!

Oh comfort them, and give them power To look beyond the present hour, Merciful, as thou art!

Oh give them virtue to gainsay

The cruel tempter night and day;
And hope, and health, and fortitude,

To turn life's evil into good;

And a meek contrite heart, to bend
Before thee! Let them know thee, Friend,

And Father! God, so visit these,

And lighten life of its worst miseries.

And, oh, be thy great mercy sent
Unto the feeble penitent-
The wanderer from the narrow way,
The youthful spirit gone astray—

Most miserable, who cannot win
Repose by night, or peace by day-

The self-accused, who loathes his sin,

Yet hath not strength to break ;

Oh save him, for thy mercy's sake!

Call, call him back, for he doth yearn
Toward thee, and longeth to return,

Thine erring, doubting, trembling child,
That seeketh to be reconciled,

Yet dare not look to thee,

Although like life he loveth thee.

Oh, do not cast him off, but still
Strengthen his feeble will!

Call, call him back, and bid him cease
From sin, and sin in dust deplore;
And give him thy serenest peace,

And give him hope, and he

Will fly to thee rejoicingly,

And sin no more.

Another lot of misery!

I see it bowing to the earth

Children that know not childhood's mirth;
Their drooping forms I see;

But who can see their drooping heart—
Who know the anguish that they bear,-

The harrowed soul, the mortal smart,

That bears through life the wound of care? Penuried heirs of wretchedness,

Who ne'er the smile of mercy saw,

Who have no kinder friend than law,

Whom no eye sees to bless!

O God, look down and see

Their unshared, desolate misery;

Pity their unawakened sense,

And their blind hopeless ignorance :

Oh teach them right from wrong

Whom no man teaches, and instil

Into their abject spirits virtues strong,

And joy which at small fountains drinks its fill. My tongue is all unskilled to pour,

O Lord, a fitting prayer to thee,

Yet would I crave, once more, once more,

For poor humanity;

For him whose mortal die is cast,

Who sees his life's sands ebbing fast,

Yet has no hope, no stay, no trust;
A shrinking, feeble, fearful thing,
That to the fading world doth cling,
Yet knows each earth-made idol, dust!
A doubter once, but now who sees
Before him stern realities-

Death, and an awful Judge, who lent

Life not to be misspent!

And now who knows, alas, too late,

How vain a dreamer he has been,
And, shuddering, feels the past a weight
Of mortal, unredeemed sin;
And the great work to be begun
Just when the day is done!
Mighty Avenger, spare, O spare!
Bow not his spirit to despair!
Oh seal thine awful work with grace,

Though bought with mortal agony,
And let him hope to see thy face,

Poor sinner though he be,

And meet a Father and a Friend in thee!

THE LAND OF REST.

"THERE REMAINETH THEREFORE A REST FOR THE PEOPLE OF GOD."

OH! land of rest, we look to thee

When darkness round our path-way lies,
When tempests blow,

And waters flow,

Sweeping the lovely from our eyes;

No storm thou know'st, or treacherous sea,

And therefore do we look to thee.

Oh! land of rest, we look to thee,

When by the bed of death we stand,
Watching until

The Master's will

Shall to his bar the soul command;

Thy sons fade not at death's decree,

And therefore do we look to thee.

Oh! land of rest, we look to thee
Whene'er iniquities prevail,

When all within

Is dark with sin,

And Satan's wiles our peace assail;
Where thou art, nought impure shall be,

And therefore do we look to thee.

Heb iv. 9.

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