POEMS OF

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.

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

I.

WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain
The glittering host bestud the sky;

One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

II.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;

But one alone the Saviour speaks,

It is the star of Bethlehem.

III.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud,-the night was dark, The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark;

IV.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;

When suddenly a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.

V.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease;

And through the storm and dangers' thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.

VI.

Now safely moored-my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
Forever and for evermore,

The star!-the star of Bethlehem!

A HYMN.

O LORD, my God, in mercy turn,
In mercy hear a sinner mourn!
To thee I call, to thee I cry,

O leave me, leave me not to die!

I strove against thee, Lord, I know,
I spurned thy grace, I mocked thy law;
The hour is past-the day's gone by,
And I am left alone to die.

O pleasures past, what are ye now
But thorns about my bleeding brow?
Spectres that hover round my brain,
And aggravate and mock my pain.

For pleasure I have given my soul;
Now, Justice, let thy thunders roll!
Now, Vengeance, smile-and with a blow,
Lay the rebellious ingrate low.

Yet Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling,
I'll crowd beneath his sheltering wing;
I'll clasp the cross, and holding there,
Even me, oh bliss!-his wrath may spare.