There's hope for one who leaves with shame
The guilt that lured before;
Remember, He who said, "Repent,"
Said also, "Sin no more."

Return, and in thy daily round

Of duty and of love,

Thou best will find that patient faith
Which lifts the soul above.

In every innocent prayer each child
Lisps at his father's knee,

If thine has been to teach that prayer,
There will be hope for thee.

There is a small white church which stands

Beside thy father's grave,

There kneel and pour those earnest prayers That sanctify and save.

Around thee draw thine own home ties,

And, with a chasten'd mind,

In meek well-doing seek that peace
No wandering will find.

In charity and penitence

Thy sin will be forgiven;

Pilgrim, the heart is the true shrine

Whence prayers ascend to heaven.

Awake, Arise, thy Light is Come. 159

Awake, Arise, the Light is Come.

Isaiah lx

T. MOORE-Air, Stevenson.

AWAKE, arise, thy light is come;

The nations that before outshone thee,

Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb-
The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise the Gentiles to thy ray,

From every nook of earth shall cluster; And kings and princes haste to pay

Their homage to thy rising lustre.

Lift up thine eyes around, and see,
O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters,
Thy exiled sons return to thee,

To thee return thy home-sick daughters.

And camels rich, from Midian's tents,
Shall lay their treasures down before thee;
And Saba bring her gold and scents,
To fill thy air, and sparkle o'er thee.

See, who are these that, like a cloud,

Are gathering from all earth's dominions, Like doves, long absent, when allow'd

Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions?

Surely the isles shall wait for me,

The ships of Tarshish round will hover,

To bring thy sons across the sea,

And waft their gold and silver over.

And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace—
The fir, the pine, the palm victorious,
Shall beautify our holy place,

And make the ground I tread on glorious.

No more shall Discord haunt thy ways,

Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation; But thou shalt call thy portals Praise, And thou shalt name thy walls Salvation.

The sun no more shall make thee bright,
No more shall lend her lustre to thee;
But God himself shall be thy light,

And flash eternal glory through thee.

Thy sun shall never more go down;
A ray from heaven itself descended
Shall light thy everlasting crown-
Thy days of mourning all are ended.

My own elect and righteous land!

The Branch, for ever green and vernal, Which I have planted with this hand, Live thou shalt in life eternal.

The Land of Promise.

W. E. STAITE.—Music by Dr E. F. Rimbault.

W

EARY wand'rer through the Desert, Trav'ller through this vale of tears, Bent with age, and worn with sorrow, Cheer thy heart and calm thy fears.

Going Out and Coming In.

O'er yon sunny hills of gladness,
Pilgrim, turn your weeping eyes;
Lo, behold the land of promise,
See the glorious prospect rise.

Weary wanderer through the desert,
Traveller through this vale of tears,
Bent with age, and worn with sorrow,
Cheer thy heart and calm thy fears.

Rest thee, now thy toils are ended;
Weep no more, the desert's past;
Ne'er again shall pain or sadness
O'er thy heart a shadow cast.

See yon bright and shining river,

Pilgrim, drink, the stream's divine;
Thither lies the land of promise,
Enter, pilgrim, all is thine.

Weary wanderer through the desert,
Travellers through this vale of tears,
Bent with age, and worn with sorrow,
Cheer thy heart, and calm thy fears.

Going Dut and Coming Jn.

ISA CRAIG.—Music by J. W. Hobbs.

N that home was joy and sorrow

IN

Where an infant first drew breath,

While an aged sire was drawing

Near unto the gate of death:
His feeble pulse was failing,

And his eye was growing dim,

He was standing on the threshold
When they brought the babe to him;

L

161

While to murmur forth a blessing
On the little one he tried,
In his trembling arms he raised it,
Press'd it to his lips, and died;
An awful darkness resteth

On the path they both begin,
Who thus met upon the threshold-
Going out and coming in.

Going out unto the triumph,
Coming in unto the fight;
Coming in unto the darkness,
Going out unto the light;
Although the shadow deepen'd
In the moment of eclipse,

When he pass'd through the dread portal
With the blessing on his lips ;-
And to him who bravely conquers,
As he conquer'd in the strife,
Life is but the way of dying,
Death is but the gate of life.

Yet awful darkness resteth

On the path we all begin,
Where we meet upon the threshold-
Going out and coming in.

Sleep, Baby, Sleep!

GEORGE WITHER.

LEEP, baby, sleep! what ails my dear,

SL

What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear,
To hear me sing thy lullaby.