To the pure stream on whose eternal brink
Draughts of unfading joy the faithful drink;
Full as that stream that glads the blest abode,
Flow the unbounded mercies of our God.
In heaven He reigns-in Sion, too, He dwells; When foes assail her, He their power repels; Fierce raged the band-God spake the dread
Melts as the mist before the beam of day.
God is our strength; beneath His saving arm,
We smile at danger, and defy alarm.
Behold the wonders of His mighty hand;
Mark how destruction sweeps the ravaged land!
He breaks the battle, knaps the spear, the bow;
Burns the proud car, and lays the victor low:
Bow then, ye nations, to the Chastener's rod;
Bow your proud hearts, and, trembling, own your
God!
God is our strength; beneath His saving arm
We smile at danger, and defy alarm.
TERNAL Lord! freed from the strife of sin,
And loosen'd from the world, I turn to Thee;
Shun, like a shatter'd bark, the storm, and flee
To Thy protection for a safe abode !
The crown of thorns, hands pierced upon the tree,
The meek, benign, and lacerated face
To a sincere repentance promise grace,-
To the sad soul give hope of pardon free.
With justice mark Thou not, O Light Divine,
My fault, or hear it with Thy sacred ear;
Neither put forth that way Thy arm severe;
Wash with Thy blood my sins; thereto incline
More readily the more my years require
Help and forgiveness, speedy and entire.
M. Angel Burners!
N tears I trace the memory of the days
Nor dared direct its eager flight above,
And seek (as heaven design'd) a nobler praise.
Oh, whilst Thine eye my wretched state surveys,
Invisible, immortal King of Heaven!
Unto my weak and erring soul be given
To gather strength in Thy reviving rays,
So that a life, 'mid war and tempest pass'd,
A peaceful port may find, and close at last
On Jesu's breast its years of vanity;
And when at length Thy summons sets me free,
Oh, may Thy powerful arms, around me cast,
Support the fainting soul that knows no trust but
OW my frail bark through life's tempestuous
flood
Is steer'd, and full in view that port is seen
Where all must answer what their course has been,
And every work be tried, if bad or good.
Now do those lofty dreams, my fancy's brood,
Which made of art an idol and a queen,
Melt into air: and now I feel-how keen !-
That what I needed most I most withstood.
Ye fabled joys, ye tales of empty love,
What are ye now, if twofold death be nigh?
The first is certain, and the last I dread."
Ah! what does sculpture, what does painting prove,
When we have seen the Cross, and fixed our eye
On Him whose arms of love were there outspread?
ATHER, to Thee I turn. With penitent brow
weep that will which 'gainst Thy will con-
tended.
With the sharp sorrows that my spirit plough,
I venge Thee on myself, who so offended.
Do Thou forget, forgive! Since trembling now
I dread Thy wrath, above my sins suspended;
So shall the pangs and fears wherein I move
Inflame and change into Thy heavenly Love.
Y God, my Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life's rough way,
O teach me from my soul to say,
Thy will be done.
Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me be still and murmur not,
And breathe the prayer divinely taught,
Thy will be done.
What, though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved, no longer nigh :
Submissive still would I reply,
Thy will be done.
If Thou shouldst call me to resign
What I most prize, it ne'er was mine;
I only yield Thee what was Thine:
Thy will be done.
Renew my will from day to day,
Blend it with Thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
Thy will be done.
Then, when on earth I breathe no more
The prayer oft mix'd with tears before,
I'll sing upon a happier shore,
Thy will be done.
Let but my heart with Thee be blest,
With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest,
Saviour, with Thee I leave the rest:
Thy will be done!
HIS world is the sense of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel,
And the coming of death is a fearful blow
To a brain unencompass'd with nerves of steel;
When all that we know, or feel, or see
Shall pass like an unreal mystery.
The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be,
Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear
No longer will live to hear, or to see
All that is great and all that is strange
In the boundless realm of unending change.
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