Sinners we are, yet hear us, Lord,
And send us freedom, joy and peace;
Thy patience to the slave afford,

And bid each sin and sorrow cease.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of heaven in each we see:

Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.

Such is the bliss of souls serene,

When they have sworn, and steadfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all to espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.

O could we learn that sacrifice,

What lights would all around us rise!
How would our hearts with wisdom talk
Along life's dullest dreariest walk!

We need not bid, for cloister'd cell,
Our neighbor and our work farewell,
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high,
For sinful man beneath the sky :

The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask;
Room to deny ourselves; a road

To bring us, daily, nearer God.

Seek we no more; content with these,
Let present rapture, comfort, ease,
As Heaven shall bid them, come and go:
The secret this of rest below.

Morning.

Grant it eternal Trinity,

The Father, Son, and Spirit blessed,

Whose glory is, and still shall be, Through all the world with joy confessed.

Only, O Lord, in thy dear love
Fit us for perfect rest above;
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.

3

25

Prayer for the Slave.

XI.

WESLEY.

O LET the prisoners' mournful sighs,
As incense in thy sight appear!
Their humble wailings pierce the skies,
If haply they may feel thee near.

The captive exiles make their moans,
From sin impatient to be free:
Call home, call home thy banished ones!
Lead captive their captivity!

Out of the deep regard their cries,

The fallen raise, the mourners cheer;

O Son of Righteousness arise,

And scatter all their doubt and fear!

Stand by them in the fiery hour,

Their feebleness of mind defend;
And in their weakness show thy power,
And make them patient to the end.

Relieve the souls whose cross we bear,
For whom thy suffering members mourn:
Answer our faith's effectual prayer;

And break the yoke so meekly borne!

The search for Truth.

XII:

S. G. BULFINCH.

Он, darkly on the path of life
The pilgrim holds his course in strife;
His wandering vision strives in vain
The distant prospect to attain ;

And Prejudice will rise between,

And Doubt's dark clouds enfold the scene.

Father of lights! to thee we pray

To chase those clouds of doubt away,
Bid lingering Prejudice depart

That long has shadowed o'er the heart,
And cause thy Truth with ray divine,
Upon thy servants' path to shine.

Thus when thy sun in glory springs,
With morning on his golden wings,
The shades retire, the mists of night
Recede, and nature smiles in light,
And hill and vale, and earth, and sea,

Breathe forth their matin song to thee.

Prejudice against color is the stone covering the well of the waters of life; and never can they be given freely to the nations until it be removed.-George Thompson.

Patriotism and Sympathy.

XIII.

E. M. CHANDLER.

THINK of our country's glory,
All dimm'd with Afric's tears-
Her broad flag stained and gory,
With the hoarded guilt of years.

Think of the frantic mother,
Lamenting for her child,
Till falling lashes smother
Her cries of anguish wild!

Think of the prayers ascending,
Yet shrieked, alas! in vain,
When heart from heart is rending,
Ne'er to be joined again!

Shall we behold unheeding,

Life's holiest feelings crush'd? When woman's heart is bleeding, Shall woman's voice be hush'd?

Oh, no! by every blessing,

That heaven to thee may lendRemember their oppression, Forget not, sister, friend.