WHAT is mercy? 'Tis a stream Flowing from the fount above; 'Tis the attribute of Him,
All whose works and ways are love.
What is mercy? 'Tis a tide,
Rolling with majestic force,
Reaching far and spreading wide,
With salvation in its course.
What is mercy? 'Tis a beam
From the uncreated sun,
Darting, with celestial gleam,
Through a world by sin undone.
What is mercy? 'Tis a blaze,
Bright, insuperably bright,
Scattering its benignant rays,
O'er the gloomy shades of night.
What is mercy? 'Tis a hope,
Which, in spite of every fear,
Bears the sinking spirits up,
And forbids the rising tear.
mercy ? 'Tis in death All our confidence and stay, While the last and lingering breath, Quits the tenement of clay.
What will mercy be at last,
But the theme of ceaseless joy,
When the memory of the past
Shall our future songs employ?
Thus, while here on earth we rove,
Mercy lights up all the way,
Till we reach the climes above,
Where she shines without decay.
"The ants are a people not strong, yet they prepare their meat in the summer." Prov. xxx. 25.
SAY, shall the little ant, with care and pain,
Store in the earth its heaps of hoarded grain;
And make provision for the coming hour,
When frosts shall pinch, and winter's skies shall low'r?
And shall not man, rejoicing in his prime,
Think that he too must have his wintry time,
When age, or wasting malady, shall dim
eye, and palsy the once active limb?
Oh! let these insects teach thee to be wise;
And 'ere with health and youth, thy vigour flies,
From what the Lord has given thee, let thy care
The means of future sustenance prepare;
Nor in the days of life and strength forget
The vast eternity before thee set.
Lay up for it ;-for those true riches toil,
Which rust shall not corrupt, nor robbers spoil.
R. W. KYLE.
WORLD, ADIEU !
I John ii. 17.
WORLD, adieu! I see thee flying,
Fast as vapours on the wind,
All thy consolations dying,
Leaving not a wreck behind;
Fools may love thee,
But above thee,
I would bliss substantial find.
If thou now so oft deceive me,
When I may detect the cheat,
Thou would'st of all hopes bereave me,
When on life's last verge we meet;
Never, never,
False deceiver,
Would I more thy smilings greet.
There's a world where all is pleasure,
One which Time can ne'er decay!
There are blessings without measure,
Pure as light, and glad as day!
That desiring,
Thus aspiring,
I would breathe my life away.
How sweet to think, in sorrow's hour,
That He who reigns above,
Although He be supreme in power,
Is as supreme in love!
ON MY DAUGHTER'S HOUR GLASS.
MARK the golden grains that pass
Brightly through the channelled glass,
Measuring by their ceaseless fall,
Heaven's most precious gift to all.
Busy till its sand be done,
See, the shining current run;
But th' allotted numbers shed,
Another hour of life is filed!
Its task performed, its travail past,
Like mortal man, it rests at last!
Yet let some hand invert its frame,
And all its powers return the same :
Whilst any golden grains remain,
"Twill work its little hour again.-
But who shall turn the glass for man,
When all his golden grains have ran ?
Who shall collect the scattered sand,
Dispensed by Time's unsparing hand?
Never can one grain be found,
Howe'er we anxious search around!
Then, Daughter, since this truth is plain,
That time once gone, ne'er comes again,
Improved bid every moment pass ;—
See how the sand rolls down your glass.
J. Mc. CREERY
JESUS beckons from on high,
To his gracious presence fly;
Thine the merit of his blood,
Thine the righteousness of God.
Angels, joyful to attend,
Hovering round thy pillow bend;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And convey thee safe to heaven.
Shudder not to pass the stream;
Venture all thy care on Him;—
Him whose dying love and power
Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar.
Safe is the expanded wave;
Gentle as a summer's eve;
Not one object of his care
Ever suffered shipwreck there.
See the haven full in view!
Love divine shall bear thee through;
Trust the favourable gale;
Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail;
Saints in glory perfect made
Wait thy passage through the shade;
Anxious for thy coming o'er,
See, they throng the blissful shore.
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