WHEN at thy.footstool, Lord, I bend,
And plead with thee for mercy there,
Think of the sinner's dying Friend,
And for his sake receive my prayer!
O think not of my shame and guilt,
My thousand stains of deepest dye;
Think of the blood which Jesus spilt,
And let that blood my pardon buy.
O think upon thy holy word,
And every precious promise thereHow prayer should evermore be heard, And how thy glory is to spare. O think not of my doubts and fears, My striving with thy grace divine : Think upon Jesus' woes and tears, And let his merits stand for mine.
Think, Lord, how I am still thy own, The trembling creature of thy hand; Think how my heart to sin is prone, And what temptations round me stand. O think how blind and weak am I,
How strong and wily are my foes; They wrestled with thy hosts on high, And can a worm their might oppose?
Thine eye, thine ear, they are not dull;
Thine arm can never shortened be:
Behold me here-my heart is full-
Behold, and spare, and succour me!
No claim, no merits, Lord, I plead;
I come, a humbled, helpless slave;
But, ah! the more my guilty need,
The more thy glory, Lord, to save.
H. F. LYTE.
WITHIN the Church a fountain springs,
It started from the Saviour's side e;
Peace, pardon, joy, to all it brings-
The life-blood of the Crucified.
The living streams for ever flow,
For ever pure, for ever free;
The spirit's solace here below,
The succour for eternity.
"Ho, every one that thirsts, draw nigh,". Beloved, hear the voice divine ! The broken heart, the contrite sigh,
Are welcome there, and these are thine.
Come, then, the Spirit calls-come now,
In humble faith, in trembling love;
Drink comfort for thy sorrows here,
And taste before the bliss above.
BISHOP DOane.
"Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord."-Rev. xiv. 13.
THEY dread no storm that lowers,
No perished joys bewail;
They pluck no thorn-clad flowers,
Nor drink of streams that fail.
There is no tear-drop in their eye,
Nor change upon their brow;
The placid bosom heaves no sigh,
Though all earth's idols bow.
Who are so greatly blessed?
From whom hath sorrow fled?
Who find such deep unbroken rest,
While all things toil? The dead!
The holy dead! Why weep ye so
Above their sable bier ?
Thrice blessed, they have done with woe,
The living claim the tear.
We dream, but they awake;
Dark visions mar our rest;
Mid storms and snares our way we take,
And yet we mourn the bless'd.
For those who throng the eternal throne,
Lost are the tears we shed-
They are the living-they alone-
Whom thus we call the dead.
MRS. SIGOURNEY.
"I was glad when they said unto me, let us go unto the house of the Lord,"-Psalm cxxii. 1.
As camels, journeying o'er the waste,
Where skies meridian beam,
Long in the fertile vale to taste
The cool refreshing stream.
So does the Christian long to view
The Sabbath morn arise,
That he may feast on heavenly dew,
And drink divine supplies.
Weary with toils, with cares opprest,
He seeks for an abode,
Awhile from toils and cares to rest,
And commune with his God.
Oh! how delightful is the place,
Where holy men proclaim
The Gospel of eternal peace,
And preach its Author's name!
Lord, let us to thy gates repair,
To hear the gladdening sound;
That we may find salvation there,
Whilst yet it may be found.
There let us joy and comfort reap;
There teach us how to pray
For grace to choose, and strength to keep
The straight, the narrow way.
And so increase our love for thee,
That all our future days,
May one continued Sabbath be,
Of gratitude and praise.
PRAYER is a voice that sweetly pleads
For Christians 'neath the Father's rod;
The Spirit's voice that intercedes
According to the will of God.
Prayer is a weapon sent from heaven,
Employing which we must prevail,
Prevail with Him by whom 'tis given,
A weapon that can never fail.
Through ages proved, it stands the test,
The test of every trying hour;
And they, who know its value best,
Admire the most its wondrous power.
Then let us pray and never faint;
The prayer of faith can all things do;
Employing this, the feeble saint
Can meet and vanquish every foe.
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