Yet such were life without the ray
From our divine Religion given;
'Tis this that makes our darkness day,
'Tis this that makes our earth a heaven.
AT HADLEIGH, SUFFOLK, INSCRIBED,
D. TAYLER IN DEFENDING THAT WAS GOOD AT THIS PLAS LEFT HIS BLODE."
MARK this rude stone, where Taylor dauntless stood,
Where Rome infuriate shed the martyr's blood!
Hadleigh! that day how many a tearful eye
Saw thy loved pastor dragged a victim by!
Still scattering gifts and blessings as he passed,
To the blind pair his farewell alms were cast.*
His sorrowing flock e'en here around him prayed,
"As thou hast aided us, be God thine aid!"
Nor taunts, nor bribes of mitred rank, nor stake,
Nor blows, nor flames, his heart of firmness shake.
Serene his folded hands, his upward eyes,
Like holy Stephen's, seek the opening skies.
There fixed in rapture, his prophetic sight
Views Truth dawn clear on England's Popish night,
Triumphant saint! he bowed to kiss the rod,
Then soared on seraph wing to meet his God.
DR. DRAKE.
* See Tract entitled "Rowland Taylor," published by the
• Religious Tract Society.
God bless my native place,
With mercy from above!
With all the riches of His grace,
The treasures of his love!
Bestow upon each humble cot,
The peace from heaven that faileth not.
Within this little fold,
Are faithful hearts and true; Lord, let thy blessings manifold, Descend like early dew;
Watch o'er our footsteps lest we stray, Guide and defend us day by day.
And those who wander still,
Nor heed thy gracious call;
Safely conduct to Zion's hill,
Thou Shepherd of us all!
Let beams of light around them shine,
Forsake them not, for they are thine.
Lord, hear me whilst I plead
That all may seek thy face!
The poor, for help in time of need,
The weak for strengthening grace,-
The sick-since Thou alone canst heal
And mercy to their soul reveal.
Let every mourning breast
Cast all its care on Thee; Let weary souls by sin opprest, To thy salvation flee!
And those who tread a thorny way, Find thee their comfort and their stay.
And let the young, oh Lord!
The little lambs below,
Feed on the milk of thy pure word,
And thus in wisdom grow:
Yea, lead us all in pastures fair,
To drink of living waters there.
Thus joined in bands of love,
May we, thy flock on earth,
Gentle and kind, and faithful prove,
Like those of heavenly birth;
Each blessing each with tender care,
And joining in a common prayer.
Thus passing one by one,
Along death's shadowy vale, Conduct us Heavenly Shepherd on To joys that never fail;
Thus may we all in glory shine,
For ever safe-for ever Thine!
I HEAR thee speak of the better land;
Thou call'st its children a happy band:
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore,-
Shall we not seek it and weep no more:
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs?
"Not there, not there, my child.”
Is it where feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?
"Not there, not there, my child."
Is it far away in some region old,
'Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold-
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand—
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?
"Not there, not there, my child."
Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy;
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,
Sorrow and death may not enter there!
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
Far beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb;
"It is there, it is there, my child."
SABBATH EVENING.
ANOTHER day has pass'd along,
And we are nearer to the tomb;
Nearer to join the heavenly song,
Or hear the last eternal doom.
These moments of departing day,
When thought is calm, and labours cease, Are surely solemn times to pray,
To ask for pardon and for peace.
Thou God of mercy, swift to hear,
More swift than man to tell his need;
Be THOU to us this evening near,
And to thy fount our spirits lead.
Teach us to pray-and, having taught,
Grant us the blessing that we crave;
Without thy teaching-prayer is nought,
But with it-powerful to save!
SEASON OF REST! the tranquil soul
Feels thy sweet calm, and melts in love; And while these sacred moments roll, FAITH sees a peaceful heaven above.
Yet will our journey not be long,
Our pilgrimage will soon be trod;
And we shall join the ceaseless song,
The endless Sabbath of our GOD.
EDMESTON.
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