"The Lord is my shepherd."-Psalm xxiii. 1.
ISRAEL'S shepherd! guide me, feed me,
Through my pilgrimage below;
And beside the waters lead me,
Where thy flocks rejoicing go.
Could I wander, fear disdaining,
Could I quit the sheltering fold?
Heedless of thy grace constraining,
In the strength of nature bold?
No! thy pardoning presence ever,
Meekly kneeling I implore;
I have found Thee, and would never-
Never wander from Thee more!
O how sweet, how comfortable,
In the wilderness to see,
Such provisions, such a table,
Spread for sinners; yes, for me.
There thy bounty still partaking,
Bread and consecrated wine;
Freely all things else forsaking,
I behold the Saviour mine:
In that bruised body, broken-
In the shedding of that blood;
What a gracious pledge, and token,
Lord! we have for every good.
Come, my soul! temptations flying,
Arm thee for the strife within ;
Jesus, thy Redeemer, dying,
Stamps an infamy on sin :
Yield my heart! no longer harden'd;
Rouse thy every latent power;
Cleansed and wash'd, and freely pardon'd,
"Go in peace! and sin no more."
J. BICKERSTETH.
As o'er the past my memory strays,
Why heaves the secret sigh?
'Tis that I mourn departed days,
Still unprepared to die.
The world, and worldly things, beloved,
My anxious thoughts employed;
While time unhallow'd, unimproved,
Presents a fearful void.
Yet holy Father, wild despair
Chase from this sorrowing breast: Thy grace it is, which prompts the prayer That grace can do the rest.
My life's best remnant all be thine;
And when thy sure decree
Bids me this fleeting breath resign,
O speed my soul to thee!
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
THEY grew in beauty, side by side,
They fill'd one home with glee-
Their graves are sever'd far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.
The same fond mother bent at night,
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?
One 'midst the forests of the west,
By a dark stream, is laid ;-
The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.
The sea, the lone blue sea hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.
One sleeps where southern vines are dress'd;
Among the noble slain,
He wrapt his colours round his breast,
On a blood-red field of Spain.
And one-o'er her the myrtle showers
Its leaves, by soft winds fann'd;
She faded 'midst Italian flowers,
The last of that bright band.
And parted thus, they rest, who play'd
Beneath the same green tree,
Whose voices mingled as they pray'd
Around one parent knee.
AROUND a ruin, old and grey,
The mournful ivy clung,
And thickly on the dreary walls
In weeping garlands hung.
A little lonely plant was seen
Amidst that ruin wild,
And from the tower whereon it grew,
Its flower looked up and smiled;
To every breeze which murmured by,
Its fragrant scent was given ;
Its root was on the mouldering stone,
Its blossom turned to heaven.
So like the ivy, memory fond
Around the past entwines,
And all its buried images
With mournful love enshrines.
For even when our path is bright,
How oft we think with tears,
Upon the faded happiness
Of long departed years!
And when our hearts cling mournfully,
As human hearts will cling,
Around some memory of the past,
Some dear though transient thing;
Then like the little golden flower,
May heavenly Hope arise,
And from the dreariness of earth
Point upward to the skies!
That from the records of the past
This lesson may be given:
Earth's joys and griefs are fleeting things,
Oh seek thy bliss in heaven!
HERE Sweetly sleep awhile, blest babe, thy sun
In haste hath set, thy race of suffering done;
A stranger to thy great Creator's name-
Unknown to thee thy glorious Saviour's fame.
Nor faith, nor hope, nor love, nor other grace,
Within thy infant bosom held their place.
No power hadst thou to shed one contrite tear,
One duteous act perform, or lisp one prayer,
But not in vain thy life! Thou hast not sown,
Yet the rich harvest reapest as thy own:
Thou hast not fought, but thou hast won the prize,
Hast never borne the cross, yet gain'd the skies.
E'en guilt was thine, of Adam's guilty race;
Yet such the Father's love-the Saviour's grace,
That Father's love hath turn'd thy night to day,
That Saviour's blood hath washed thy guilt away;
Clothed in his robe of righteousness divine,
Peace, freedom, life, and endless joys are thine.
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