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"If I am right, bid me entreat
Ten thousand saints my cause to aid;
If I am wrong, at JESUS' feet

Let all my prayers be only laid.

"If I am right, then bid me win,

Through penal fires, a heavenly throne; If I am wrong, O cleanse my sin In CHRIST's redeeming blood alone.

"If I am right, still bid me brave,

Safe in the Church, hell's fiercest shock; If I am wrong, look down and save, And lead to CHRIST, the only ROCK.

"If I am right, my will control,

With faith to hear the priest forgive; If I am wrong, absolve my soul,

And in the SAVIOUR bid me live."

Wilt thou not pray in earnest thus,

One deep free prayer, that light be given? With GOD, and not with man discuss, If thou art on the way to Heaven.

There is one Book would point the way : Wilt thou not trust its Heavenly Light? Unclasp it now; kneel down and pray; And God direct thee to the right.

THE PILGRIM ON HIS WAY.

NIGHT had stolen o'er the ground,
Spreading her dark mantle round,
When I heard, the shades among,
Plaintive notes, like those that flow
From the wild-toned harp of woe :
It was the pilgrim's song.

Morning, in her car of light,
Glittered o'er the veil of night;
Till the woodland's heights along,
Music caught my listening ear,
Blithsome as the lark and clear:
It was the pilgrim's song.

Noontide from her flaming throne
Fiercely poured her red rays down ;
Burning was the path and long;
No cool grove, nor fountain nigh:
Still beneath that glowing sky,

Sweetly rose the pilgrim's song.

"Twas then the clouds obscured his path, The tempest burst in fiery wrath;

Still nor dread it wrought, nor wrong: The tall rock's high and sheltering breast Gave him safety, gave him rest,

While he sang his pilgrim song.

Now from ambush starts the foe;
Seeks to lay the pilgrim low ;

Fiery legions fiercely throng:
Boldly firm he wields the sword,
Conquers through the sacred word,

And "Victory!" is the pilgrim's song.

Now he gains high Pisgah's head,
Views the distant glories spread,
Sees the end nor far, nor long;
Onward goes, and light of heart,
Feels the fading day depart,

Chanting still the pilgrim's song.

Chill the evening breezes blow,
Measured are his steps and slow,

Yet his voice still rises strong.

Now he walks the vale of death,
Now he yields his last drawn breath,
Yields it in the pilgrim's song.

And now his feet no longer roam,
Safe he gains his blood-bought home;
While yon shining hosts among,

Angels and archangels sing:
While the holy heavens ring

Sounds the ransomed pilgrim's song.

REV. JOHN EAST.

A FATHER READING THE BIBLE.

"Twas early dawn, and sunlight streamed Soft through a quiet room,

That hushed, but not forsaken, seemed,
Still, but with nought of gloom.
For there, serene in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,
A father communed with the page
Of heaven's recorded love.

Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright,

On his grey holy hair,

And touched the page with tenderest light,

As if its shrine were there!

But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone
With something lovelier far;

A radiance all the SPIRIT'S Own,
Caught not from sun or star.

Some word of life e'en then had met
His calm benignant eye;

Some ancient promise, breathing yet

Of immortality:

Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow
Of quenchless faith survives:

For every feature said, "I know

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And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity

Of thoughts o'ersweeping death.
Silent; yet did not each young breast
With love and reverence melt?

Oh! blest be those dear sons; and blest
The home where GOD is felt.

HEMANS.

THE REAPER.

THERE is a reaper whose name is death;
And with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.

"Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he;
"Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

He kissed their drooping leaves:

It was for the LORD of Paradise

He bound them to his sheaves.

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