SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL.

MIRIAM'S SONG.

(AIR.-AVISON.)

"And Miriam the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."-Exod. xv. 20.

SOUND the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea;
JEHOVAH has triumph'd-his people are free!
Sing for the pride of the Tyrant is broken,

His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave-
How vain was their boast, for the Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea;
JEHOVAH has triumph'd-his people are free!

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the LORD!
His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword-
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?
For the LORD hath look'd out from his pillar of glory,

And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; JEHOVAH has triumph'd-his people are free!

WEEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies.

Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd it, 'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course,

And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has unchain'd it,
To water that Eden where first was its source.
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,

In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies.

Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale,
Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now,
Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale,

And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her brow.
Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying

From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknownAnd the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. Weep not for her-in her spring-time she flew

To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd; And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world.

COME NOT, OH LORD.

(AIR.—HAYDN.)

COME not, oh LORD, in the dread robe of splendour
Thou wor'st on the Mount, in the day of thine ire;
Come veil'd in those shadows, deep, awful, but tender,
Which Mercy flings over thy features of fire !

LORD, thou rememb'rest the night, when thy Nation
Stood fronting her Foe by the red-rolling stream;
O'er Egypt thy pillar shed dark desolation,

While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam.

So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold Thee,
From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove ;
While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold Thee,
Oh, turn upon us the mild light of thy Love.

AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS.

(AIR-HAYDN.)

As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean,

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see,
So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee,
My GOD! silent, to Thee—

Pure, warm, silent, to Thee.

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee,
My GOD! trembling, to Thee-
True, fond, trembling, to Thee.

COME, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish,

Come, at GOD's altar fervently kneel;

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish—
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying,

Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure,
Here speaks the Comforter, in GOD's name saying—
Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure."

Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us,
What charm for aching hearts he can reveal,
Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us—
'Earth has no sorrow that GOD cannot heal."

Он fair! oh purest! be thou the dove That flies alone to some sunny grove, And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, All vestal white, in the limpid spring. There, if the hov'ring hawk be near, That limpid spring in its mirror clear

Reflects him, ere he reach his prey,
And warns the timorous bird away.
Be thou this dove;

Fairest, purest, be thou this dove.

The sacred pages of GOD's own book
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook,
In whose holy mirror, night and day,
Thou'lt study Heaven's reflected ray;-
And should the foes of virtue dare,
With gloomy wing, to seek thee there,
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie
Between Heaven and thee, and trembling fly!
Be thou that dove;

Fairest, purest, be thou that dove.

BUT WHO SHALL SEE.

(AIR. STEVENSON.)

BUT who shall see the glorious day
When, thron'd on Zion's brow,
The LORD shall rend that veil away
Which hides the nations now?
When earth no more beneath the fear
Of his rebuke shall lie;

When pain shall cease, and every tear
Be wip'd from ev'ry eye.

Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn
Beneath the heathen's chain;

Thy days of splendour shall return,

And all be new again.

The Fount of Life shall then be quaff'd

In peace, by all who come;

And every wind that blows shall waft

Some long-lost exile home.