His destined cup of bitter gall:

No, child, believe

Meekly the cup receive,

And know that love and wisdom mixed it all:""

O, Father, must it be?

Yes, child, it must.”

Then give the needed medicine;

Be by my side

Only thy face don't hide :

I'll drink it all it must be good 't is Thine:

THE GOOD SHEPHERD.

I was a wandering sheep,

I did not love the fold:

I did not love my Shepherd's voice,
I would not be controled;

I was a wayward child,

I did not love my home,

I did not love my Father's voice,
I loved afar to roam.

The Shepherd sought his sheep,
The Father sought his child;
They followed me o'er vale and hill,
O'er deserts waste and wild:
They found me nigh to death,
Famished, and faint, and lone;

They bound me with the bands of love,
They saved the wandering one!

They spoke in tender love,

They raised my drooping head; They gently closed my bleeding wounds, My fainting soul they fed;

They washed my filth away,

They made me clean and fair ;

They brought me to my home in peace, The long-sought wanderer!

Jesus my Shepherd is,

'Twas he that loved my soul,

'Twas He that wash'd me in his blood,

'Twas He that made me whole;

"Twas He that sought the lost,

That found the wandering sheep,

'Twas He that brought me to the fold,

"Tis he that still doth keep.

I was a wandering sheep,

I would not be controled;

But now I love my Shepherd's voice,

I love, I love the fold!

I was a wayward child,

I once preferred to roam,

But now I love my Father's voice, -
I love, I love his home!

SEVENTH DAY OF CREATION.

Sabbath of the saints of old,
Day of mysteries manifold,
By the great Creator blest,
Type of his eternal rest:

I with thoughts of Thee would seek
To sanctify the closing week.

Resting from his work, the Lord
Spake to-day the hallowing word;
And, his wondrous labors done,
Now the everlasting Son

Gave to heaven and earth the sign
Of a wonder more divine:

Resting from His work, to-day
In the tomb the Saviour lay,

His sacred form from head to feet
Swathed in the winding-sheet,

Lying in the rock alone,

Hid beneath the sealed stone.

All the seventh day long, I weer
Mournful watch'd the Magdalene,
Rising early, resting late,
By the sepulchre to wait,

In the holy garden glade

Where her buried Lord was laid.

So, as closed the Sabbath night, In Goshen watched the Israelite, Staff in hand, in pilgrim's guise, By the slaughtered sacrifice, Waiting till the midnight cry Signal gave that God was nigh:

So with Thee till life shall end,
I would solemn vigil spend ;
Let me hew thee, Lord, a shrine,
In this rocky heart of mine,
Where in pure embalmed cell,
None but thee may'st ever dwell,

THE CHURCH PORCH.

HERBERT.

When once thy foot enters the church, be bare : God is more there than thou; for thou art there Only by his permission. Then beware,

And make thyself all reverence and fear.

Kneeling ne'er spoiled silk stockings. Quit thy

state,

All equal are within the church's gate.

Resort to sermons,

but to prayers most:

Prayer is the end of preaching. Oh, be drest! Stay not for th' other pin. Why, thou hast lost A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose, about thee.

In time of service seal up both thine eyes,

;

And send them to thy heart; that, spying sin, They may weep out the stains by them did rise Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in. Who marks, in church time, others' symmetry, Makes all their beauty his deformity.

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part: Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures thither: