By the clear brook, or through the forest

glade, The light, the sunbeam of those happy

hours; But ruthless death has stolen from the bower, A Summer rose, Judea's fairest flower.

But hold ! strong victor, for a stronger still,

Shall burst the iron fetters thou hast cast Around thy victim, His almighty will Restrains thee, and the sleep of death is

past. — The silent pulse rebounds—the lifeless clay Thrills to the wakening touch of Deity.

THE FATHER'S HAND.

“For whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the Father chasteneth not?”. Heb. xii. 6, 7.

OH! welcome scourge, which in a Father's

hand Dost lose thy keenness, once again I feel Thy chastening stroke, nor can my heart with

stand These gentle cords of love, that smite to heal; That wound, to bring my wandering spirit

home,-Home to a Saviour's side, whene'er I roam.

Faint not, my soul! but plume thy drooping

wing, And soar above the fleeting joys of earth;

Strengthened by faith and hope, to Jesus cling
In trusting love, thou child of Heavenly birth.
Retune thy silent lyre, and with a strain
Of holy rapture sweep its chords again.

Sing of His love who left a home of glory
To veil His Deity in human clay;
Who on the tree, with visage marr'd and gory,
Bore all thy sins, and washed their guilt away,
In the rich fountain of His holy blood,
To give thee pure and undefiled to God.

Sing of the eye that watches o'er thy going, The hand that gently guides thy erring feet, The gracious heart, whose love for ever flowing, Pours forth its streams of consolation sweet. That love which never changes, never tires, But fully satisfies thy best desires.

Sing of the glory that awaits thy soul
When the short hour of pilgrimage is o’er ;

And thou hast safely reached the heavenly

goal, To rest for ever on its peaceful shore; To know the boundless love of Him who died To dwell through countless ages with the

crucified.

THE CLOUDY AND DARK DAY.

“As a shepherd seeketh out his flock in the day that he is among his sheep that are scattered; so will I seek out my sheep, and will deliver them out of all places, where they have been scattered in the cloudy and dark day.”—Ezek. xxxiv. 12.

When the blue sky is shaded
With darkness and gloom,
When joys are all faded,
And peace finds no room;

When the thought of to-morrow
Brings fear to the soul,
And the deep waves of sorrow
Unceasingly roll.

When bright hopes are dying,
Too fleeting to last,
And the full heart is sighing
O’er scenes that are past;
When gladness has perish’d,
When comfort has flown,
And the friends once so cherish'd
Have left thee alone.

Pale mourner repine not,
But raise the sad eye,
Though prosperity shine not,
Thy Shepherd is nigh;
His love shall uphold thee,
Though billows may foam,
His arm shall enfold thee
And carry thee home.

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