Star of morn and even,
Shine on us from Heaven,
From thy glory-throne
Hear thy very own!

Lord and Saviour, come,

Lead us to our home!

F. T. Palgrave. 1862.

A

UTHOR of good, to thee we turn:

Thine ever wakeful eye

Alone can all our wants discern,
Thy hand alone supply.

O, let thy love within us dwell,
Thy fear our footsteps guide;
That love fhall vainer loves expel,
That fear all fears befide.

And, O, by error's force subdued,
Since oft, with ftubborn will,
We blindly fhun the latent good,

And grasp the specious ill,

Not what we wifh, but what we want,
Let mercy ftill supply:

The good we ask not, Father, grant;

The ill we ask, deny.

Merrick.

PRAISE.

"All things are yours,

W

things present." -1 Cor. iii. 21, 22.

HILE toil and warfare urge us on our way,

And heart is answering heart in fighs of pain, Have we no words of ftrengthening joy to say, No songs for those who suffer but to reign?

O for the faithful mind, the fteadfaft eye,
To keep our Leader's glory full in fight,
And make our converse, even while we die,
An interchange of triumph and delight!

Behold, the paths of life are ours,

we see

Our bleft inheritance where'er we tread;

Sorrow and danger our security,

And disappointment lifting up our head.

Kings unto God, we may not doubt our power,
We may not languish when He says, "Be ftrong!"

We must move on through every adverse hour,
And take poffeffion as we pass along.

Yes, all is for us; nothing fhall withstand

Our faithful, valiant, persevering claim; The rod of God's Anointed in our hand,

And our affurance His unchanging name.

We need no hafte where He has said, "Be still," No peace where He has charged us to contend; Only the fearless love to do His will,

And to fhow forth His honor to the end.

O ye that faint and die, arise and live!

Sing, ye that all things have a charge to bless! If He is faithful who hath sworn to give, Then be ye also faithful, and poffess.

Take thy whole portion with thy Master's mind, -
Toil, hindrance, hardness, with His virtue take, —
And think how fhort a time thy heart may find
To labor or to suffer for His sake.

Count all the pains that speed thee to thy rest
Among the riches of thy purchased right;
Yea, bind them in His name upon thy breast,
As jewels for the Bride, the Lamb's delight.

And love fhall teach us, while on Him we lean,
That, in the certainty of coming bliss,
We may be yearning for a world unseen,
Yet wear our beautiful array in this.

Ours be a loyal love for service tried,

To fhow by deeds and words, and looks that cheer, How He can bless the scene in which He died,

And fill His house with glory even here.

Miss A. L. Waring.

L

TREASURES.

ET me count my treasures,
All my soul holds dear,
Given me by dark spirits
Whom I used to fear.

Through long days of anguish,
And sad nights, did Pain
Forge my fhield, Endurance,
Bright and free from ftain!

Doubt, in mifty caverns,
'Mid dark horrors sought,
Till my peerless jewel,
Faith, to me fhe brought.

Sorrow, that I wearied

Should remain so long,
Wreathed my starry glory,

The bright Crown of Song.

Strife, that racked my spirit
Without hope or reft,
Left the blooming flower,
Patience, on my breast.

Suffering, that I dreaded,

Ignorant of her charms,
Laid the fair child, Pity,
Smiling, in my arms.

So I count my treasures,
Stored in days long paft, --
And I thank the givers,

Whom I know at last!

A. Procter.

A THANKSGIVING FOR HIS HOUSE.

L

ORD, Thou haft given me a cell,
Wherein to dwell;

A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather proof;

Under the spars of which I lie

Both soft and dry,

Where Thou, my chamber for to ward,

Haft set a guard