Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word; Come, not in terrors, as the King of kings; Thou on my head, in early youth didst smile, I need thy presence every passing hour: I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless : I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. Hold then thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain sha dows flee; In life and death, O Lord, abide with me! LYTE. A Freshly Gathered Lily. E was our father's darling, HE A bright and happy boy— He was our mother's cherub, His ringlets like the gathered gold He was our sister's plaything, He was our brothers' treasure, A thing to watch and cherish, Their staff for future He is a blessed angel, years. His home is in the sky; He shines anong those living lights, Beneath his Maker's eye: A freshly gathered lily, A bud of early doom, Hath been transplanted from the earth, To bloom beyond the tomb. CATHERINE ESLING. A Noon-Day Hymn. UP to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn; And He accepts the punctual hymn, Sung as the light of day grows dim. Nor will He turn his ear aside What though our burden be not light, Blest are the moments, doubly blest, Why should we crave a hallowed spot? A church in every grove that spreads Look up to heaven! the industrious sun Lord! since his rising in the east, Help with thy grace through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way; And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Autumn Sabbath Walk. WHEN homeward bands their several ways disperse, I love to linger in the narrow field Of rest; to wander round from tomb to tomb, And think of some who silent sleep below. Sad sighs the wind, that from those ancient elms. Shakes showers of leaves upon the withered grass: The sere and yellow wreaths with eddying sweep Though bred to brave the deep; the lightning's flash Had dimmed, not closed, his mild but sightless eyes. He was a welcome guest through all his range; C |