Come up unto the Hills.

YOME up unto the hills-thy strength is there.
Oh, thou hast tarried long,

Too long, amid the bowers and blossoms fair,
With notes of summer song.

Why dost thou tarry there? what though the bird
Pipes matin in the vale-

The plough-boy whistles to the loitering herd,
As the red daylights fail-

Yet come unto the hills, the old strong hills,
And leave the stagnant plain;

Come to the gushing of the new-born rills,
As sing they to the main;

And thou with denizens of power shalt dwell,
Beyond demeaning care;

Composed upon his rock, mid storm and fell,
The eagle shall be there.

Come up unto the hills: the shattered tree
Still clings unto the rock,

And flingeth out his branches wild and free,
To dare again the shock.

Come where no fear is known: the sea-bird's nest
On the old hemlock swings,

And thou shalt taste the gladness of unrest,
And mount upon thy wings.

Come up unto the hills. The men of old,
They of undaunted wills,

Grew jubilant of heart, and strong, and bold,
On the enduring hills-

Where came the soundings of the sea afar,
Borne upward to the ear,

And nearer grew the moon and midnight star,
And God himself more near.

ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH.

Consecration of the House of Prayer.

OD of wisdom, GOD of might,

GOD

Father! dearest name of all,

Bow thy throne and bless our rite;

'Tis thy children on thee call.

Glorious ONE! look down from heaven,
Warm each heart and wake each vow;
Unto Thee this house is given;

With thy presence fill it now.

Fill it now! on every soul

Shed the incense of thy grace, While our anthem-echoes roll Round the consecrated place; While thy holy page we read, hile the prayers Thou lovest ascend, thy cause thy servants plead,is house, our GOD, our Friend.

w-O, fill it long!

n death shall call us home,

se, in many a throng,

dren's children come.

Bless them, Father, long and late,

Blot their sins, their sorrows dry;
Make this place to them the gate
Leading to thy courts on high.

There, when time shall be no more,
When the feuds of earth are past,
May the tribes of every shore
Congregate in peace at last!
Then to Thee, thou ONE all-wise,
Shall the gather'd millions sing,
Till the arches of the skies

With their hallelujahs ring.

CHARLES SPRAGUE.

Charity.

HARITY! decent, modest, easy, kind,

CHAR

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind; Knows with just reins and gentle hand to guide Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride;

Not soon provoked, she easily forgives,
And much she suffers, as she much believes.
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;
She builds our quiet as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,
And opens in each heart a little heaven.
Each other gift which God on man bestows,
Its
proper bounds and due restriction knows;
To one fixed purpose dedicates its power,
And finishing its act, exists no more.

F

Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;
But lasting Charity's more ample sway,
Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,
In happy triumph shall for ever live,

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.
As through the artist's intervening glass,
Our eye observes the distant planets pass,
A little we discover, but allow

That more remains unseen than art can show;
So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve
(Its feeble eye intent on things above,)
High as we may lift our reason up,

By Faith directed, and confirmed by Hope;
Yet are we able only to survey

Dawnings of beams and promises of day.

Heaven's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight;
Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.
But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispelled,
The Sun shall soon be face to face beheld,
In all his robes, with all his glory on,
Seated, sublime, on his meridian throne.

Then constant Faith and holy Hope shall die, One lost in certainty, and one in joy; Whilst thou, more happy power, fair Charity, Triumphant sister, greatest of the three, Thy office and thy nature still the same, ting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame, at still survive

lt stand before the host of heaven confest, For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

Come, Lord! when Grace has made me meet.

LORD, it belongs not to my care,

Whether I die or live;

To live and serve Thee is my share,
And this Thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad,
That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad,

That shall have the same pay

?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than He went through before;

He that unto God's kingdom comes

Must enter by this door.

Come, Lord! when grace has made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;

For if Thy work on earth be sweet,

What must Thy glory be?

Then shall I end my sad complaints,

And weary, sinful days,

And join with the triumphant saints,
That sing Jehovah's praise.

My knowledge of that life is small,

The eye of faith is dim;

But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,

And I shall be with Him.

BAXTER.