Walk in the light! and thou shalt find
Thy heart made truly His,

Who dwells in cloudless light enshrined,
In whom no darkness is.

Walk in the light! and thou shalt own
Thy darkness passed away,

Because that light hath on thee shone,
In which is perfect day.

Walk in the light! and e'en the tomb
No fearful shade shall wear;
Glory shall chase away its gloom,

For Christ hath conquer'd there!
Walk in the light! and thou shalt see
A path, though thorny, bright;
For God, by grace, shall dwell in thee,
And God Himself is light.

ANON.

What He Wills we know is Pure and Good.

GOD

OD is not great because omnipotent!
But because power in Him is understood

And felt, and proved to be benevolent,

And wise, and holy;—thus it ever should! For what He wills we know is pure and good, And has in view the happiness of all:

Hence love and adoration :-never could The contrite spirit at his footstool fall,

If power, and power alone, its feelings did appall!

If then divinest power be truly so,

Because its proper object is to bless ;

It follows, that all power which man can know, The highest even monarchs can possess, Display alone their "less than littleness," Unless it seek the happiness of man

And glory of the Highest ;-nothing less Than such a use of power one moment can Make its possessor great, on wisdom's God-like plan.

BERNARD Barton.

When Kindred Minds their God
Pursue.

I'M

'M borne aloft, and leave the crowd,
I sail upon a morning cloud,

Skirted with dawning gold:

Mine eyes beneath the opening day
Command the globe with wild survey,
Where ants in busy millions play,

And try and heave the mould.

"Are these the things" (my passion cried,)
"That we call men? Are these allied
To the fair worlds of light?

They have rased out their Maker's name,
Graven on their minds with pointed flame,
In strokes divinely bright.

"Wretches! they hate their native skies; If an ethereal thought arise,

Or spark of virtue shine,

With cruel force they damp its plumes,

Choke the young fire with sensual fumes,
With business, lust, or wine.

"Lo! how they throng with panting breath
The broad descending road,
That leads unerring down to death,

Nor miss the dark abode."
Thus while I drop a tear or two
On the wild herd, a noble few
Dare to stray upward, and pursue
The unbeaten way to God.

I meet Myrtillo mounting high,
I know his candid soul afar;
Here Dorylis and Thyrsis fly,
Each like a rising star;
Charin I see, and Fidea there,
I see them help each other's flight,
And bless them as they go:

They soar beyond thy labouring sight,
And leave their loads of mental care,
But not their love, below.

On heaven, their home, they fix their eyes,
The temple of their God:

With morning incense up they rise,

Sublime, and through the lower skies,

Spread their perfumes abroad.

Across the road a seraph flew,

"Mark," (said he), " that happy pair,
Marriage helps devotion there:

When kindred minds their God

pursue,

They break with double vigour through

The dull incumbent air.”

Charmed with the pleasure and surprise,

My soul adores and sings

"Blest be the power that springs their flight, That streaks their path with heavenly light, That turns their love to sacrifice,

And joins their zeal for wings."

ISAAC WATTS.

Who is this Mighty Hero, who? STRANGE scene of glory! am I well awake,

Or is't my fancy's wild mistake?

It cannot be a dream; bright beams of light Flow from the visions fair, and pierce my tender

sight

No common vision this; I see

Some marks of more than human majesty.

Who is this mighty Hero, who

With glories round his head, and terror in his brow?

From Bozrah, lo! He comes: a scarlet dye
O'erspreads his clothes, and does outvie
The blushes of the morning sky.

Triumphant and victorious He appears,
And honour in his looks and habit wears :

How strong He treads, how stately does He go! Pompous and solemn is his pace,

And full of majesty as his face,

Who is this mighty Hero, who?

'Tis I who to my promise faithful stand;

I who the powers of death, hell, and the grave, Have foiled with this all-conquering hand; I who most ready am and mighty too, to save. Why wearest Thou then this scarlet dye ? Say, mighty Hero, why?

Why do thy garments look all red,

Like them that in the wine-vat tread?

The wine-press I alone have trod :

That vast unwielding frame, which long did stand

Unmoved, and which no mortal force could
e'er command,

That ponderous mass I plied alone,
And with me to assist were none.

A mighty task it was, worthy the Son of God;
Angels stood trembling at the dreadful sight,
Concerned with what success I should go
through

The work I undertook to do;

Enraged I put forth all my might,

And down the engine pressed; the violent force Disturbed the universe, put nature out of course; The blood gushed out in streams, and checkered o'er

My garments with its deepest gore;

With ornamental drops bedecked I stood,