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“THEN said Jesus unto His disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.”—Matt. xvi. 24.

“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith : henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love His appearing "-2 Timothy iv. 7, 8.

YES, Lord, there is a cross below,
A thorny path, a life of woe,
A tempter urging me to sin,
The world without, the flesh within;
The powers of hell my soul engage,
And Satan tries his utmost rage,
Till oft I sink beneath the strife,
And my worn spirit gasps for life.

But swift Thy heavenly succour flies,
Like a bright angel from the skies,
And Thy blest Word of promise brings
A cordial on its healing wings
To cure my wounds, and ease the smart
Of the fierce tempter's fiery dart.
Jesus, I know that Thou art nigh,
And quick to hear my feeblest cry.
Thy loving hand shall give relief,
And calm my troubled spirit's grief;
Shall send a healing balm to me
In Thine unbounded sympathy;
For Thou hast been a man of woe
In this sad wilderness below
And now, before the Father's throne,
Thy children’s griefs are all Thine own.
Courage, my soul ! and still pursue
The narrow way, with Christ in view,
Till called to lay thy weapons down,
To leave the cross, and take the crown,


“Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved ?"-Canticles viii. 5.

As longs the wandering bird to gain her nest,
Sheltered and safe her wearied wing to rest;
So longs the Saviour's bride her Lord to see,
To know His love, and feel her liberty.
“Oh! take me hence,” she cries, “and let me

Thy heavenly joys, Thy radiant image bear.
As pants the hart to quaff the cooling streams,
So thirsts my soul to feel Thy living beams.

Alone I sit, and mourn Thy long delay,
Can I but weep while Thou art far away?
Hasten Thy coming, Lord, and claim Thy bride
To dwell for ever at Thy sheltering side.”

Cease sorrowing mourner, hear the loving voice That calms thy fears, and bids thy heart re

joice. Its gentle strains shall soothe thy yearning

breast, And hush thy troubled spirit into rest.

“Weep not, my purchased one, a little while
With patience wait, thy longing heart beguile;
Am I not now preparing thee a place
Meet for my bride, my blood-bought bride, to

grace. While still thou wanderest through the desert

wild, Lean upon me, my pure, my undefiled Rest in that sheltering cleft, that home of love, My wounded side, thou weak and trembling


Dwell near my riven heart, which, rent for thee, Poured forth its living streams to set thee free

Keep thy robe white, nor stain its spotless hue,
Be sober, prayerful, vigilant, and true.
Soon shalt thou strike on high thy golden lyre,
To swell the heavenly strain thy voice con-

spire.” “ Worthy the Lamb who died to set us free, Who bought with his heart's blood our endless



LET my prayer be set forth before Thee as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.”—Psalm cxli. 2:

When the soft zephyr whispers through the

And the leaves flutter in the gentle breeze,
When the deep sunset glow is in the sky,
And wearied nature lays her mantle by,

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