"If I am right, bid me entreat 66 Let all my prayers be only laid. If I am right, then bid me win, Through penal fires, a heavenly throne ; If I am wrong, O cleanse my sin In CHRIST's redeeming blood alone. "If I am right, still bid me brave, Safe in the Church, hell's fiercest shock; If I am wrong, look down and save, And lead to CHRIST, the only ROCK. "If I am right, my will control, With faith to hear the priest forgive; Wilt thou not pray in earnest thus, One deep free prayer, that light be given? With GOD, and not with man discuss, If thou art on the way to Heaven. There is one Book would point the way : Wilt thou not trust its Heavenly Light? Unclasp it now; kneel down and pray; And GOD direct thee to the right. THE PILGRIM ON HIS WAY. NIGHT had stolen o'er the ground, Morning, in her car of light, Noontide from her flaming throne Sweetly rose the pilgrim's song. "Twas then the clouds obscured his path, The tempest burst in fiery wrath; Still nor dread it wrought, nor wrong: The tall rock's high and sheltering breast Gave him safety, gave him rest, While he sang his pilgrim song. Now from ambush starts the foe; Fiery legions fiercely throng: And "Victory!" is the pilgrim's song. Now he gains high Pisgah's head, Chanting still the pilgrim's song. Chill the evening breezes blow, Yet his voice still rises strong. And now his feet no longer roam, Sounds the ransomed pilgrim's song. REV. JOHN EAST. A FATHER READING THE BIBLE. 'Twas early dawn, and sunlight streamed Soft through a quiet room, That hushed, but not forsaken, seemed, Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright, On his grey holy hair, And touched the page with tenderest light, But oh! that patriarch's aspect shone A radiance all the SPIRIT'S Own, Some word of life e'en then had met Some ancient promise, breathing yet Of immortality: Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow Of quenchless faith survives: For every feature said, "I know That my REDEEMER lives." And silent stood his children by, Of thoughts o'ersweeping death, Oh! blest be those dear sons; and blest HEMANS. THE REAPER. THERE is a reaper whose name is death; He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. "Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he; "Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again.” He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves: It was for the LORD of Paradise He bound them to his sheaves. |