"SHE IS NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPETH."

THAT one so rich in promise,
So lovely and so pure,

Should thus be taken from us,
O, how shall we endure !

She is not dead, but sleepeth:

Why in your hearts this strife?
He, who hath kept, still keepeth
The never-dying life.

And though that form must moulder

And mix again with earth,

In faith ye may behold her
In glory going forth.

For what to us seems dying

Is but a second birth,

A spirit upward flying

From the broken shell of earth.

We are the dead, the buried,
We, who do yet survive,
In sin and sense interrèd —
The dead! They are alive.

Freed from this earthly prison,

They seek another sphere:
They are not dead, but risen!

And God is with them there.

The six hymns already given are presented in the form in which they appeared in "Domestic Worship," without the alterations that mark one or more of them in subsequent Collections. The one entitled "Penitential" seems to be a recast of a hymn of eight verses, which may be found in the "Christian Disciple," Vol. IV. (1822), and which begins, "Father in heaven, to thee my heart." Four stanzas, the first two and the last two, have been taken from the latter, introduced into many of our hymn-books, and ascribed to Henry Ware, Jr. Mr. Martineau, in his new hymn-book, 1874, correctly refers them to Dr. Furness. They are as follows:

A PRAYER FOR DIVINE AID.

FATHER in heaven, to thee my heart

Would lift itself in prayer;

Drive from my soul each earthly thought,
And be thy presence there.

Each moment of my life renews
The mercies of the Lord,
Each moment is itself a gift
To bear one on to God.

O, help me break the galling chains
This world has round me thrown ;
Each passion of my heart subdue,
Each darling sin disown!

And do thou kindle in my breast
A never-dying flame

Of holy love, of grateful trust,
In thine almighty name!

THE WIDOW OF NAIN.

This hymn originally appeared in the "Christian Disciple," September and October No., 1822 In 1839 it took its place, with the author's name, in Mr. Pierpont's American edition of Emily Taylor's "Sabbath Recreations."

O

MINGLE with the widow's tears

The drops for misery shed;

She bends beneath the weight of years,
Her earthly hope has fled.

Her son, her only son, is gone!
O, who shall wipe that eye?
For she must journey lonely on,
And solitary die!

The pall upon his corse is spread,
The bier they slowly raise;
It cannot rouse the slumbering dead, -
That widowed mother's gaze.

She follows on, without a tear,
Her dear, her darling child;
But who is he that stops the bier
With look and accent mild?

The Saviour is that pitying one,
His glance her woe disarms:
"Young man, arise!". a living son
Is in his mother's arms.

We introduce here four hymns by Dr. Furness, which also are in many of our Collections, and are familiar to the churches. They are taken from the Cheshire " Christian Hymns."

JESUS OUR LEADER.

FEEBLE, helpless, how shall I

Learn to live and learn to die?
Who, O God, my guide shall be?
Who shall lead thy child to thee?
Blessed Father, gracious One,
Thou hast sent thy holy Son;
He will give the light I need,
He my trembling steps will lead.

Through this world, uncertain, dim,
Let me ever lean on him ;

From his precepts wisdom draw, "Make his life my solemn law.

Thus, in deed, and thought, and word,
Led by Jesus Christ the Lord,
In my weakness, thus shall I
Learn to live and learn to die.

Learn to live in peace and love,
Like the perfect ones above,
Learn to die without a fear,

Feeling thee, my Father, near.

COMMUNION HYMNS.

FOR a prophet's fire,

O for an angel's tongue,

To speak the mighty love of Him
Who on the cross was hung!

In vain our hearts attempt,

In language meet, to tell

How through a thousand sorrows burned

That flame unquenchable.

Yet would we praise that love,
Beyond expression dear:

Come, gather round this table, then,
And celebrate it here.

These symbols of his death,

O, with what power they speak!
Prophetic lips and angels' lyres,
Compared with these, are weak.

And shall they plead in vain.
With our forgetful souls?
Forbid it, God, while through our veins
The vital current rolls.

HERE, in the broken bread,
Here, in the cup we take,

His body and his blood behold,
Who suffered for our sake.

Yes, that our souls might live,

Those sacred limbs were torn,

That blood was spilt, and pangs untold
Were by the Saviour borne.

Father, what more couldst thou have done

Than thou hast done for us?

We are persuaded now

That nothing can divide

Thy children from thy boundless love,

Displayed in Him who died ;

Who died to make us sure

Of mercy, truth, and peace,

And from the power and pains of sin
To bring a full release.