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Now far from this valley of sorrow and care,

She has joined with the glorified throng,
And methinks from the seat of the seraphim there,

I hear the sweet notes of their song:
“Salvation, and glory, and wisdom, and might,

To Him who once died on the cross;
And riches, and honour, and power are his right

Who once bore dishonour and loss.
To him who so freely redeemed us with blood,

And washed us from every stain,
And now makes us Princes and Priests with our God,

Be glory forever, Amen.”
Thus they sing,-(for the page of the volume divine

Thus far has developed their lays;)
Made like him in glory forever they shine,

And dwell with delight on his praise.
Then, weep not, ye children, and weep not ye friends,

Nor the husband to her was so dear;
The enjoyments of heaven will soon make amends,

For our partings and sufferings while here.
Full oft at the footstool of mercy we bowed,

Forgiveness and grace to implore,
With her who now slumbers at rest in her shroud,

Whom on earth we can met with no more.
And what though that form once so loved and so dear,

Must sleep for a while in the tomb;
Yet soon shall the glorious morning appear,

That shall raise it in glory to bloom.
In old Fort-Augustus her memory shall live,

In the hearts and affections of friends,
Although she has bade us a lasting farewell,

Her deeds shall forever remain.

THE MERCIES OF GOD. “I will sing of the mercies of the Lord for ever : with my mouth will I make known thy faithfulness to all generations.”Psalm lxxxix. 1.

Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song,
The joy of my heart, and the boast of my tongue;
Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last,
Hath won my affections, and bound my soul fast.
Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here,
Sin soon would reduce me to utter despair ;

Fad as o ghleann iomagain, 's o chùram,'s o bhròn,

Tha i'n coisir nan naomh ann an gloir; A's saoileam, á ionad nan seraphim shuas,

Gu'n cluinn mi binn fhuaim an cuid ceoil. “Biodh slàint, agus gloir, agus gliocas, a's neart,

Do'n Ti a fhuair bàs air a' chraon!
'Se saibhreas, a's urram, a's cumhachd a cheart,

Mar éiric air tailceas a's call.
Agus dhasan a dh'ionnlaid gu saor sinn 'na fhuil,

O gach lochd, o gach peacadh a's beud;
'S a rinn sagairt a's righrean dhinne do Dhia,

Biodh gloir agus urram gach ré.”
'S ann mar so a tha'n fhirinn a' cur dhuinn an céill,

Mu na naoimh a tha 'seinn air a ghràdh,
A tha 'dealradh f'a chomhair mar ghathan na grein',

A's le tlachd 'deanamh sgéil air gu bràch.
Na guileadh a céile, a càirdean, n'a clann-

Cha'n aobhar dhuibh ann a bhi'caoidh;
Diolaidh sòlas nan neamhan an diobradh a bh'ann,

Gach mulad, gach deang, agus claoidh.
An achanaich còmhladh gu tric chuir iad suas

Ag aslachadh tròcair a's gràs,
Leis an té tha 'na suain anns an lion-aodach fhuar,

'S nach fhaic iad a snuadh gu la bhràth. Ged'dh'fheumas an cruth sin do'n d'thug sibhse luaidh

Car seal anns an uaigh a bhi’n tàmh,
Gu grad thig a' mhaduinn 's am mosgail e suas

Sår oirdhearc a'm buaidh 's ann an àill'.
An seann Chille-Chuimein bidh cuimhne gu buan

Air caomhas 's air suairceas na mnà:
Ged 'ghabh i'cead buan dhinn, cha diobair a luaidh

Ann an inntinn an t-sluaigh 'thug dhi gràdh.

TROCAIREAN DHE.

“Air tròcairibh an Tighearna gu bràth seinnidh mi : o linn gu linn foillsichidh mi t'fhirinn le m' bheul.”—Salm lxxxix. I.

'Si do thròcair, Iehobhah, tha dhomh na bun-sgéil'Na h-aoibhneas do m' chridhe, 's na h-uaill ann a'm' bheul ; Do shaor-ghràs a mhàin o thoiseach gu crìch, Air m'aigne thug buaidh, 's chuir mo chridhe fo chìs. Gun do thròcairean milis, cha'n fhaodainn bhi beò, Oir peacadh mi-rianail rinn m' fhàgail gun treòir ;

But through thy free goodness, my spirits revive,
And he that first made ine, still keeps me alive.
The door of thy mercy stands open all day,
To the poor and the needy who knock by the way;
No sinner shall ever be empty sent back,
Who comes seeking mercy for Jesus's sake.
Thy mercy in Jesus exempts me from hell ;
Its glories I'll sing, and its wonders I'll tell :
'Twas Jesus my friend when he hung on the tree,
Who opened the channel of mercy for me.

THE HEAVENLY CANAAN. Far from these narrow scenes of night

Unbounded glories rise ;
And realms of infinite delight,

Unknown to mortal eyes.
Fair distant land! could mortal eyes

But half its charms explore,
How would our spirits long to rise,

And dwell on earth no more.
There pain and sickness never come,

And grief no more complains ;
Health triumphs in immortal bloom,

And endless pleasure reigns.
No cloud those blissful regions know,

For ever bright and fair ;
For sin, the source of mortal woe,

Can never enter there.
There no alternate night is known,

Nor sun's faint sickly ray;
But glory from the sacred throne,

Spreads everlasting day.

THE BIBLE.

What is the world ? a wildering maze,
Where sin hath track'd ten thousand ways,

Her victims to ensnare ;

Ach trìd do shaor-mhaitheas gu'n d' chum thu mi suas,
San Ti sin a dhealbh mi gu'n toir e dhomh buaidh.
Tha dorus do thròcair-se fosgailt gach là
Do'n bhochd a's do'n fheumach a bhuaileas gach trà ;
Agus peacaich thruagh, fhalamh, á Iosa ni bun,
Cha do chuir e uaith' falamh, 's am feasda cha chuir.
'Si do thròcair an Ios' ni mo shaoradh o thruaigh’;
Air a ghlòir bidh mi 'seinn, a's air 'ioghnadh ni luaidh:
'S e Iosa m' fhear-tagraidh, chaidh a cheusadh a'm àit';
Se'n t-slighe, 'se 'n fhìrinn, nach dìobair gu bràch.

AN CANAAN NEAMHAIDH.
Fad as o shiantan dorch' an t-sao’il,
Tha glòir nach traoigh gu

bràth ;
A's ionad sona thar gach smaoin,

Nach leur do dhaoin' an tràths'
Am fearann aluinn fada, cian,

Na'n tuigte trian d'a agh,
Ghrad dhùisgeadh ann ar n-anam miann

'Bhi ’n sin gu siorruidh 'n tàmh.
Ni mo bhios tinneas ann no péin,

'S cha chluinnear éigh luchd-bròin ; Bidh slàint' a's òig' ann feadh gach ré,

'S gach teang' air ghleus gu ceòl.
Gu soilleir, dealrach feadh gach uair,

A' ghrian cha ghluais fo neul ;
Oir peacadh, sìol gach uile thruaigh'

Cha d' téid a suas do nèamh.
Cha bhi oidhch' ann feadh gach iall,

'S cha bhual a' ghrian 'san là ;
Oir glòir a' teachd o chathair Dhia,

'S e sin an grian gu bràch.

AM BIOBULL.
Ciod e an saogh'l ach fàsach mòr ?
'S an d’dhealbh am peac' deich mile ròd,

A chur a chreich an sàs ;

All broad, and winding, and aslope,
All tempting with perfidious hope-

All ending in despair.
Millions of pilgrims throng those roads,
Bearing their baubles, or their loads,

Down to eternal night:
One humble path that never bends-
Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends

From darkness unto light.
Is there a guide to show that path?
The Bible ;-he alone who hath

The Bible, need not stray ;
Yet he who hath and will not give
That heavenly guide to all that live,

Himself shall lose the way.

C. PSALM.*

All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.
Him serve with mirth, his praise forth tell,
Come ye before him and rejoice.
Know that the Lord is God indeed ;
Without our aid he did us make;
We are his flock, he doth us feed,
And for his sheep he doth us take.
0! enter then his gates with praise,
Approach with joy his courts unto:
Praise, laud, and bless his name always,
For it is seemly so to do.
For why? the Lord our God is good,
His mercy is forever sure;
His truth at all times firmly stood,

And shall from age to age endure. * In our Gælic Psalms there is no long metre version of the C. Psalm. The translation given on the opposite page is by the

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