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A PRAYER FOR CONTENTMENT.
GREAT Lord of all things ! Power Divine !
Thy grace serene and pure :
The humble are secure.
Teach me to bless my lowly lot,
Remote from regal state ;
And love my humble fate.
No anxious vigils, here I keep,
heart astray ;
To vex my harmless day.
Yon tower which rears its head so high
Invites the hostile winds :
And courts the fall it finds.
Then let me shun the ambitious deed,
To honours falsely won:
MORE'S SACRED DRAMAS.
THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS.
A MANTLE of leaves had enshrouded the rose,
And slumber had hidden the tints of the bower, When, lo! in the midst of this dewy repose,
As I wandered, I came to a night-blowing flower.
All others, their robes and their odours forsaking,
Undistinguished were sleeping in slumber profound ; But this, this alone in its beauty was waking,
And breathing its soul-filling sweetness around.
'Twas a glorious flower! its corolla of white,
As pearls of Arabia, 'mid jewels of gold, And lonely and fair, through the shades of the night,
It beam'd with a softness I loved to behold.
And methought, as I look'd, what an emblem is this,
Thus blooming afar from the land of its birth, Of Him whose own land is a region of bliss,
Though he grew as a plant in this garden of earth.
'Twas thus, while the world all around him was dim,
That he shone with love's purest and loveliest ray ; 'Twas thus, in the garden so honour'd by him,
That night, through his fragrance, was richer than day.
Like the flowers, his disciples at midnight were sleeping,
And deep were their slumbers, unconscious of care, While he, in the blood of his agony weeping, To his Father was breathing the sweetness of prayer.
J. A. W.
LOVE NEVER FAILETH.
They err, who tell us Love can die,
THOU GOD SEEST ME.
I'm not too young for God to see,
He listens to the words I say,
Oh! how could children tell a lie,
Then when I wish to do amiss,
PRAYER FOR A LITTLE CHILD.
GREAT GOD! and wilt thou condescend,
Father and my Friend ;
Father ?-Canst thou bear To hear my poor imperfect prayer? Or wilt thou listen to the praise That such a little one can raise ?
Art Thou my Father ?—Let me be
Art Thou my Father ?—I'll depend
Art Thou my Father ?—Then at last,
MY FATHER'S NAME.
My Father's Name-my Father's Name,
How hallowed and how dear; That sound, it fell like melody
Upon my listening ear.
So exquisite it came, -
It was my Father's Name.