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HEAVEN.

The golden palace of my God
Tow'ring above the clouds I see:
Beyond the cherub's bright abode,.
Higher than angels' thoughts can be,
How can I in those courts appear
Without a wedding-garment on?
Conduct me, thou life-giver, there,
Conduct me to thy glorious throne!
And clothe me with thy robes of light,
And lead me through sin's darksome night,
My Saviour and my God.

RUSSIAN POETRY.

THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH.

It matters little at what hour o' the day The righteous falls asleep; death cannot

come

To him untimely who is fit to die;

The less of this cold world, the more of

heaven;

The briefer life the earlier immortality.

MILMAN.

MERCY.

1 Sweet were the sounds that reach'd our ears When mercy rais'd her heav'nly voice; 'Twas mercy that dispell'd our fears, And bade our souls in hope rejoice.

2 All other sounds discordant seem, Compar'd with mercy's heav'nly song; So sweet and joyful is the theme,

It bears our willing souls along.

3 O may we never cease to hear

The voice that gives our conscience rest, That dissipates our guilty fear,

And tells us we are truly blest!

4 May mercy still remove our fear,

And bind our souls with cords of love! Mercy that sooths our sorrows here, And gives us hope of joys above.

KELLY.

"O Lord, I know that in very faithfulness thou hast afflicted me."

1 For what shall I praise thee, my God and my King?

For what blessings the tribute of gratitude

bring?

Shall I praise thee for pleasure, for health, and for ease,

For the spring of delight and the sunshine of peace?

2 Shall I praise thee for flowers that bloom'd on my breast,

For joys in perspective, and pleasures possess❜d?

For the spirits that heighten'd my days of delight,

And the slumbers that sat on my pillow by night?

3 For this should I praise thee! but, if only for this,

I should leave half-untold the donation of

bliss:

I thank thee for sickness, for sorrow, for

care,

For the thorns I have gather'd, the anguish
I bear:

4 For nights of anxiety, watchings, and tears,

A present of pain, a perspective of fears; I praise thee, I bless thee, my King and my God,

For the good and the evil thy hand hath bestow'd.

5 The flowers were sweet, but their fragrance is flown,

They yielded no fruits, they are wither'd and gone,

The thorn it was poignant, but precious

to me,

'Twas the message of mercy,-it led me

to thee.

ANON.

CHARITY.

Charity, decent, modest, easy kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind; Knows, with just reins and gentle hand to

guide

Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.
Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives,
And much she suffers as she much believes:
Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives,
She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;
Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,
And opens in each breast a little heaven.
When constant Faith and holy Hope shall
die,

One lost in certainty, and one in joy,
Then, thou more happy pow'r, fair charity!
Triumphant sister! greatest of the three!
Thy office and thy nature still the same,
Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd thy

flame,

Shalt stand before the host of heav'n confest, For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

PRIOR.

THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.

A star appear'd and peaceful threw
Around its holy ray;

It caught the faithful Magi's view,
It led the wondrous way,

From far-fam'd Persia's smiling bow'rs,
Fair land of beauty, fruits and flow'rs.

2 Each heart throughout the gazing throng
What anxious gladness fills,
While slowly mov'd that star along
O'er Judah's sacred hills!

And softly fix'd its mellow light
On distant Bethlehem's joyful night.

s There, unknown to rich and great,
Or the perfum❜d halls of state,
Where the golden lamps so bright
Mock the silence of the night,
And the strains of music tender
Rise and fall 'mid scenes of splendour.

4 The Prince of Peace, so young, so fair,
In lowly state was sleeping;
While near, with kind parental care,
His mother watch was keeping.
The Magi view'd the blest of heav'n,
Their joy was full-their gifts were giv❜n.
Let the sound of the sweet harp of Judah

arise!

Let the hymns of the Gentiles ascend to the skies!

CAMPBELL.

PRAISE TO THE REDEEMER.

1 Jesse's son awakes the lyre, Listen while the Psalmist sings;

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