Constrain us to abhor

The sins that made Him grieve,
And ne'er to tempt the Spirit more
Our thankless hearts to leave.

Make us, O Lord, to tread
The path which Jesus trod;
Which Him from earth in triumph led
To the right hand of God.

So with the saints in heaven,

May we sing praise to Thee,

For peace restored, and sins forgiven-
To all eternity!

Another of Bishop Wordsworth's hymns furnishes an example of quaint typical thought :

SCRIPTURAL TYPES.

Upon the sixth day of the week
The first man had his birth,
In God's own image bright and pure
Created from the earth.

Upon the sixth day of the week

The Second Adam died,

And by the Second Adam's death

Man was revivified.

Upon the seventh day of the week
God from His works did rest,
And on that holy Sabbath day
The works of God were blessed.

Upon the seventh day of the week

Christ in the grave did rest. The grave is now a holy place;

A Sabbath for the blest.

By tasting the forbidden tree
Man fell in Paradise ;

Upon the tree Christ tasted death,
And by His death we rise.

Christ in a garden buried lay,
Which spring-flowers did adorn;
And there our Resurrection bloomed
On the bright Easter morn.

The grave itself a garden is,

Where loveliest flowers abound,

For Christ our amaranthine Life
Sprang from the holy ground.

He by the Spirit once was born
Pure from the Virgin's womb,
And by the Spirit once again
Born from the virgin tomb.

Oh, give us grace to die to sin,
That we, O Lord, may have
A holy, happy rest with Thee,
A Sabbath in the grave.

Oh, may we buried be with Thee,

And with Thee, Lord, arise

To an eternal Easter-day

Of glory in the skies!

The following Evening Hymn deserves a place by the side of Lyte's "Abide with me," and Keble's "Sun of my soul."

EVENING HYMN.

The day is gently sinking to a close,
Fainter and yet more faint the sunlight grows;
O Brightness of Thy Father's glory, Thou
Eternal Light of Light, be with us now;
Where Thou art present, darkness cannot be :
Midnight is glorious noon, O Lord, with Thee.

Our changeful lives are ebbing to an end,
Onward to darkness and to death we tend;
O Conqueror of the grave, be Thou our Guide,
Be Thou our Light in death's dark eventide;
Then in our mortal hour will be no gloom,
No sting in death, no terror in the tomb.

Thou, who in darkness walking didst appear
Upon the waves, and Thy disciples cheer,
Come, Lord, in lonesome days, when storms assail,
And earthly hopes and human succours fail;
When all is dark, may we behold Thee nigh,
And hear Thy voice, "Fear not, for it is I."

The weary world is mouldering to decay,
Its glories wane, its pageants fade away:
In that last sunset, when the stars shall fall,
May we arise, awakened by Thy call,
With Thee, O Lord, for ever to abide
In that blest day which has no eventide !

V.

HYMNS BY CHARITIE LEES SMITH, AND

MARY BOWLY.

OW there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit." We do not look for cedars among the beds of lilies. We do not ask for masculine grandeur and concentrated force from

the handmaids of the Lord. But we expect, and we find, gifts not less precious, and power not less real, though of a different kind.

I have often been struck with the fact that the soft and apparently far less powerful tones of a harp are more penetrating, and vibrate to greater distances in the open air, than those of other instruments which overpower them when near. A simple flute often reaches both ear and soul with a peculiar thrill, through all the dazzling sounds of a great orchestra. These seem the nearest analogies to good hymns by

lady writers. They have a harp-like soul-penetration and a flute-like individuality beyond others. They

are

"Tender in their strength,

And in their very tenderness are strong."

Our first Hymn, by a clergyman's daughter, Charitie Lees Smith, was written in the flush and fervour of coming "out of darkness into marvellous light," during the great awakenings of 1859-60 in Ireland, the very first chord of a newly-strung harp. It is no great wonder that thousands, who know nothing about its origin, should have instinctively caught it up as the true expression of their own feelings at the same great crisis, whenever and wherever occurring.

ASPIRATION.

Oh, for the robes of whiteness !
Oh, for the tearless eyes!
Oh, for the glorious brightness
Of the unclouded skies!

Oh, for the no more weeping
Within that land of love,
The endless joy of keeping
The bridal feast above!

Oh, for the bliss of flying,
My Risen Lord to meet!
Oh, for the rest of lying

For ever at His feet!