They that are merry, let them sing,
And let the sad hearts pray;

Let those still ply their cheerful wing,
And these their sober way.

So mounts the early, chirping lark,
Still upwards to the skies;
So sits the turtle in the dark,
Sighing out groans and cries.

And yet the lark, and yet the dove,
Both sing through several parts;
And so should we, howe'er we move,
With light or heavy hearts.

Or, rather, both should both assay,
And their cross-notes unite;
Both grief and joy should sing and pray,
Since both such hopes invite.

Hopes, that all present sorrow heal,
All present joy transcend;
Hopes to possess, and taste, and feel,
Delights that never end.

All glory to the Sacred Three,

All honor, power, and praise;

As at the first, may ever be,
Beyond the end of days.

PRESUMPTION AND DESPAIR.

"And in my prosperity I said, I shall never be moved." - P3. xxx. 6.

ONE time I was allowed to steer

Through realms of azure light;
Henceforth, I said, I need not fear
A lower, meaner flight;
But here shall evermore abide,
In light and splendor glorified.

My heart one time the rivers fed,
Large dews upon it lay;
A freshness it has won, I said,

Which shall not pass away;
But what it is, it shall remain,
Its freshness to the end retain.

But when I lay upon the shore,
Like some poor, wounded thing,
I deemed I should not evermore
Refit my shattered wing;

Nailed to the ground, and fastened there,
This was the thought of my despair.

And, when my very heart seemed dried,

And parched as summer dust,

Such still I deemed it must abide,
No hope had I, no trust

That any power again could bless
With fountains that waste wilderness.

But if both hope and fear were vain,
And came alike to naught,
Two lessons we from this may gain,

If aught can teach us aught,

O THOU, whose wise, paternal love
Hath brought my active vigor down,—
Thy choice I thankfully approve;
And, prostrate at thy gracious throne,
I offer
up my life's remains;

I choose the state my God ordains.

Cast as a broken vessel by,

Thy will I can no longer do;
Yet, while a daily death I die,

Thy power I may in weakness show;
My patience may thy glory raise,-
My speechless woe proclaim thy praise.

But since, without thy Spirit's might,
Thou know'st I nothing can endure,
The help I ask, in Jesus' right,

The strength he did for me procure,
Father, abundantly impart,
And arm with love my feeble heart.

O, let me live, of thee possessed,

In weakness, weariness, and pain;
The anguish of my laboring breast,
The daily cross I still sustain,
For him that languished on the tree,-
But lived, before he died, for me.

STEELE.

CHRIST MY REFUGE.

"Who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us." Heb. vi. 18.

JESUS, lover of my soul !

Let me to thy bosom fly;
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life be past!
Safe into the haven guide;
O, receive my soul at last!

Other refuge have I none;

Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Leave, ah! leave me not alone,

Still support and comfort me. All my trust on thee is stayed; All my help from thee I bring; Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of thy wing.

Thou, O Christ! art all I want:
More than all in thee I find.
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.

Just and holy is thy name :
I am all unrighteousness,
False, and full of sin I am :

Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with thee is found;
Grace, to cover all my sin.
Let the healing streams abound, -

Make, and keep me pure within ;

Thou of life the fountain art,

Freely let me take of thee;

Spring thou up within my heart,

Rise, to all eternity.

C. WESLEY.