Where tempting snares beset the way,

Permit us not to tread,
Or turn all real evil, far

From our unguarded head.
Thy sacred name we would adore,

With joyful, humble mind;
And praise thy goodness, power, and truth,

Eternal, unconfin'd.


Grahame. The roaring tumult of the storm-beat lake Awakes Him not. High on the crested surge Now heav’d, his locks flow streaming in the blåst; And, now, descending 'midst the sheltering waves, The falling tresses veil the face divine. Meek through that veil a momentary gleam Benignant shines. He dreams that he beholds The opening eyes, that, hopeless, long had rollid In darkness, look around, bedimm’d with tears Of joy. But, suddenly, the voice of fear Dispell’d the happy vision. Awful He rose, Rebuk'd the wind, and spake unto the sea, The word of power, and energy supreme. Peace! be thou still ; and straight there was a calm. With looks of intermingled fear and joy, The mariners exclaim, “ What man is this, That even the winds and waves his voice obey ?”


Grahame. Loud blew the storm of night: the thwarting surge Dash'd boiling on the labouring bark: dismay, From face to face reflected, spread around. When lo! upon a towering wave is seen The semblance of a foamy wreath, upright, Move onward to the ship; the helmsman starts, And quits his hold; the voyagers appallid, Shrink from the fancied spirit of the flood. But when the voice of Jesus, with the storm Soft mingled, “ It is I; be not afraid," Fear fled, and joy lighten'd from eye to eye. Light He ascends; and from the rolling deck, Surveys the tumult of the sea and sky, With steady look severe; the tempest awed, Sinks to a sudden calm; the clouds disperse, The moon-beam trembles on the face divine, Reflected mildly in the unruffled deep.


Grahame. “ 'Tis finished.” Thus spake the Lord, and bow'd His head, and died. Beholding from afar, They who had minister'd unto Him, see This his last agony. The temple's veil Is rent, revealing the most holy place, Wherein the cherubims their wings extend,

O'ershadowing the mercy-seat of God. · Appall’d, the trembling soldier feels the spear

Shake in his grasp ; the amazed centurion cries
“ This was a son of God !" the standard falls
Upon the heaving ground ; the sun is dimm'd,
And darkness shrouds the Saviour of mankind.



Grahame. The setting orb of night, its level ray Shot o'er the land ; and, on the dewý sward, The lengthen'd shadows of the fatal cross Were laid far stretch'd; when in the cast arose, Last of the stars, day's harbinger. No sound : Was heard, save of the watching soldier's foot; Within the sealed sepulchre, the gloom Of deepest midnight brooded o'er the dead, The Holy One. But lo! a radiance faint Began to dawn around his sacred brow. The linen vesture seem'd a snowy wreath Drifted by storms into a mountain cave. Bright and more bright the circling halo beam'd Upon that face, clothed in a smile benign Though yet exanimate. Nor long the reign Of death ; the eyes that wept for human griefs, Unclose, and look around with conscious joy. Yes : with returning life, the first emotion That glow'd in Jesus' breast of love, was joy At man's redemption, now complete; at death Disarm’d; the


transform'd into the couchOf faith ; the resurrection and the life. Majestical he rose; trembled the earth; The ponderous gate of stone was roll'd away;

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The keepers fell; the angel vanish'd ; sunk
Into invisibility; while forth,
The Saviour of the world issued, and stood
Before the sepulchre, and view'd the clouds
Empurpled glorious by the rising sun.


Mrs. Barbauld.
God of my life, and Author of my days!
Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise,
And trembling take, upon a mortal tongue,
That hallow'd name, to harps of seraphs sung;
Yet here, the brightest seraphs could no more
Than veil their faces, tremble and adore.
All nature faints beneath the mighty name
Which Nature's works, through all her parts, pro-

I feel that name my inmost thoughts control,
And breathe an awful stillness through my soul.
At thy felt presence, all emotions cease,
And my hush'd spirit rests in sacred peace;
Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes;
Till all my sense is lost in infinite,
And one vast object fills my aching sight.
But soon, alas ! this holy calm is broke;
My soul submits to wear her wonted yoke;
With shackled pinions, strives to soar, in vain;
And mingles with the dross of earth again,

His grace

But He, our gracious Master, kind as just;
Knowing our frame, remember'th man is dust,
His spirit ever brooding o'er the mind,
Sees the first wish, to better hopes inclin'd.
Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim,
And fans the smoking flax into a flame.
His ears are open to the softest cry;

descends to meet the lifted eye ;
He reads the language of the silent tear,
And sighs an incense from a heart sincerc.
Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give;
Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live.
From all terrestrial bondage set me free;
Still every wish that centres not in Thee;
Bid my fond hopes, my vain diquiets cease,
And point my path to everlasting peace.
If the soft hand of winning pleasure lead,
By living waters, and the flowery mead;
When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene,
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,
Oh teach me to elude each latent snare,
And whisper to my sliding heart, Beware.
If friendless in a vale of tears I stray,
Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way;
Still let my steady soul thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on Thee,
With equal eye, my various lot receive;
Resign’d to die, or resolute to live;
Prepar'd to kiss the sceptre or the rod,
While God is seen in all, and all in God.

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