GOD PRAISED IN HIS WORKS.

JEHOVAH! How creation sounds
Aloud the honors of thy name;
In every star that takes its rounds,
"T is registered in words of flame.

"T is written on the morning flower;
'T is sounded in the matins loud
Of birds in dewy bush and bower;
The lark doth teach it to the cloud.

The herds and flocks on hill and plain, As well as birds the air that skim; The fish, that haunt the briny main, And through its oozy caverns swim;

They all have voice and meaning high,
And all in their own way confess,
(What none but sinful men deny,)
Thy goodness, wisdom, righteousness.

PROTECTION FROM GOD.

FATHER of all, by all adored,

For whom archangels sweep the lyre! Oh, be our steps from sin restored, Oh, grant thy love, avert thine ire!

Relume our hearts with heavenly light,
That we, in all Thy works, may own
Thy goodness with supreme delight,
And unto others make it known.

To God all holiness belongs;

His arm upholds us every hour;
To Him we raise our grateful songs,
And supplicate His guardian power.

He is our God, and He our friend,
Our fortress and our strong defence;
His angels for our watch doth send,
And shield us with omnipotence.

THE ORPHAN.

["Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive;

let thy widows trust in me." Jer. xlix. 11.]

Он, that I had a home
As others have; nor be
With none to pity me,
Compelled, with many tears
And sighs, afar to roam.

Oh, once it was not so,

But o'er our cot the trees
Bowed in the morning breeze,
Before our day of grief,
Our gloomy time of woe.

and

How pleasant was the sight,
When blazed at eve the pile,
To see my mother's smile,
To hear my father's voice;
It filled me with delight.

But they are dead and gone,
And into other hands

Have passed our pleasant lands,

Our cot and its green trees,
And I am left alone.

And whither shall I go?

Oh, God! to Thee I cry ;

To Thee I lift mine eye;
Thou art the orphan's friend;
Have pity on my woe.

FAR IN THE LONELY WOODS.

FAR in the lonely woods,

Where wild flowers scent the air,

'Tis sweet to hear at eve

The missionary's prayer.

The Indian households come,
The Indian chiefs are nigh;

And oft unwonted tears

Bedew their softened eye.

How joyful is the sound!
They hear of Jesus' name,
Who, leaving heaven behind,
For their salvation came.

In their rude tents before,
They heard no praying voice;
Now sad and dark no more,
Their grateful hearts rejoice.

Far in the lonely woods,

Where wild flowers scent the air,

'Tis sweet to hear at eve

The missionary's prayer.

EARTHLY OBJECTS UNSATISFYING.

WHENE'ER the sun,

with vernal ray,

Shines o'er the snowy cliff and hill, Their wintry treasures melt away, And mingle with the rushing rill.

They now are there; and now are gone;
A moment gleam; and then are passed;
So earthly hopes, to-day that shone,
To-morrow fade away as fast.

If then our pleasures here below, Although we think we hold them sure, Are like the dews and mountain snow, And will not, cannot long endure;

Why should they trouble thus our mind?
And why our ceaseless efforts call?
When all the good, that thence we find,
Is both so fleeting and so small.

THE BEST FRIENDSHIP.

Ir clouds arise and storms appear,
If fortune, friends, and all forsake me,
There's one to shed with mine the tear,
And to His bleeding bosom take me.

Blest Saviour! Let it be my lot,

To tread with Thee this round of being; Thy love and mercy alter not,

When every sunbeam friend is fleeing.

Oh, be it thine to guide my soul

Along the wave of life's dark ocean ;

And nought I'll fear, when billows roll,

Nor dread the whirlwind's rude commotion.

Thy love shall be my polar light,

And whether weal or woe betide me,

Through raging storm and shadowy night,

Its blaze shall shine to cheer and guide me.