THE LORD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE.

Be still, be still, for all around,
On either hand is "holy ground!"
The Lord of Hosts himself to-day
Is present while his people pray;
Bow down your hearts and kneel in fear,
In this his temple - God is here.

Bring no vain words, no wishes wild,
That best might suit an earth-born child;
Bid each unholy thought depart,
To heaven lift up a contrite heart.
Forget the world, in faith draw near,
And humbly worship - God is here.

Thou, tossed upon the waves of care,
Ready to sink with dire despair,
Gazing around with eager eye,
And yet no hope of remedy:
Ask thou relief with heart sincere,
And he will list for God is here.

Thou who hast laid in early grave,
One, whom thou hadst not power to save,
And who art vainly yearning now,
For that soft smile and placid brow;
Perchance that much loved form is near,

For angels WAIT when God is here.

Thou who hast long a wanderer been,
Roaming through many a distant scene,
Far from thy home, thy household hearth,
From all kind looks, all social mirth;
Offer thy thanks with heart sincere,
Sing grateful praises God is here.

Thou who hast dear ones far away,
On swelling seas, mid blinding spray,
Or in some distant lands alone,
Exposed to ills are journeying on:
Pray for their welfare, dry the tear,
And trust the God who listens here.

Thou, who art mourning o'er thy sin,
Deploring guilt that reigns within,
Seeking for higher joys than those
The wretched worldling only knows;
The God of peace is ever near
The contrite spirit bending here.

Be still, be still, for all around,
On either hand is holy ground :”

66°

Here, in his house, the Lord to-day
Will listen while his people pray:
Bow down your hearts and kneel in fears
This is his temple- God is here.

THE THREE CALLS.

THIRD HOUR.

Oh! slumberer, rouse thee! Despise not the truth &
Give, give thy Creator the days of thy youth;
Why standest there idle! The day breaketh-see!
The Lord of the vineyard is waiting for thee!
"Sweetest Spirit, by thy power
Grant me yet another hour;
Earthly pleasures I would prove,
Earthly joy, and earthly love;
Scarcely yet has dawned the day,-
Sweetest Spirit, wait, I pray."

SIXTH AND NINTH HOURS.

Oh, loiterer, speed thee! The morn wears apace ;
Then squander no longer thy remnant of graee,
But haste while there's time! with thy master

agree;

The Lord of the vineyard stands waiting for thee!
"Gentle Spirit, prithee stay,
Brightly beams the early day,
Let me linger in these bowers;
God shall have my noontide hours;
Chide me not for my delay,
Gentle Spirit, wait, I pray !"

ELEVENTH HOUR.

Oh, sinner, arouse thee; thy morning has pass'd;

Already the shadows are lengthening fast;

Escape for thy life! from the dark mountains flee; The Lord of the vineyard yet waiteth for thee! "Spirit, cease thy mournful lay;

Leave me to myself, I pray!

Earth hath flung her spell around me,
Pleasure's silken chain hath bound me;
When the sun his path hath trod,

Spirit, then, I'll turn to God!"

Hark! borne on the wind is the bell's solemn toll: 'Tis mournfully pealing the knell of a soul

Of a soul that despiseth the kind teachings of truth: And gave to the world the blest hours of his youth, The Spirit's sweet pleadings and strivings are o'er; The Lord of the vineyard stands waiting no more!

BENEFITS OF PRAYER.

Lord! what a change within us, one short hour,
Spent in thy presence, will prevail to make!
What heavy burdens from our bosoms take;
What parched grounds refresh, as with a shower!
We kneel, and all around us seems to lower;
We rise, and all the distant and the near,
Stand forth in sunny outline, bold and clear;

We kneel, how weak! we rise, how full of power!
Why therefore should we do ourselves this wrong,
Or others that we are not always strong;
That we are ever overborne with care;

That we should ever weak or heartless be,
Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer,
And joy, and strength, and courage are uith Thee.

AN OLD NEW YEAR'S POEM.

Though I be poore, yet will I make hard shift
But I will send my God a new yeares gift.
Nor myrrhe nor frankincense

Can I dispense,

Nor gold of Ophir

Is in my cofer;

With wealth I haue so small acquaintance as
I scarce know tinne from siluer, gold from brasse.

Orientall rubyes, emeralds greene,

Blew saphires, sparkling diamonds I haue seene, Yet neuer yet did touch

Or gemme or ouche,
Nor pearle nor amber
Are in my chamber;