So shall thine eyes discern
Things pure and rightly;
Taught by the spirit's beam,
Never on prayerless bed

To lay thine unblest head.

Bethink thee, slumbering soul, of all that's prom

ised

To faith and holy prayer !
Lives there within thy breast

A

A worm that gives unrest?

Ask peace from Heaven;
Peace will be given :
Humble self-love and pride
Before the Crucified,

Who for thy sins has died;
Nor lay thy weary head

Upon a prayerless bed!

Hast thou no pining want, nor wish, nor care,

That calls for holy prayer
?

Has thy day been so bright,
That, in its flight,

There is no trace of sorrow?

And, art thou sure to-morrow

Will be like to-day, and more

Abundant? Dost thou lay up store,

And still make place for more?

Thou fool! this very night

Thy soul may wing its flight.

Hast thou no being than thyself more dear,
Who tracks the ocean deep,

And when storms sweep

The wintry skies,

For whom thou wak'st and weepest ?" Oh! when thy pangs are deepest, Seek then the covenant ark of Prayer, For He that slumbereth not is there! His ears are open to thy cries!

Oh! then on prayerless bed

Lay not thy thoughtless head!

Hast thou no loved one than thyself more dear,

Who claims a prayer from thee?

Some who ne'er bend the knee

From infidelity?

Think, if by prayer they 're brought

Thy prayer, to be forgiven,

And making peace with Heaven,

Unto the cross they 're led!

Oh, for their sakes, on prayerless bed
Lay not thy unblest head!

Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slumber, Till in communion blest

With the elect thou rest

Those souls of countless number;·

And with them, raise
The note of praise,
Reaching from earth to heaven,
Chosen, redeemed, forgiven :
So lay thy happy head,
Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed!

THE WATER OF LIFE.

Peace for the troubled soul!

Balm for the wounded heart!

Here the pure waters roll

Which healing power impart ;

Here blooms the fruit of Life's immortal tree;
Come, child of sorrow! for it blooms for thee!

Earth's troubled streams forsake,

Her sin-polluted rills;
Thy thirst they cannot slake:

From yonder heavenly hills

Flows the bright river of eternal joy,
The only bliss unmingled with alloy.

Then come without a fear,

The stream of Life is free;
Let hope thy spirit cheer,

Its waters flow for thee!

Here wash away thy sorrow and thy sin; So shall thy peace, thy blessedness begin.

I DIE DAILY.

When on my pillow'd couch I lay
Each night this weary head of mine,
And think upon the by-gone day,-
Its tangled thread of thought untwine,
I seem another life to leave,
And born at morn, to die at eve.

Each day, O Father, is a life,-ar

Each, the great whole's epitome, With passion stirr'd, with action rife, Prank'd with capricious pain and glee. Hours fly for years, nor growing age Lacks here its monitory stage.

Morn, from thy hand's renewing power, Brings me, as from the womb again,

Fresh as the babe in natal hour,
Unsoiled as yet with worldly stain.
My heart is calm, my breast is clear,
And lively to thy voice, my ear.

Then Noon, like manhood, bears along, Ah! far from innocence and home, To push, amid the worldly throng,

'Mid scenes of bustling guilt to roam; And toil, and care, and guile and sin, O'erpower thy voice, with deafening din.

Then Eve, meet type of mellowing age, 'Mid dying sounds, and growing calm, Calls me to home, and musing sage :

Cool as her dews, thy SPIRIT'S balm Pours on my fevered heart, and full Thy voice, on ears no longer dull.

Then Night, like death, as in the grave,
Lays down my aching head once more,
Blessing the bounteous hand which gave,
Praying the taker to restore;

I close upon the world my sight,
And sink amid surrounding night.

Great Giver of this mortal breath,

Which thou hast roused again to sing,