Of sinners from destruction saved, of blood in ransom given,

Of faith by charity matured, and hope that rests in heaven.

Thou speakest in the secret heart! 'Mid vice and folly's din

The whisper of the still small voice I hear my breast within.

And when my feet would turn aside, I hear my guardian say,

Right onward for the narrow gate, right onward hold the way.

"Speak, Lord; thy servant heareth Thee!”— Nor sound I crave, nor sight,

Which rapt thy chosen seers of old in visions of the night,

But to my watchful eye be still thy works, thy word, displayed,

With thy vicegerent in my breast, informed by Thee, to aid:

And when by conscience' inward voice Thou wouldest, Lord, be heard,

Or by thy works of providence, or by thy living word;

From earth's obstructions purify my not unwilling ear,

And grant that what Thou speakest thus, thy servant's soul may hear!

BISHOP MANT.

The Evening Star.

THE evening star, with mild yet radiant light, Shines clearly 'neath the young moon's pallid

crest.

The last faint gleam of crimson sunset fades

In mellowed hues of brightness from the west. Soft shadows fall upon the mountain's brow, And steal with gradual pace o'er wood and

stream.

A balmy stillness floats upon the earth,

And life is peaceful as a tranquil dream.

O God, whose mantle shades this lovely world,
And leaves a ray of glorious beauty round;
In that far home where angels spread their wings,
What infinite perfection must abound!
What visions of ecstatic, wondrous bliss,

In thy sublime, thy awful presence dwell, When in this sphere, all dimmed by sin and pain, Thy gifts of light and love words may not tell!

Would that my soul each wayward pulse could still,

That I might know thee, Father, as thou artThat I within thy path of peace might walk,

And take my place amid the "pure in heart; Then might I hope, as death's dark clouds draw

near,

Amid the deepening gloom thy smile to see, But oft my wandering footsteps guide me far

From out the way that leads alone to thee.

What if we view upon the brink of wo,

A dazzling gleam steal through the gates of heaven,

And feel at once, while close its pearly doors, How long its entrance to our steps was given, Till, in the utter madness of our souls,

Our last faint lingering hope in silence died, While at the moment of our dreadful doom, Perchance, we basked in worldliness and pride.

And while in folly's gilded courts I stand,

Is this my fate? Ah, no! by these sad tears, Plead for me, Jesus, meek and holy one,

For thou hast shared earth's agonies and fears; Thou seest the struggles of my changing soulOh, let its darker thoughts of grief depart, And hear my prayer, when, kneeling low, I crave Thy words of truth may reach my troubled heart.

Devoid of merit, what have I to boast,

When man's best virtues are unworthy thee? Yet in thy mercy will I place my trust,

And in the Cross my hope and promise see, And though unresting conscience sternly tells Of talents unemployed and wasted powers, Lend me thine aid, and to thy service, Lord, I'll dedicate the remnant of my hours.

MARY L. LAWSON.

The Good Morrow.

OU that have spent the silent night

YOU

In sleep and quiet rest,

And joy to see the cheerful light

That riseth in the East,

Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart,

Come, help me now to sing:
Each willing wight, come, bear a part,

To praise the heavenly King.

And you whom care in prison keeps,
Or sickness doth suppress,

Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps,
Or dolours do distress,

Yet bear a part in doleful wise,

Yea, think it good accord,

And acceptable sacrifice,

Each sprite to praise the Lord.

The dreadful night with darksomeness
Had overspread the light,
And sluggish sleep with drowsiness
Had overprest our might;

A glass wherein you may behold

Each storm that stops our breath,—

Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould, And sleep like dreadful death.

Yet as this deadly night did last

But for a little space,

And heavenly day, now night is past,

Doth show his pleasant face,

So must we hope to see God's face,

At last, in heaven on high,

When we have changed this mortal place For immortality.

And of such haps and heavenly joys,
As then we hope to hold,

All earthly sights and worldly toys
Are tokens to behold.

The day is like the day of doom,

The sun, the Son of man,

The skies, the heavens, the earth, the tomb, Wherein we rest till then.

The rainbow bending in the sky,
Bedeck'd with sundry hues,

Is like the seat of God on high,
And seems to tell these news:-

That as thereby he promised

To drown the world no more,

So, by the blood which Christ has shed,
He will our health restore.

The misty clouds that fall sometime,

And overcast the skies,

Are like to troubles of our time,

Which do but dim our eyes;
But as such dews are dried up quite
When Phoebus shows his face,

So are such fancies put to flight,

Where God doth guide by grace.