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Yet, Lorde, I thee desire, For that they doe to me, Let them not taste the hire of their iniquitie.

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

Either man's work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : his

state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; They also serve who only stand and wait.'




Said I not so,

- that I would sin no more ? Witness, my God, I did ; Yet I am run again upon the score :

My faults cannot be hid.

What shall I do? - Make vows and break them

still ?

'T will be but labor lost; My good cannot prevail against mine ill :

The business will be crost.

SERVANT OF GOD, WELL DONE. [Verses occasioned by the sudden death of the Rev. Thomas Taylor, who had preached the previous evening.)

“SERVANT of God, well done ;

Rest from thy loved employ ;
The battle fought, the victory won,

Enter thy Master's joy."
The voice at midnight came;

He started up to hear,
A mortal arrow pierced his frame:

He fell, – but felt no fear.
Tranquil amidst alarms,

It found him in the field,
A veteran slumbering on his arms,

Beneath his red-cross shield :
His sword was in his hand,

Still warm with recent fight;
Ready that moment, at command,

Through rock and steel to smite.
At midnight came the cry,

To meet thy God prepare !”
He woke, and caught his Captain's eye ;

Then, strong in faith and prayer,
His spirit, with a bound,

Burst its encumbering clay ;
His tent, at sunrise, on the ground,

A darkened ruin lay.
The pains of death are past,

Labor and sorrow cease ;
And life's long warfare closed at last,

His soul is found in peace.
Soldier of Christ ! well done ;

Praise be thy new employ ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest in thy Saviour's joy.


0, say not so; thou canst not tell what strength

Thy God may give thee at the length. Renew thy vows, and if thou keep the last,

Thy God will pardon all that 's past.
Vow while thou canst; while thou canst vow,

thou mayst
Perhaps perform it when thou thinkest least.
Thy God hath not denied thee all,
Whilst he permits thee but to call.
Call to thy God for grace to keep

Thy vows; and if thou break them, weep. Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again : Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain.

Then once again
I vow to mend my ways;

Lord, say Amen,
And thine be all the praise,




On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,

And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan's fair and happy land,

Where my possessions lie.
O the transporting, rapturous scene

That rises to my sight ! Sweet fields arrayed in living green,

And rivers of delight.

When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent, which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more

bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he returning chide ; “Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ?". I fondly ask : But Patience, to prevent

There generous fruits, that never fail,

On trees immortal grow ; There rock, and hill, and brook, and vale

With milk and honey flow.

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FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand,
Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed;
Around us ever lies the enchanted land,
In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed;
In finding thee are all things round us found;
In losing thee are all things lost beside ;
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound;
And to our eyes the vision is denied ;
We wander in the country far remote,
Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell;
Or on the records of past greatness dote,
And for a buried soul the living sell;
While on our path bewildered falls the night
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.

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A land whose life is never dimmed by shade,
Whose fields are ever vernal;
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
But blooms for aye eternal.

We may not know how sweet its balmy air, How bright and fair its flowers;

We may not hear the songs that echo there, Through those enchanted bowers.

The city's shining towers we may not see With our dim earthly vision,

For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key That opes the gates elysian.

But sometimes, when adown the western sky
A fiery sunset lingers,

Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
Unlocked by unseen fingers.

And while they stand a moment half ajar,
Gleams from the inner glory
Stream brightly through the azure vault afar
And half reveal the story.

O land unknown! O land of love divine!
Father, all-wise, eternal!
O, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine
Into those rastures vernal!



[A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing now. He replied, "Only waiting.")

ONLY waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown,
Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's last beam is flown;
Till the night of earth is faded

From the heart, once full of day; Till the stars of heaven are breaking Through the twilight soft and gray.

Only waiting till the reapers

Have the last sheaf gathered home, For the summer time is faded,

And the autumn winds have come. Quickly, reapers! gather quickly

The last ripe hours of my heart, For the bloom of life is withered, And I hasten to depart.

Only waiting till the angels

Open wide the mystic gate, At whose feet I long have lingered, Weary, poor, and desolate. Even now I hear the footsteps, And their voices far away;

If they call me I am waiting, Only waiting to obey.

Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown,
Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's last beam is flown.
Then from out the gathered darkness,
Holy, deathless stars shall rise,
By whose light my soul shall gladly
Tread its pathway to the skies.



COME, Brother, turn with me from pining thought

And all the inward ills that sin has wrought;
Come, send abroad a love for all who live,
And feel the deep content in turn they give.
Kind wishes and good deeds, they make not


They 'll home again, full laden, to thy door; The streams of love flow back where they begin, For springs of outward joys lie deep within.

Even let them flow, and make the places glad Where dwell thy fellow-men. Shouldst thou be sad, And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, press Upon thy thoughts, and make thy loneliness More lonely for the past, thou then shalt hear The music of those waters running near; And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream, And thine eye gladden with the playing beam That now upon the water dances, now Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.

Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell The power that wrought so beautiful a spell ? In thine own bosom, Brother? Then as thine Guard with a reverent fear this power divine.

And if, indeed, 't is not the outward state, But temper of the soul by which we rate Sadness or joy, even let thy bosom move With noble thoughts and wake thee into love, And let each feeling in thy breast be given An honest aim, which, sanctified by Heaven, And springing into act, new life imparts, Till beats thy frame as with a thousand hearts.

Sin clouds the mind's clear vision,

Around the self-starved soul has spread a dearth.
The earth is full of life; the living Hand
Touched it with life; and all its forms expand
With principles of being made to suit
Man's varied powers and raise him from the brute.
And shall the earth of higher ends be full,
Earth which thou tread'st,

and thy poor mind

be dull? Thou talk of life, with half thy soul asleep?

Thou "living dead man," let thy spirit leap Forth to the day, and let the fresh air blow Through thy soul's shut-up mansion. Wouldst thou know

Something of what is life, shake off this death;
Have thy soul feel the universal breath

With which all nature's quick, and learn to be
Sharer in all that thou dost touch or see;
Break from thy body's grasp, thy spirit's trance;
Give thy soul air, thy faculties expanse ;
Love, joy, even sorrow, - yield thyself to all!
They make thy freedom, groveller, not thy thrall.
Knock off the shackles which thy spirit bind
To dust and sense, and set at large the mind!
Then move in sympathy with God's great whole,
And be like man at first, a LIVING SOUL.


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'T were vain the ocean depths to sound, Or pierce to either pole.

The world can never give

The bliss for which we sigh:
"T is not the whole of life to live,
Nor all of death to die.

Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of years;
And all that life is love.

There is a death whose pang

Outlasts the fleeting breath: O, what eternal horrors hang Around the second death!

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