I'll read thy anger in the rack That clouds awhile the day-beam's track; Of sunny brightness, breaking through! There's nothing bright, above, below, There's nothing dark, below, above, DEATH OF A BELIEVER, O think, that while you're weeping here, His Saviour's praise is singing! Moore. And think, that all his pains are fled, His toils and sorrows closed for ever; While He, whose blood for man was shed, Has placed upon his servant's head A crown that fadeth never! And think, that (in that awful day, The form that, 'midst its kindred clay, Shall rise to life unfading! Then weep no more for him, who's gone For thus, while round your lowly bier Surviving friends are sadly bending, And thus, when to the silent tomb Like faith shall whisper 'midst the gloom, That yet again, in youthful bloom, That dust shall smile in heaven! THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining, Anon. Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion, Vainly we offer each ample oblation; Richer by far is the heart's adoration, Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. LOVE OF GOD. Our Father sits on yonder throne, He reigns throughout the world alone, He knew us when we knew him not, He keeps us now, securely keeps, With vigilance that never sleeps, Heber. He gives us hope that we shall be, Then let us, while we dwell below, To all his dispensations bow, How sweet to hear him say at last, WHAT IS LIFE? And what is life?-An hour-glass on the run, A mist, retreating from the morning sun, Kelly. A busy, bustling, still-repeated dream, Its length ?—a minute's pause, a moment's thought: That in the act of seizing, shrinks to nought. |