Imágenes de página


"Who is tbis that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?"—Canticles viii. 5.

As longs the wandering bird to gain her nest,
Sheltered and safe her wearied wing to rest;
So longs the Saviour's bride her Lord to see,
To know His love, and feel her liberty.
"Oh! take me hence," she cries, "and let me

Thy heavenly joys, Thy radiant image bear.
As pants the hart to quaff the cooling streams,
So thirsts my soul to feel Thy living beams.

Alone I sit, and mourn Thy long delay,
Can I but weep while Thou art far away?
Hasten Thy coming, Lord, and claim Thy bride
To dwell for ever at Thy sheltering side."

Cease sorrowing mourner, hear the loving voice

That calms thy fears, and bids thy heart rejoice.

Its gentle strains shall soothe thy yearning breast,

And hush thy troubled spirit into rest.

"Weep not, my purchased one, a little while
With patience wait, thy longing heart beguile;
Am I not now preparing thee a place
Meet for my bride, my blood-bought bride, to

grace. While still thou wanderest through the desert

wild, Lean upon me, my pure, my undented, Rest in that sheltering cleft, that home of love, My wounded side, thou weak and trembling


Dwell near my riven heart, which, rent for thee, Poured forth its living streams to set thee free

Keep thy robe white, nor stain its spotless hue, Be sober, prayerful, vigilant, and true. Soon shalt thou strike on high thy golden lyre, To swell the heavenly strain thy voice conspire." "Worthy the Lamb who died to set us free, Who bought with his heart's blood our endless liberty."


"Let my prayer be set forth before Thee as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice."—Psalm cxli. 2.

When the soft zephyr whispers through the

And the leaves flutter in the gentle breeze,
When the deep sunset glow is in the sky,
And wearied nature lays her mantle by,

And the melodious choristers of Spring
Cease their clear notes, and fold the wearied

wing In quiet rest, and the dim twilight creeps With deepening shadow o'er the sky, and

weeps The falling dew o'er the departing day, The closing flowers, the sun's last gilded ray; Then, Christian, in thy solitude repair To the still chamber,—'tis the hour of prayer. Now breathe the hidden feelings of thy soul, Now breathe thy griefs and cares without

control Into thy gracious Saviour's tender breast And His deep love shall soothe thy heart to


MORNING PRAISE. Wake, slumbering Christian, ero the first faint

blush Of morning tinge the sky with crimson flush; Ere nature and her train with beauty rife Spring in a joyous bound to light and life, And the glad sky-lark as she soars on high, With liquid sweetness trills her melody. As the bold eagle with unflinching gaze, Steers his swift course towards the sun's bright

rays, Plume thy souTs wings, and with a stedfast eye Mount up by faith to joys beyond the sky; Forget the things of earth, and upward move On holy pinions to thy home above, And let thy morning sacrifice ascend As fragrant incense to thy God and Friend, Till it descend upon thee in a shower Of heavenly blessings multiplied each hour.

« AnteriorContinuar »