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DESPAIR, AND ITS REMEDY.

"Having no hope, and without God in the world."— Ephcsians ii. 12.

"The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. From the sole of the foot even unto the head, there is no soundness in it; but wounds, and bruises, and putrefying sores."—Isaiah i. 5 (3.

"Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?"—Jeremiah viii. 22.

"Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."—Isaiah i. IS.

1' Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."—Matthew xi. 28.

Hope! there is none for me, not one bright ray
Of blessed hope to cheer my spirit's sadness;
No golden gleam of an eternal day,
A state of sinless joy and heavenly gladness!

Dark is my soul, darker than Egypt's night
Wrapt in an awful veil, a cloud of gloom;
No living beam of morn to cheer the sight,—
No land of Goshen, but a dreadful doom
Of endless torment in that gulf of pain
From whence once plunged, no soul returns
again.

My sins like mountains rise, and weigh mo down
With giant force, beneath their heavy load
Of guilt and fear; I shudder at the frown—
The withering frown, of an offended God;
Before whose glance the lightning's flash is

dim,
Before whose voice the thunders cease to roar;
Who dwells between the shining cherubim—
The heavens His glittering throne, and earth

His floor. What refuge shall I find, whore shall I fly From the stern gaze of His all-searching eye?

Can the huge mountains hide me in some cave
Which, unexplored, from age to ago hath stood
In gloomy solitude? or ocean's wave
Bury me deep beneath the briny flood ?—
Vain is the fleeting hope, the rolling surge
Stops at the sandy barrier; at His word
The proud wares stay, and to their utmost

verge The firm rocks shake, and own their Maker,

God.
Is there no cleansing stream, no refuge, say,
To hide my soul, and wash my guilt away!

Peace, troubled spirit—stay the flowing tears,
Calm thy deep grief, and cast away despair;
In Gilead's land a healing balm appears,
A cleansing stream, a kind Physician there.
A Saviour's blood has flowed to make thee

whole, In willing love He bowed His head and died;

In glory, now, He still invites thy soul
To rest in Him, and in His care confide.
Trust in His love, a Saviour's call attend,
And cast thyself upon the sinner's Friend.

THE RUFFLED NEST.

"As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings; so the Lord alone did lead him, and there was no strange God with him."— Deut. xxxii. 11, 12.

He hath stirred up thy nest, His chastening

hand Has touched thy pleasant gourds, thy brightest

hopes Of happiness, that in this foreign land Thou mayest not linger by the sunny slopes— The rich and verdant plains, but speed thy way To the bright realms of everlasting day.

He hath stirred up thy nest, to make thee feel
Thou hast no portion in this land of woe;
A life of ease, of earthly joy might steal
Thy heart from heaven, and chain thy thoughts

below. Love rules the dealings of thy gracious God, Then faint thou not, but kiss the chastening

rod. What hast thou here? a frail and shattered tent All weather-worn, and rocked by every blast. Loosen'd the tottering stakes, the canvass rent, The cordage rotten—it must fall at last. What hast thou there/ a mansion in the skies, A radiant home, too bright for mortal eyes.

Linger not here, e'en by the murm'ring fount, Or palm tree's pleasant shade, but onward

move, And climb with eager foot the heavenly mount, Dwell in the sheltering rock, the cleft of love,

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