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My fearful spirit clings to Thee,

And helpless hangs upon Thy breast;

Thy precious love is life to me,
Thy sympathy eternal rest.

Jesus, Thy blood has bought me, I am Thine.

In this poor heart, flows Thy own life divine.

In the fierce hour of Satan's sway,

When my weak soul with terror reels,

Without the power to drive away

The fearful gloom, that o'er her steals;

E'en then a glorious ray of light divine,

O'er my dark soul with heavenly power shall shine.

Still, still Thy love is left to me,
Thy spirit dwells within my heart;

The bonds that link my soul to thee,
Nor life, nor death, nor hell can part.

Yet a brief hour, and I shall reach the gaol-

The heavenly shore, and rest my weary soul.


"Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost."—Rom. xv. 13.

Peace in the heaven above,
Peace in this heart of mine,

Peace like a gentle dove,
Holy, divine.

Once like a vessel tost

Upon the raging wave,
Compass and rudder lost,

And none to save.

So was my weary soul
Distressed with many a fear,

Troubled beyond controul,
No refuge near.

But a mild form arose
Upon the stormy sea,

And quelled the angry foes,
That threatened me.

Said to the winds "be still,"
Bade all their ragings cease,

And sought my heart to fill
With words of peace.

Whese was that bleeding brow,
And that deep wounded side?

Jesus I know Thee now,
Thou Crucified!

Rescued and saved by Thee,
No more at sea to roam;

Saviour I soon shall be
With Thee at home.


"And when Jesus came into the ruler's house, and saw the minstrels and the people making a noise,

"He said unto them "Give place, for the maid is not dead, but sleepeth. And they laughed Him to scorn.

t..." But when the people were put forth, he went in, and took her by the hand,aDd the maid arose."—Matt. ix. 23, 24, 25.

Tread softly—whisper low,—for death is here; His icy presence chills the darkened room; That pale and lifeless form, that waiting bier, Speak of the one great bourne, the silent tomb. Gaze on these thrilling tokens of decay, And ponder—for a soul has passed away.

Closed the veined eyelids, o'er the marble cheek

Droop the long lashes dark, a silken fringe Of gleaming beauty; on the forehead meek,

Steals the death palor, but a rose-leaf tinge Still lingers on the lips, though death has set His impress there, to reign triumphant yet.

A few short months, and she was gaily springing, O'er the green hills, that, like an emerald zone, Begirt Jerusalem, her young voice ringing

As silvery music in its joyous tone;— But she is dead, her sunny smile departed, Leaving her childless parents broken hearted.

Bright was their pleasant home, while yet she strayed Like a young fawn among the trees and flowers,

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