O

JOYES! infinite sweetness! with what flowres
And fhoots of glory my soul breakes and buds!
All the long houres.

Of night and reft,
Through the still shrouds

Of fleep and clouds,

This dew fell on my breaft;
O how it blouds,

And spirits all my earth! heark! in what rings
And hymming circulations the quick world
Awakes and fings!

The rifing winds

And falling springs,

Birds, beasts, all things

Adore Him in their kinds.

Thus all is hurl'd

In sacred hymnes and order, the great chime.
And symphony of nature. Prayer is

The world in tune,

A spirit-voyce,

And vocall joyes,

Whose eccho is heaven's bliffe.

O let me climbe

When I lye down! The pious soul by night
Is like a clouded ftarre, whose beames, though said
To fhed their light

Under some cloud,

Yet are above,

And fhine and move

Beyond that mistie shrowd.
So in my bed,

That curtain'd grave, though fleep, like ashes, hide
My lamp and life, both fhall in Thee abide.

Henry Vaughan.

A

GARDEN so well watered before morn
Is hotly up, that not the swart sun's blaze,
Down-beating with unmitigated rays,

Nor arid winds from scorching places borne,
Shall quite prevail to make it bare and fhorn
Of its green beauty-fhall not quite prevail
That all its morning freshness shall exhale,
Till evening and the evening dews return-
A bleffing such as this our hearts might reap,
The freshness of the garden they might share,
Through the long day a heavenly freshness keep,
If, knowing how the day and the day's glare
Must beat upon them, we would largely fteep,
And water them betimes with dews of prayer.

Trench.

O°

ENSAMPLES OF OUR SAVIOUR.

UR Saviour, (pattern of true holiness,) Continual pray'd, us by ensample teaching, When he was baptized in the wilderness,

In working miracles and in his preaching, Upon the mount, in garden groves of death, At his laft supper, at his parting breath.

Nothing more grateful in the highest eyes,
Nothing more firm in danger to protect us,
Nothing more forcible to pierce the skies,

And not depart till mercy do respect us:
And, as the soul life to the body gives,
So prayer revives the soul, by prayer it lives.
Robert Southwell.

CALL TO PRAYER,

YOME to the morning prayer,

CO

Come, let us kneel and pray;
Prayer is the Chriftian pilgrim's staff,
To walk with God all day.

At noon, beneath the Rock
Of Ages, reft and pray;

Sweet is that shelter from the heat,
When the sun smites by day.

At evening, fhut thy door,
Round the home altar pray;
And, finding there the house of God,
At Heaven's gate close the day.

When midnight veils our eyes,
Oh, it is sweet to say,

I fleep, but my heart waketh, Lord,
With thee to watch and pray!

THE

HERE is an eye that never fleeps,
Beneath the wing of night;

There is an ear that never shuts,
When fink the beams of light.

There is an arm that never tires,
When human strength gives way;
There is a love that never fails,
When earthly loves decay.

That eye is fixed on seraph throngs;
That ear is filled with angels' songs;

That arm upholds the world on high;
That love is thrown beyond the sky.

But there's a power which man can wield
When mortal aid is vain;

That eye, that arm, that love to reach,
That liftening ear to gain.

That power is prayer, which soars on high, And feeds on blifs beyond the sky!

A

ALONE WITH GOD.

LONE with God! day's craven cares Have crowded onward unawares; The soul is left to breathe her prayers.

Alone with God! I bare my breast,
Come in, come in, O holy guest,

Give reft thy reft, of reft the best.

Alone with God! how ftill a calm
Steals o'er me, sweet as music's balm,
When seraphs sing a seraph's psalm.

Alone with God! no human eye
Is here with eager look to pry
Into the meaning of each figh.