HYMN.*

In heaven we shall be purified, so as to be able to endure the splendours of the Deity.

AWAKE, Sweet harp of Judah, wake,
Retune thy strings for Jesus' sake;
We sing the Saviour of our race,
The Lamb, our shield, and hiding-place.
When God's right arm is bared for war,
And thunders clothe his cloudy car,
Where, where, oh where shall man retire,
T' escape the horrors of his ire?

'Tis he, the Lamb, to him we fly,
While the dread tempest passes by;
God sees his Well-beloved's face.
And spares us in our hiding-place.
Thus while we dwell in this low scene,
The Lamb is our unfailing screen;
To him, though guilty, still we run,
And God still spares us for his Son.
While yet we sojourn here below,
Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow;
Fall'n, abject, mean, a sentenced race,
We deeply need a hiding-place.
Yet courage-days and years will glide,
And we shall lay these clods aside;
Shall be baptized in Jordan's flood,
And wash'd in Jesus' cleansing blood.

Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed,
We through the lamb shall be decreed;
Shall meet the Father face to face,
And need no more a hiding-place.

The last stanza of this hymn was added extemporaneously, by

A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.

O LORD, another day is flown,

And we, a lonely band,

Are met once more before thy throne,
To bless thy fostering hand.

And wilt thou bend a listening ear
To praises low as ours?

Thou wilt! for Thou dost love to hear
The song which meekness pours.

And, Jesus, thou thy smiles will deign,
As we before thee pray;

For thou didst bless the infant train,
And we are less than they.

O let thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease:
And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace!

Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine,

A flock by Jesus led;
The Sun of Holiness shall shine,

In glory on our head.

And thou wilt turn our wandering feet,

And thou wilt bless our way;

Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet
The dawn of lasting day.

Henry, one summer evening, when he was with a few friends on the Trent, and singing it, as he was wont to do on such occasions.

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THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. WHEN marshall'd on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud,-the night was dark, The ocean yawn'd-and rudely blow'd The wind that toss'd my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceas'd the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose,

It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and dangers' thrall, It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely moor'd-my perils o'er,

I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever and for evermore,

The Star!-The Star of Bethlehem!

I strove against thee, Lord, I know,
I spurn'd thy grace, I mock'd thy law;
The hour is part-the day's gone by,
And I am left alone to die.

O pleasures past, what are ye now
But thorns about my bleeding brow!
Spectres that hover round my brain,
And aggravate and mock my pain.
For pleasure I have given my soul;
Now, Justice, let thy thunders roll!
Now Vengeance smile-and with a blow,
Lay the rebellious ingrate low.

Yet, Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling,
I'll crowd beneath his sheltering wing;
I'll clasp the cross, and holding there,
Even me, oh bliss! his wrath may spare.

MELODY.

Inserted in a Collection of Selected and Original Songs, published by the Rev. J. Plumptre, of Clare Hall, Cambridge.

YES, once more that dying strain,

Anna, touch thy lute for me;
Sweet, when Pity's tones complain,
Doubly sweet is melody.

While the virtues thus enweave

Mildly soft the thrilling song,
Winter's long and lonesome eve
Glides unfelt, unseen, along.

Thus when life hath stolen away,
And the wintry night is near,
Thus slrall Virtue's friendly ray
Age's closing evening cheer.

SONG.-BY WALLER.

A lady of Cambridge lent Waller's Poems to Henry, and when he returned them to her, she discovered an additional Stanza written by him at the bottom of the Song here copied.

Go, lovely rose!

Tell her, that wastes her time on me,
That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung

In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;

How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

[Yet, though thou fade,

From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise;

And teach the Maid

That Goodness Time's rude hand defies:

That Virtue lives when Beauty dies.

H. K. WHITE.]