To the Father, once again,
Now exalted, who wast slain,

Blessed JESUS!

By thy sufferings all unknown,
Who for sinners didst atone,
Behold us from thy throne,
Deliver us!

These no tongue can ever teach,
Angel flight can never reach,

Blessed JESUS!

Though to Thee no thought can soar, Still, oh Saviour, evermore,

We wonder and adore!

Deliver us!

A PRAYER TO CHRIST.

OH SAVIOUR! Thou, as man, hast felt
The strong temptation; and hast knelt,
Like us, for strength to bear thee up;
And, in its bitterness, the cup

Of anguish to its dregs didst drain;
Now, King of Glory! kindly deign

To wash us white from sin's dark stain!

SONNET.

LORD! Thou art GoD, and I a weak

And erring child of earth;

the free

And holy hope of peace with Thee, Thy full forgiveness, I bespeak :

How soothing now, when none is near,

To turn my worship's gathering tide
Through earth's vile channels far aside,
Or mock the penitential tear,—
To lay thus low my burning cheek
Upon the sacred page, and seek

Thy love, the "lowly and the meek"!
Though I am worthless, Thou didst bear
My sin; and, trusting to thy care,

In faith I pray ;-LORD, hear my prayer!

THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN.

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOLLOWING PASSAGE RELATING TO THE LAST MOMENTS OF RICHARD HOOKER, IN THE LIFE OF THAT EXTRAORDINARY MAN, BY IZAAK WALTON.

"After some time he (Doctor Saravia) left him at night, with a promise to return early the day following, which he did, and then found him better in appearance, deep in contemplation, and not inclinable to discourse, which gave the Doctor occasion to inquire his present thoughts; to which he replied,— That he was meditating the number and nature of angels, and their blessed obedience and order, without which peace could not be in heaven; and oh! that it might be so on earth."

"Praise ye him, all his angels;

Praise ye him, all his hosts."

PSALM CXlviii. 2.

BEFORE the great white throne,

Where unveiled splendor shines, above mid heaven displayed,

JEHOVAH'S angel armies stand;

Silent and still they stay, rank upon rank surveyed, The glorious, boundless brother-band,

With robes of dazzling white their countless lines arrayed;

Each eye upraised and clasped each hand,
They seem in adoration's awful rapture lost.
One changeless law alone,

Of universal order, sways the herald-host,
JEHOVAH'S honor, his command;
With meek humility, they wait the word,
Obedient to fulfil, of heaven's high LORD.

Oh wonderous gift of grace!

Lovely humility!
Reflected from the face

Of the one Good on high !

Sweet attribute of heaven
To saints sublimest given!
The holy harmony

Of ravished harps above!
Deep source of perfect love,
Springing beyond the sky!
Full fount of solemn joy,
Where endless, blest employ
Angelic spirits ply!

Effulgent star of hope, whence beauty beams! Bright sun of righteousness, whence glory streams!

Eternal, sacred law !

Mighty humility!

Whose constant forces draw

From spheres their melody!

Great, mysterious will,

Whose acts creation fill !

The unsolved unity

Of fire-wreathed worlds that roll!

The universal soul

Of boundless ecstasy !

The immortal chain that binds

All loftiest, purest minds

To GoD eternally!

First principle of rule in every place,

Maintaining blissful empire throughout space!

Pure mind of CHRIST the slain !

Highest humility!

From mortal pride and pain

To thy support we flee !
Once manifest below,
Supreme ascended now,

Our anxious sorrows see!
Beatitude of saints,

When guilty nature faints,

We burdened come to thee !

Our languid spirits pine,

To know thy power divine,

Strength of the truly free!

Highest humility! from finite thought so far!
Life of all holy hearts! how rich thine honors are!

Around the throne of GOD

The gathered myriads wait, through countless circles

spread,

In reverential posture bent,

And quaff the fearful joy, the exultation dread,
From GODHEAD's glorious presence sent.
No sound is in the solemn orbs, but silence dead,
Throughout their measureless extent;

No motion stirs along the starry pavement fair,
Where swift-winged feet just trod ;

Deep is the spirit-worship, full the joy, they share,
All sense in burning homage blent,

Till Gabriel's hand sweeps once his golden lyre,
And wakes to intensest praise the entranced choir.

Angels and cherubim,

With soft, slow symphonies, their many lyres unbound, Chant low, responsive, lingering lays;

Mild music measured murmurs, mingles, melts, around;