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Speed, speed on thy journey, and lingernot near,
To hear the glad music, the festival song,
In the gay haunts of pleasure, but shun them

with fear,
Resist the temptation, and hasten along.

A guerdon awaits thee, a heavenly crown,
Unfading, eternal, is held to thy view;
Which the world would depise, and reject

with a frown, But Christ shall bestow on the faithful and true.

Then haste on thy journey, and look not be

hind thee, But cast the first thought of temptation away; That Christ when He cometh in glory, may

find thee Still watchful, still faithful, and call thee away.

THE CROSS AND THE CROWN.

“THEN said Jesus unto His disciples, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.”—Matt. xvi. 24.

"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love His appearing ”—2 Timothy iv. 7, 8.

YES, Lord, there is a cross below,
A thorny path, a life of woe,
A tempter urging me to sin,
The world without, the flesh within;
The powers of hell my soul engage,
And Satan tries his utmost rage,
Till oft I sink beneath the strife,
And my worn spirit gasps for life.

But swift Thy heavenly succour flies,
Like a bright angel from the skies,
And Thy blest Word of promise brings
A cordial on its healing wings
To cure my wounds, and ease the smart
Of the fierce tempter's fiery dart.
Jesus, I know that Thou art nigh,
And quick to hear my feeblest cry.
Thy loving hand shall give relief,
And calm my troubled spirit's grief;
Shall send a healing balm to me
In Thine unbounded sympathy;
For Thou hast been a man of woe
In this sad wilderness below
And now, before the Father's throne,
Thy children’s griefs are all Thine own.
Courage, my soul ! and still pursue
The narrow way, with Christ in view,
Till called to lay thy weapons down,
To leave the cross, and take the crown,

THE SAVIOUR'S BRIDE

“Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved ?"-Canticles viii. 5.

As longs the wandering bird to gain her nest,
Sheltered and safe her wearied wing to rest;
So longs the Saviour's bride her Lord to see,
To know His love, and feel her liberty.
“Oh! take me hence,” she cries, “and let me

share
Thy heavenly joys, Thy radiant image bear.
As pants the hart to quaff the cooling streams,
So thirsts my soul to feel Thy living beams.

Alone I sit, and mourn Thy long delay,
Can I but weep while Thou art far away?
Hasten Thy coming, Lord, and claim Thy bride
To dwell for ever at Thy sheltering side.”

Cease sorrowing mourner, hear the loving voice That calms thy fears, and bids thy heart re

joice. Its gentle strains shall soothe thy yearning

breast, And hush thy troubled spirit into rest.

“Weep not, my purchased one, a little while
With patience wait, thy longing heart beguile;
Am I not now preparing thee a place
Meet for my bride, my blood-bought bride, to

grace. While still thou wanderest through the desert

wild, Lean upon me, my pure, my undefiled, Rest in that sheltering cleft, that home of love, My wounded side, thou weak and trembling

dove. Dwell near my riven heart, which, rent for thee, Poured forth its living streams to set thee free

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