And when the hours of night

Have slowly roll'd away,

And the victorious day

Athwart the kindling air speeds arrowy light,
How gloriously, as in a second birth,
Awake to radiant life the heavens and earth.

So, when Life's eve shall fall,

Within my peaceful breast

Oh! may Thy presence rest

Soft as the hush of night, Father of All!
So, from the sleep of death, with quickening ray,
Wake me to radiant life, Thou God of day!

For the Morning of the Sabbath.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

To Thy temple I repair ;

Lord, I love to worship there,

When, within the veil, I meet
Christ before the mercy-seat.

Thou, through Him, art reconciled;
I, through Him, became Thy child;
Abba, Father! give me grace
In Thy courts to seek Thy face!

While Thy glorious praise is sung,
Touch my lips, unloose my tongue,
That my joyful soul may bless
Thee, the Lord my Righteousness!

While the prayers of saints ascend,
God of love! to mine attend!

Sunday.

Hear me, for Thy Spirit pleads;
Hear, for Jesus intercedes!

While I hearken to Thy law,
Fill my soul with humble awe;
Till Thy Gospel bring to me
Life and immortality:

While Thy ministers proclaim
Peace and pardon in Thy Name,
Through their voice, by faith, may I
Hear Thee speaking from the sky!

From Thy house when I return,
May my heart within me burn;
And at evening let me say,

I have walk'd with God to-day!

369

Sunday.

GEORGE HERBERT.

DAY most calm, most bright!

The fruit of this, the next world's bud;
Th' indorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a Friend, and with His blood:
The couch of time; care's balm and bay;
The week were dark, but for thy light;
Thy torch doth show the way.

Sundays the pillars are

On which Heaven's palace arched lies:
The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities,

They are the fruitful bed and borders In God's rich garden: that is bare, Which parts their ranks and orders.

The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on Time's string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal, glorious King.

On Sunday Heaven's gate stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,
More plentiful than hope.

A Sunday Hymn.

DR COTTON.

HIS is the day the Lord of life

THI

Ascended to the skies,

My thoughts pursue the lofty theme,
And to the heavens arise.

Let no vain cares divert my mind
From this celestial road;
Nor all the honours of the earth
Detain my soul from God.

Think of the splendours of that place,
The joys that are on high,
Nor meanly rest contented here

With worlds beneath the sky.

Heaven is the birthplace of the saints,
To heaven their souls ascend;
Th' Almighty owns His favourite race
As Father and as Friend.

The Day of Rest.

Oh! may these lovely titles prove
My comfort and defence,

When the sick couch my lot shall be
And death shall call me hence.

371

A

The Day of Rest.

REV. W. MASON.--Air by Pleyell.

GAIN the day returns of holy rest,

Which, when He made the world, Jehovah blest. When, like His own, He bade our labours cease, And all be piety, and all be peace.

While impious men despise the sage decree,
From "vain deceit and false philosophy,"
Let us its wisdom own, its blessings feel,
Receive with gratitude, perform with zeal.

Let us devote this consecrated day
To learn His will, and all we learn obey,
In pure Religion's hallow'd duties share,
And join in penitence and join in prayer.

So shall the God of Mercy pleased receive
The only tribute man has power to give,
So shall He hear, while fervently we raise
Our choral harmony in hymns of praise.

IN

Baptismal Hymn.

DEAN H. Alford.

N token that thou shalt not fear
Christ crucified to own,

We paint the cross upon thee here,
And stamp thee His alone.

In token that thou shalt not blush
To glory in His name,
We blazon here upon thy font
His glory and His shame.

In token that thou shalt not flinch
Christ's quarrel to maintain,
But 'neath His banner manfully
Firm at thy post remain ;

In token that thou shalt not tread
The paths He travell'd by,
Endure the cross, despise the shame,

And sit thee down on high;

Thus, outwardly and visibly,

We seal thee for His own :

And may the brow that wears His cross
Hereafter share his throne.

Communion Hymn.

Rev. Philip DodDRIDGE, D.D.

Y God, and is Thy table spread,

MY

And doth Thy cup with love o'erflow?