Yet go, yet go, e'en though I know not whither, Save that where God is, will thy dwelling be, Oft shall I feel thy spirit say- Come hither!" Oft will mine answer-" Soon I come to thee!"

GOD IS LIGHT.

Binney.

ETERNAL Light! Eternal Light!
How pure that soul must be,

When, placed within thy searching sight,
It shrinks not; but with calm delight,
Can live and look on Thee.

The spirits that surround thy throne
May bear the burning bliss!
But that is surely theirs alone,
For they have never-never known
A fallen world like this!

O! how can I, whose native sphere
Is dark-whose mind is dim,

Before th' Ineffable appear,

And on my naked spirit bear

That uncreated beam?

There is a way for man to rise
To that sublime abode,-
An Offering, and a Sacrifice-
A Holy Spirit's energies—

An Advocate with God.

These, these, prepare man for the sight
Of Majesty above;

The sons of ignorance and night
Can stand in th' "Eternal light,"
Through the Eternal love.

THE STAR OF THE MORNING.

Anonymous.

STAR of the morn, whose placid ray
Beam'd mildly o'er yon sacred hill,
While whispering zephyrs seem'd to say,
As silence slept and earth was still,
Hail, harbinger of gospel light!
Dispel the shades of nature's night!

I saw thee rise on Salem's towers,

I saw thee shine on gospel lands,
And Gabriel summon'd all his powers,

And waked to ecstacy his bands;
Sweet cherubs hail'd thy rising ray,
And sang the dawn of gospel day!

Shine, lovely star! on ev'ry clime,

For bright thy peerless beauties be;
Gild with thy beam the wing of time,

And shed thy rays from sea to sea!
Then shall the world from darkness rise,
Millennial glories cheer our eyes!

THE PIOUS MAN A BLESSING TO THE

WORLD.

Cowper.

PERHAPS the self-approving, haughty world,

That, as she sweeps him with her whistling silks,
Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see,
Deems him a cipher in the works of God,
Receives advantage from his noiseless hours

Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes
Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring
And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes,
When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint
Walks forth to meditate at even-tide,

And think on her who thinks not for herself.

MORNING.

Rev. J. Keble.

HUES of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible

Around his path are taught to swell ;

Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And, brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing ;-

Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay, for soft rains in season given,
Their tribute to the genial heaven ;-

Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless sight;
Who, day by day, to sin awake,
Seldom of heaven and you partake?

Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise!
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new!

New every morning is the love

Our wakening and uprising prove ;

Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies, each returning day,
Hover around us while we pray;

New perils past, new sins forgiven,

New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

If on our daily course our mind

Be set, to hallow all we find,

New treasures still, of countless price,

God will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,

As more of heaven in each we see:

L