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THE ASCENSION OF CHRIST.

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“ Bright portals of the sky,
Embossed with sparkling stars ;
Doors of eternity,
With diamantine bars,
Your arras rich uphold ;
Loose all your bolts and springs,

your

leaves of gold ; That in your roofs may come the King of kings.

“Scarfed in a rosy cloud,
He doth ascend the air ;
Straight doth the Moon him shroud
With her resplendent hair ;
The next encrystalled light
Submits to him its beams;

And he doth trace the height
Of that fair lamp which flames of beauty streams.

“The choirs of happy souls,
Waked with that music sweet,
Whose descant care controls,
Their Lord in triumph meet;
The spotless spirits of light
His trophies do extol,

And, arched in squadrons bright,
Greet their great Victor in his capitol.

“O glory of the Heaven!
O sole delight of Earth!
To thee all power be given,
God's uncreated birth;
Of mankind lover true,
Endurer of his wrong,

Who dost the world renew,
Still be thou our salvation, and our song.".
From top of Olivet such notes did rise,
When man's Redeemer did transcend the skies.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

TREMBLING, BEFORE THINE AWFUL

THRONE

TREMBLING, before thinc awful throne,
O Lord ! in dust my sins I own :
Justice and Mercy for my life
Contend !- O, smile, and heal the strife.

The Saviour smiles ! upon my soul
New tides of hope tumultuous roll,
His voice proclaims my pardon found,
Seraphic transport wings the sound !

Earth has a joy unknown in heaven,
The new-born peace of sins forgiven !
Tears of such pure and deep delight,
Ye angels ! never dimmed your sight.

Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee.

SARAH F. ADAMS

FROM THE RECESSES OF A LOWLY

SPIRIT.

Ye saw of old on chaos rise The beauteous pillars of the skies; Ye know where morn exulting springs, And evening folds her drooping wings. · Bright heralds of th’ Eternal Will, Abroad his errands ye fulfil ; Or, throned in floods of beamy day, Symphonious, in his presence play. Loud is the song, the heavenly plain Is shaken by the choral strain, And dying echoes, floating far, Draw music from each chiming star. But I amid your choirs shall shine, And all your knowledge will be mine ; Ye on your harps must lean to hear A secret chord that mine will bear.

From the recesses of a lowly spirit,
Our humble prayer ascends ; O Father ! hear it.
Upsoaring on the wings of awe and meekness,

Forgive its weakness !
We see thy hand, — it leads us, it supports us ;
We hear thy voice, - it counsels and it courts us ;
And then we turn away; and still thy kindness

Forgives our blindness. 0, how long-suffering, Lord ! but thou delightest To win with love the wandering : thou invitest, By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or terrors,

Man from his errors.

THOMAS HILLHOUSE.

NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE.

NEARER, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee !
E'en though it be a cross

That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be, -
Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee !

Father and Saviour ! plant within each bosom
The seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom
In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal,
And spring eternal.

JOHN BOWRING

PRAISE TO GOD, IMMORTAL PRAISE

Though, like the wanderer,

The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,

My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee !

PRAISE to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days, -
Bounteous source of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ!

There let the way appear

Steps unto heaven; All that thou sendest me

In mercy given ; Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee!

Then with my waking thoughts,

Bright with thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs

Bethel I 'll raise ;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee !

For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use ;
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain,
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse ;
All that Spring, with bounteous hand,
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that liberal Autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores :
These to thee, my God, we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow!
And for these my soul shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the ripening ear,

Or if on joyful wing,

Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot,

Upward I fly ;

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Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss

Has made my cup run o'er,
And in a kind and faithful friend

Has doubled all my store.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gifts with joy.

my life

Through every period of

Thy goodness I 'll pursue ;
And after death, in distant worlds,

The glorious theme renew.

When nature fails, and day and night

Divide thy works no more,
My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,

Thy mercy shall adore.

Through all eternity to thee

A joyful song I'll raise ;
For 0, eternity 's too short
To utter all thy praise !

JOSEPH ADDISON.

THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS!

And is there care in heaven? And is there love

In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move ? There is : -else much more wretched were the

case

Of nen then beasts : but O the exceeding grace Of Highest God ! that loves his creatures so, And all his workes with mercy doth embrace,

That blessed angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe!

How oft do they their silver bowers leave,

To come to succour us that succour want ! How oft do they with goldon pinions cleave The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant, Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant ! They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward, And their bright squadrons roundaboutus plant;

And all for love, and nothing for reward ; 0, why should heavenly God to men have such

regard !

EDMUND SPENSER.

ETERNAL SOURCE OF EVERY JOY !

ETERNAL Source of every joy !
Well may thy praise our lips employ,
While in thy temple we appear
Whose goodness crowns the circling year.

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LORD! when those glorious lights I see

With which thou hast adorned the skies, Observing how they moved be,

And how their splendor fills mine eyes, Methinks it is too large a grace,

But that thy love ordained it so, That creatures in so high a place

Should servants be to man below. The meanest lamp now shining there

In size and lustre doth exceed The noblest of thy creatures here,

And of our friendship hath no need. Yet these upon mankind attend

For secret aid or public light;
And from the world's extremest end

Repair unto us every night.
O, had that stamp been undefaced

Which first on us thy hand had set,
How highly should we have been graced,

Since we are so much honored yet! Good God, for what but for the sake

Of thy beloved and only Son, Who did on him our nature take,

Were these exceeding favors done! As we by him have honored been,

Let us to him due honors give; Let his uprightness hide our sin,

And let us worth from him receive. Yea, so let us by grace improve

What thou by nature doth bestow, That to thy dwelling-place above

We may be raised from below.

GEORGE WITHER.

HYMN.

BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.

While as the wheels of nature roll,
Thy hand supports the steady pole ;
The sun is taught by thee to rise,
And darkness when to veil the skies.

The flowery spring at thy command
Embalms the air, and paints the land ;
The summer rays with vigor shine
To raise the corn, and cheer the vine.

Thy hand in autumn richly pours
Through all our coasts redundant stores ;
And winters, softened by thy care,
No niore a face of horror wear.

Seasons, and months, and weeks, and days
Demand successive songs of praise ;
Still be the cheerful homage paid
With opening light and evening shade.

Here in thy house shall incense rise,
As circling Sabbaths bless our eyes ;
Still will we make thy mercies known
Around thy board, and round our own.

0, may our more harmonious tongues
In worlds unknown pursue the songs;
And in those brighter courts adore,
Where days and years revolve no more.

PHILIP DODDRIDGE.

THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON HIGH.

(This hymn originally appeared in the Spectator, and is thence popularly, but erroneously, supposed to have been composed by ADDISON.)

The spacious firmament on high,

With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,

Their great Original proclaim ;
The unwearied sun, from day to day,

Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land

The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,

The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth

Repeats the story of her birth ;
While all the stars that round her burn,

And all the planets in their turn,
Confirin the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all

Move round the dark terrestrial ball ?
What though no real voice or sound

Amid their radiant orbs be found ?

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc !
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form,
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines
How silently! Around thee and above

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