He came not, in His robe of wrath, with arm outstretched to slay;
But, on the darkling paths of earth, to pour celestial day,
To guide in peace, the wandering feet; the broken heart, to bind;
And bear, upon the painful cross, the sins of human kind.

And Thou hast borne them, Saviour meek! and therefore, unto Thee,

In humbleness, and gratitude, our hearts shall offered be; And greenly, as the festal bough, that, on Thy altar, lies, Our souls, our bodies, all be Thine, a living sacrifice!

Yet once again, Thy sign shall be, upon the heavens, displayed,
And earth, and its inhabitants, be terribly afraid,
For, not in weakness, clad, Thou com'st, our woes, our sins, to
bear,

But girt with all Thy Father's might, His vengeance to declare.

The terrors of that awful day, Oh! who shall understand? Or, who abide, when Thou in wrath, shalt lift Thy holy hand! The earth shall quake, the sea shall roar, the sun in heaven grow pale,

But Thou hast sworn, and wilt not change, Thy faithful shall not fail!

Then grant us, Saviour! so to pass our time, in trembling, here, That when, upon the clouds of heaven, Thy glory shall appear, Uplifting high our joyful heads, in triumph, we may rise, And enter, with Thine angel train, Thy temple, in the skies!

Dec. 1827.

THE RAISING OF LAZARUS.

THERE WAS a voice of wailing

In Bethany, that day;

And darkly on that mournful home,

The cloud of sorrow lay:

And deeply was the fount of grief
In woman's bosom stirred;
And thickly fell its bitter drops,

In each low-murmured word.

For never, from that blessed source,

Of perfectness above,

Was shed on earth, a purer joy,

Than in a sister's love;

And never pours the bursting heart,
A deeper, darker flow,

Than, o'er a brother's wasted form,
A sister's sacred woe.

There was a voice of joyfulness,
In Bethany, that day,

And brightly, on that happy home,
The sun of gladness lay;

And deeply was the fount of joy
In woman's bosom, stirred,
And fervent rose its grateful praise,
In each exulting word.

For purer, fuller, holier stream,

Than, in a sister's love,

Flowed never, from that blessed fount,

Of perfectness, above;

And deeper, warmer, gushing tears,

On earth, were never shed,
Than fell, that day, upon his neck,
The rescued from the dead.

Oh, ever thus, on those who love,
And humbly serve, the Lord,
His blessings, and His chastisements,
In mingled stream, are poured:
His chastisements, to bring to earth,
Each thought and purpose high;
His blessings, to lift up our hearts,
To Him, above the sky.

Then who, whate'er betide, will doubt,

That all-disposing arm,

Which guides our feet to every good,

And guards, from every harm?

Since sorrow, like that darkest hour,
That just precedes the day,
Is only sent, to fit our hearts,
For joy's unclouded ray.

1828.

LINES ON A SEAL.

The device.- A Sunflower.
The motto " Je vous suis, partout."

I FOLLOW thee, always,

By night, and by day;
Tho' rude, be the weather,
And rugged, the way;
Thro' field, and thro' forest,
My heart is with thee;
Nor mountain, nor fountain.
Can keep thee, from me.

The sunflower thus,

To her bright idol, turns,
But turns, to him only,
While brightly he burns;
And the shadow, that follows,

All day in the sun,

Will linger, no longer,
When daylight is gone.

The clouds may come o'er thee,
In sorrow's dark hour,
But my spirit unshrinking,
Above them shall tower;
On wings, as of eagles,
Exultingly rise,
And play, in the ray,

Of thy love-speaking eyes.

1828.

And tho' grief should encompass thee

Round, like the night,

Still, my love shall be with thee,

Thy joy, and thy light;

Nor leave thee, thou dear one,

Till, lost in the gloom,

Of that blackness of darkness,
Which broods o'er the tomb.

1830.

"THE DEAD IN CHRIST."

LIFT not thou the wailing voice;
Weep not, 'tis a Christian dieth;
Up, where blessed saints rejoice,
Ransomed now, the spirit flieth;
High in heaven's own light, she dwelleth,
Full, the song of triumph swelleth :
Freed from earth, and earthly failing,
Lift for her, no voice of wailing.

Pour not thou, the bitter tear;
Heaven, its book of comfort, opeth;
Bids thee sorrow not, nor fear,
But as one, who always hopeth:
Humbly, here, in faith relying,
Peacefully, in Jesus dying,

Heavenly joy, her eye is flushing:

Why should thine, with tears, be gushing?

They, who die in Christ, are blest;
Ours, then, be no thought of grieving;
Sweetly, with their God, they rest,
All their toils, and troubles, leaving:
So, be ours, the faith that saveth,
Hope, that every trial, braveth,

Love, that to the end endureth,
And, through Christ, the crown secureth.

POEMS.

TO ONE "BROKEN IN HEART."

BROKEN-HEARTED, weep no more!

Hear what comfort, He hath spoken,
Smoking flax, who ne'er hath quenched,
Bruiséd reed, who ne'er hath broken,—
"Ye who wander here, below,
66 Heavy laden, as you go,

"Come, with grief, with sin, oppressed,
"Come to me, and be at rest."

Lamb of Jesu's blood-bought flock,
Brought again, from sin and straying,
Hear the Shepherd's gentle voice,—
'Tis a true and faithful saying;-
"Greater love, how can there be,
"Than to yield up life, for thee?
"Bought with pang, and tear, and sigh,
"Turn and live! why will ye die?"

Broken-hearted, weep no more!
Far, from consolation, flying:
He, who calls, hath felt thy wound,
Seen thy weeping, heard thy sighing;
"Bring thy broken heart, to me,
"Welcome offering, it shall be,
"Streaming tears, and bursting sighs;
"Mine accepted sacrifice!"

A CHERUB.

"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to them that shall be

heirs of salvation?"

BEAUTIFUL thing, with thine eye of light,
And thy brow, of cloudless beauty bright,
Gazing for aye, on the sapphire throne,
Of Him, who dwelleth in light, alone;