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That fly I to morn, or that fly I to night,
To shroud me in darkness, or bathe me in light,
The light and the darkness to Thee are the same,
And still in Thy presence of wonder I am?-
Should I with the dove to the desert repair,
Or dwell with the eagle in clough of the air;
In the desert afar, on the mountain's wild brink,
From the eye of Omnipotence still must I shrink.

Or mount with the wings of the morning away,
And hide in the uttermost parts of the sea,
In caves of the ocean unseen by the day,
Even there to be living and moving with Thee?
Nay,-scale I the cloud, in the heaven to dwell,
Or make I my bed in the shadows of hell,
Can science expound, or humanity frame,
That still Thou art present, and still art the

same?

Yes, present for ever-Almighty alone!
Great Spirit of Nature-unbounded-unknown!
What mind can embody Thy presence divine ?
-I know not my own being, how can I know

Thine?
Then humbled and low in the dust let me bend,
And adore what on earth I can ne'er comprehend;
The mountains may melt, and the elements flee,
And an Universe still be rejoicing in Thee!

HYMNS.

BY R. L.

No. 1.

BENEATH my heavenly Father's care,

I journey on life's tangled path;
He shews the danger, points the snare,

And shields me from the tyrant's wrath.

In calm retreats he strews my bed,
Where safe
my weary

limbs

may lie; And draws his curtain round my head,

Till all the winds of death go by. A tranquil joy, a sacred peace,

My Father's gracious hand bestows, Beyond the brightest dreams of bliss

The earthly spirit ever knows.

In virtue's ways what holy love

Invite the sinner's feet to go!
What gracious beckonings from above,

What wondrous providence below!
Ah! when deceitful pleasures charm,

And lead my wandering steps astray, What tender mercy guides the arm That smites me on my evil

way.

But brighter yet that mercy beams,

And dazzles all the host of heaven;

He guides me to redeeming streams,

Where I may wash, and be forgiven. The theme demands a nobler string,

Yours, angels, yours the task must be! O tell me, teach me how you sing

Of all my Father's love to me.

No. 2.

I KNOW my

Father's always near,
To help me in the evil day;
I know I have my Father's ear,

Attending always while I pray.
I know it is by His command

That mourning here on earth I stray, And 'twas my tender Father's hand

That sent me on life's thorny way. I know that in the gloomy hour,

When weepings mortal eyes bedim, My Father bids me humbly pour

My soul unmurmuring out to Him. But Oh! when sorrow clouds my sky,

And faint and weary I may be, , Forgive me, if I sometimes sigh,

To pass away, and be with Thee. It is not that thy chastenings move

My sinful spirit to repine,

But then more ardently I love,

My God! that holy rest of thine. Since (taught by thee) my soul began

To sigh for homes of endless peace, How have I scorned the homes of

man, And wished life's troubled day would cease! O speed, ye years, your rapid flight!

Go swiftly on your course away! I'll see you fade with that delight

The hireling marks the fading day!

No. 3.

“I never knew you ; depart from me."

The earthly spirit, stained with crimes,

By sin and shame alternate riven, Will soar above the world sometimes,

With an imploring look to Heaven.
Thus, when I turned my sorrowing eye,

Redeemer of the world, to Thee,
My murmuring conscience made reply,

- Thou never knewest me.”

When all the world's

gay flowerets die,
And pleasure sickens into pain,
Then the worn spirit courts the sky,

To win the smile of God again.
But not on me that smile would beam,-

I felt, O Lord, thy stern decree;

Its voice disturbed my nightly dream,

“Thou never knewest me!”

There is an hour when all rejoice,

An hour when even sorrow smiles;
An hour when Pleasure's sprightly voice

The listening mourner's care beguiles:
Yet not to me Time’s ceaseless wing

Could bring that hour from sadness free, Each as it passed would darkly sing,

“Thou never knewest me!”

Ah, when that moment comes at last,

When every earthly hope goes by, When all the works of life are past,

And all is finished, but to die; When quivering on the brink of fate,

The trembling spirit turns to thee, Will those all gracious lips repeat,

“Thou never knewest me?

O no! though long estranged from Thee,

Though long detained by Satan's power, Thy arms were open still to me,

Who came at the eleventh hour. For me thy gracious lips prepare,

Before assembled worlds to tell, “Behold a sheep for whom I care,

My child, I know him well.”

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