THE REST-DAY.

Go up, reluctant heart,

Take up thy rest above;
Arise, earth-clinging thoughts,

Ascend, my lingering love!

THE REST-DAY.

Hæc dies, in quâ quies

Mundo redditur;

Tempus enim est,

Quo resurrexit, qui nos dilexit.

Gaude, plaude, ama, clama
Voce validâ,

Surge, curre,

Vere quære Christum istum,

Corde sorde procul positâ.-OLD HYMN.

FOR thee we long and pray,

O blessed Sabbath-morn!

And all the week we say,

O! when wilt thou return?

Come, come away,

Day of glad rest,

Of days the best,

Sweet Sabbath-day!

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THE REST-DAY.

Thou tellest us how Christ

Arose and left the tomb;
And all the week we say,

O! when will Sabbath come?

Come, come away, etc.

Thou tellest us how we,

Like him shall leave the tomb;

And all the week we say,

O! when will Sabbath come?
Come, come away, etc.

Thou tellest of a rest,

A peaceful happy home,

Where all the saints are blest;

O! when will Sabbath come?

Come, come away, etc.

THE INNER CALM.

CALM me, my God, and keep me calm,
While these hot breezes blow,

Be like the night-dew's cooling balm
Upon earth's fevered brow.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,
Soft resting on thy breast,

Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm,

And bid my spirit rest.

Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,
Let thine outstretched wing
Be like the shade of Elim's palm,
Beside her desert spring.

Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude

The sounds my ear that greet,

Calm in the closet's solitude,

Calm in the bustling street.

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THE INNER CALM.

Calm in the hour of buoyant health,
Calm in my hour of pain,
Calm in my poverty or wealth,
Calm in my loss or gain.

Calm in the sufferance of wrong,
Like Him who bore my shame,

Calm 'mid the threatening, taunting throng,

Who hate thy holy name.

Calm when the great world's news with power

My listening spirit stir;

Let not the tidings of the hour

E'er find too fond an ear.

Calm as the ray of sun or star
Which storms assail in vain,
Moving unruffled through earth's war,
The eternal calm to gain.

THE DISBURDENING.

LAY down thy burden here;
With such a weary load
Thou canst not climb yon hill,

Yon steep and rugged road.

'Tis rough, and wild, and high, Thickets and rocks impede;

Scant resting-place between,

How canst thou upward speed?

Lay down thy burden here,
Poor weary son of time;
So shall thy limbs be strong,—
So shalt thou upward climb.

The sun is hot, no cloud

To shield thee from his ray; It scorches up thy strength, Stay now, poor climber, stay.