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RETURN UNTO THY REST.

Tranquil hours now greet thee,
In thy calm abode;

Gracious looks now meet thee,

From thy loving God.

These vanities how vain!

Wander not again.

See yon star, love-lighted,
Sparkles from on high;
See yon hope, love-plighted,
Cheers thy heaviest sky.

These vanities how vain!

Wander not again.

Watch, my soul, the glory
Coming brightly up,

O'er yon forest hoary,

O'er yon mountain-top.

These vanities how vain!

Wander not again.

"Tis the bridal morning;

Rise, make no delay;

RETURN UNTO THY REST.

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Put on thine adorning,

Cast thy weeds away.

These vanities how vain!

Wander not again.

Pierce these mists that blind thee,

Press to yonder prize,

Break the bonds that bind thee,

Rise, my soul, arise!

These vanities how vain!

Wander not again.

THE MORNING STAR.

THERE is a morning star, my soul,

There is a morning star;

"Twill soon be near and bright, tho' now It seems so dim and far.

And when time's stars have come and gone,

And

every mist of earth has flown,

That better star shall rise

On this world's clouded skies,

To shine forever!

The night is well nigh spent, my soul,
The night is well nigh spent,

And soon above our heads shall shine

A glorious firmament:

A sky all glad, and pure, and bright,
The Lamb, once slain, its perfect light;
A star without a cloud,

Whose light no mists enshroud,

Descending never.

THINGS HOPED FOR.

THESE are the crowns that we shall wear, When all thy saints are crowned; These are the palms that we shall bear On yonder holy ground.

Far off as yet, reserved in heaven,

Above that veiling sky,

They sparkle, like the stars of even,

To hope's far-piercing eye.

These are the robes, unsoiled and white,

Which then we shall put on,

When, foremost 'mong the sons of light, We sit on yonder throne.

That city with the jewelled crest,
Like some new-lighted sun;

A blaze of burning amethyst

Ten thousand orbs in one;

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THINGS HOPED FOR.

That is the city of the saints,

Where we so soon shall stand,

When we shall strike these desert-tents,
And quit this desert-sand.

These are the everlasting hills,

With summits bathed in day:

The slopes down which the living rills,
Soft-lapsing, take their way.

Fair vision! how thy distant gleam
Brightens time's saddest hue;

Far fairer than the fairest dream,
And yet so strangely true!

Fair vision! how thou liftest up
The drooping brow and eye;
With the calm joy of thy sure hope
Fixing our souls on high.

Thy light makes even the darkest page
In memory's scroll grow fair;
Blanching the lines which tears and age
Had only deepened there.