In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing as they shine,

"The hand that made us is divine!"

THE TIME FOR PRAYER.

WHEN is the time for prayer?

With the first beams that light the morning sky,
Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare,
Lift up thy thoughts on high,

Commend thy loved ones to His watchful care:
MORN is the time for prayer.

And in the noontide hour,

If worn by toil or by sad cares oppressed,
Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour,

And he will give thee rest:

Thy voice shall reach him through the fields of air: NOON is the time for prayer.

When the bright sun hath set,

Whilst yet eve's glowing colours deck the skies, When with the loved, at home, again thou'rt met, Then let thy prayer arise

For those who in thy joys and sorrows share:

EVE is the time for prayer.

And when the stars come forth,

When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given,

And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth

To pure bright thoughts of heaven,

Kneel to thy God-ask strength, life's ills to bear: NIGHT is the time for prayer.

When is the time for prayer?

In any hour whilst life is spared to thee,
In crowds or solitude, in joy or care,

Thy thoughts should Heavenward flee.

At home, at morn and eve, with loved ones there, Bend thou the knee in prayer.

EVENING HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP. B. K. White.

O LORD! another day is flown,

And we, a lonely band,

Are met once more before thy throne,

To bless thy fost'ring hand.

And wilt thou bend a list'ning ear,

To praises low as ours?

Thou wilt! for thou dost love to hear

The song which meekness pours.

And, Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deign,
As we before thee pray!

For thou didst bless the infant train,
And are we less than they ?

Oh, let thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease;
And shed abroad in every heart,

Thine everlasting peace,

Thus chasten'd, cleansed, entirely thine,

A flock by Jesus led;

The sun of holiness shall shine

In glory on our head.

And thou wilt turn our wand'ring feet,

And thou wilt bless our way;

Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet, The dawn of lasting day.

PRAYER.

Sames Montgomerq.

PRAYER is the soul's sincere desire,

Uttered or unexpressed; The motion of a hidden fire,

That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burthen of a sigh,
The falling of a tear;

The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;

Prayer the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;

His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters Heaven by prayer,

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
Returning from his ways;

While angels in their songs rejoice,
And say, "Behold, he prays!"

The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, and deed, and mind,
When with the Father and his Son,
Their fellowship they find.

Nor

prayer

is made on earth alone,

The Holy Spirit pleads;

And Jesus, on the eternal throne,

For sinners intercedes.

O Thou, by whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;
The path of prayer thyself hast trod;
Lord, teach us how to pray.

COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.

Moore.

O ТHOU! Who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee!

The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.

But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimmed and vanished too!
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not Thy wing of love

Come brightly wafting through the gloom

One peace-branch from above!

Then sorrow touched by Thee grows bright,
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.

POWER OF MATERNAL PIETY,

Mrs. Sigourney.

WHY gaze ye on my hoary hairs,
Ye children young and gay?

Your locks, beneath the blast of cares,
Will bleach as white as they.

I had a mother once, like you,
Who o'er my pillow hung,

Kissed from my cheek the briny dew,

And taught my faltering tongue,