HYMN OF PRAISE.

WHEN all Thy mercies, O my God!
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.

O how shall words, with equal warmth, The gratitude declare

That glows within my ravish'd heart! But Thou canst read it there.

Thy providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redrest,
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries Thy mercy lent an ear,

Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd To form themselves in prayer.

Unnumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy tender care bestow'd,
Before my infant heart conceived

From whom these comforts flow'd.

When in the slipp'ry paths of youth
With heedless steps I ran;

Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man :

Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, It gently clear'd my way;

And through the pleasing snares of vice, More to be fear'd than they.

When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou
With health renew'd my face;
And, when in sins and sorrows sunk,
Revived my soul with grace.

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
Hath made my cup run o'er;
And, in a kind and faithful friend,
Hath doubled all my store.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ ;

Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes these gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life
Thy goodness I'll proclaim;
And after death, in distant worlds,
Resume the glorious theme.

When nature fails, and day and night

Divide Thy works no more,

My ever grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy shall adore.

Through all eternity to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise ;
For, oh! eternity's too short
To utter all Thy praise.

JOSEPH ADDISON, 1672-1719.

WILD FLOWERS.

BEAUTIFUL children of the woods and fields!
That bloom by mountain streamlets 'mid the

heather,

Or into clusters, 'neath the hazels, gatherOr where by hoary rocks you make your bields, And sweetly flourish on through summer weather,I love ye all!

Beautiful flowers! to me ye fresher seem
From the Almighty Hand that fashion'd all,
Than those who flourish by a garden wall;

And I can image you as in a dream,

Fair, modest maidens, nursed in hamlets small,—

I love ye all!

Beautiful gems! that on the brow of earth
Are fix'd, as in a queenly diadem;

Though lovely ye, and most without a name, Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth, As light erewhile into the world came,—

I love ye all!

Beautiful things ye are where'er ye grow!

The wild red rose-the speedwell's peeping eyes-Our own bluebell-the daisy, that doth rise Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow;

And thousands more, of blessed forms and ayes,— I love ye all!

Beautiful nurslings of the early dew!

Fann'd in your loveliness by every breeze, And shaded o'er by green and arching trees: I often wish that I were one of you,

Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas,

I love ye all!

Beautiful watchers! day and night ye wake!
The Evening Star grows dim and fades away,
The Morning comes and goes, and then the Day,
Within the arms of Night, its rest will take;

But ye are watchful wheresoe'er we stray,—
I love ye all!

Beautiful objects of the wild-bee's love!

The wild-bird joys your opening bloom to see,
And in your native woods and wilds to be.
All hearts, to Nature true, ye strangely move;
Ye are so passing fair-so passing free,—

I love ye all!

Beautiful children of the glen and dale—
The dingle deep-the moorland stretching wide,
And of the mossy fountain's sedgy side!

Ye o'er my heart have thrown a lovesome spell;
And though the Worldling, scorning, may deride,
I love ye all!

ROBERT NICOLL, 1814-1837.

HUMAN FRAILTY.

WEAK and irresolute is man;

The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.

The bow well bent, and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;

But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part;

Virtue engages his assent,
But pleasure wins his heart.

'Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view;