3 The pure, the humble, contrite mind,

Sincere, and to thy will resigned,
To thee a nobler offering yields,

Than Sheba's groves or Sharon's fields. 4 Love God and man- this great command

Doth on eternal pillars stand ;
This did thine ancient prophets teach,
And this thy Well-beloved preach.

616
C. M. {

CHANDLER,

From the Breviary. Fasting 1 THE solemn season calls us now

A holy fast to keep;
And see, within the temple, how

Both priest and people weep!
2 But come not thou with tears alone,

Or outward form of prayer;
But let it in thy heart be known

That penitence is there.
3 Thy breast to beat, thy clothes to rend,

God asketh not of thee;
Thy stubborn soul he bids thee bend

In true humility.
4 0, let us, then, with heartfelt grief,

Draw near unto our God,
And pray to him to grant relief,

And stay the uplifted rod.
5 O righteous Judge! if thou wilt deign

To grant us all we need,
We pray for time to turn again,

And grace to turn indeed...

1

617

7s M.

MRS. BARBAULD.

Praise to God.

1 PRAISE to God, immortal praise,

For the love that crowns our days :
Bounteous Source of every joy,

Let thy praise our tongues employ, 2 For the blessings of the field,

For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,

For the generous olive's use ; — 3 Flocks that whiten all the plain,

Yellow sheaves of ripened grain,
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,

Suns that temperate warmth diffuse.
4 All that Spring, with bounteous hand,

Scatters o'er the smiling land
All that liberal Autumn pours

From her rich, o'erflowing stores; 5 These to thee, my God, we owe,

Source whence all our blessings flow;
And for these my soul shall raise

Grateful vows and solemn praise.
6 Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear

From its stem the ripening ear;
Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot

Drop her green, untimely fruit;
7 Should the vine put forth no more,

Nor the olive yield her store ;
Though the sickening flocks should fall,
And the herds desert the stall ;-

8 Should thine altered hand restrain

The early and the latter rain,
Blast each opening bud of joy,

And the rising year destroy ;-
9 Yet to thee my soul should raise

Grateful vows and solemn praise,
And, when every blessing's flown,
Love thee — for thyself alone.

618

C. M. CHRISTIAN PSALMIST. Thanks for an abundant Harvest. 1 FOUNTAIN of mercy, God of love,

How rich thy bounties are !
The rolling seasons, as they move,

Proclaim thy constant care.
2 When in the bosom of the earth

The sower hid the grain,
Thy goodness marked its secret birth,

And sent the early rain. 3 The spring's sweet influence, Lord, was thine;

The plants in beauty grew ;
Thou gav'st refulgent suns to shine,

And mild, refreshing dew.
4 These various mercies from above

Matured the swelling grain ;
A kindly harvest crowns thy love,

And plenty fills the plain.
5 We own and bless thy gracious sway;

Thy hand all nature hails;
Seed-time nor harvest, night nor day,

Summer nor winter, fails.

619

P. M.

FLINT.

On leaving an ancient Church.

1 HERE, to the high and holy One,

Our fathers early reared
A house of prayer, a lowly one,

Yet long to them endeared
By hours of sweet communion

Held with their covenant God,
As oft, in sacred union,

His hallowed courts they trod. 2 Gone are the pious multitudes,

That here kept holy time,
In other courts assembled now,

For worship more sublime.
Their children, we are waiting,

In meekness, Lord, thy call,
Thy love still celebrating,

Our Hope, our Trust, our All. 3 These time-worn walls, the resting-place,

So oft, from earthly cares,
To righteous souls now perfected,

We leave with thanks and prayers ;
With thanks for every blessing

Vouchsafed through all the past,
With prayers, thy throne addressing,

For guidance to the last. 4 Though from this house, so long beloved,

We part with sadness now,
Yet here we trust, with gladness, soon

In fairer courts to bow:

So when our souls, forsaking

These bodies, fallen and pale,
In brighter forms awaking,

With joy the change shall hail.

620
C. M.

WATTS. A Church established. Ps. 132. 1 THE Lord in Zion placed his name;

His ark was settled there ;
To Zion the whole nation came

To worship thrice a year.
2 But we have no such lengths to go,

Nor wander far abroad;
Where'er thy saints assemble now,

There is a house for God.
3 Arise, O King of grace, arise,

And enter to thy rest;
Lo, thy church waits, with longing eyes,

Thus to be owned and blessed. 4 Enter with all thy glorious train,

Thy Spirit and thy Word;
All that the ark did once contain
Could no such

grace

afford.

621
L. M.

PIERPONT, Dedication of a House of Worship. 1 O, BOW thine ear, Eternal One;

On thee our heart adoring calls; To thee the followers of thy Son

Have raised, and now devote, these walls.