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HYMNS OF THE AGES.

ASPIRATION.

THE OFFERING.

HEY gave to Thee

Myrrh, frankincense and gold;

But, Lord, with what fhall we

Present ourselves before thy majesty,

Whom Thou redeemedft when we were sold? We've nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither;

Vile dirt and clay;

Yet it is soft and may

Impreffion take.

Accept it, Lord, and say, this Thou hadft rather;

Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make

Thy holy image, and it fhall outshine
The beauty of the golden mine. Amen.

Jeremy Taylor. 1650.

MY

PEACE.

Y soul, there is a countrie
Afar beyond the stars,

Where ftands a wingéd sentrie

All skilfull in the wars.

There, above noise and danger,

Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles,

And One born in a manger

Commands the beauteous files.

He is thy gracious friend

And (O my soul, awake!) Did in pure love descend,

To die here for thy sake.

If thou canst get but thither,
There growes the flowre of peace,
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortreffe, and thy ease.
Leave, then, thy foolish ranges ;

For none can thee secure
But One, who never changes,
Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure.

Henry Vaughan. 1621-1695.

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