And thou, good God, vouchsafe in gree to take This woful plaint, Wherein I faint, Before the ward that waits therefore alway, My soul, my sense, my secret thought, my sprite, Oh, hear me then for thy great mercy's sake. My will, my wish, my joy, and my delight, I'LL praise my Maker with my breath; Praise shall employ my nobler powers; Why should I make a man my trust? Vain is the help of flesh and blood: Nor can they make their promise good. Happy the man whose hopes rely And earth, and seas, with all their train ; The Lord hath eyes to give the blind; The Lord supports the sinking mind ; 535 He sends the laboring conscience peace; He helps the stranger in distress, The widow and the fatherless, And grants the prisoner sweet release. He loves his saints, he knows them well;. But turns the wicked down to hell: Thy God, O Zion, ever reigns: Let every tongue, let every age, In this exalted work engage: Praise him in everlasting strains. I'll praise him while he lends me breath; And when my voice is lost in death, Praise shall employ my nobler powers: My days of praise shall ne'er be past, While life and thought and being last, Or immortality endures. 1719. ISAAC WATTS, D. D. WORSHIP. "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the widows and the fatherless in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." — JAMES i. 27. THE Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, And ghosts of old Beliefs still flit and moan Round fane and altar overthrown and broken, O'er tree-grown barrow and gray ring of stone. Blind Faith had martyrs in those old high places, The Syrian hill grove and the Druid's wood, With mothers' offering, to the Fiend's embraces, Bone of their bone, and blood of their own blood. Red altars, kindling through that night of error, Smoked with warm blood beneath the cruel eye Of lawless Power and sanguinary Terror, Beneath whose baleful shadow, overcasting And man's oblation was his fear and woe! Then through great temples swelled the dismal moaning Of dirge-like music and sepulchral prayer ; Pale wizard priests, o'er occult symbols droning, Swung their white censers in the burdened air: As if the pomp of rituals, and the savor Of gums and spices could the Unseen One please; As if his ear could bend, with childish favor, To the poor flattery of the organ keys! Feet red from war-fields trod the church aisles holy, With trembling reverence and the oppressor there, Kneeling before his priest, abased and lowly, Crushed human hearts beneath his knee of prayer. Not such the service the benignant Father Requireth at his earthly children's hands: Not the poor offering of vain rites, but rather The simple duty man from man demands. For Earth he asks it: the full joy of Heaven Knoweth no change of waning or increase; The great heart of the Infinite beats even, Untroubled flows the river of his peace. He asks no taper lights, on high surrounding For he whom Jesus loved hath truly spoken: The holier worship which he deigns to bless Restores the lost, and binds the spirit broken, And feeds the widow and the fatherless! Types of our human weakness and our sorrow! Who lives unhaunted by his loved ones dead? Who, with vain longing, seeketh not to borrow From stranger eyes the home lights which have fled? O brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother; Follow with reverent steps the great example Of Him whose holy work was "doing good"; So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple, Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. Then shall all shackles fall: the stormy clangor Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease; Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, And in its ashes plant the tree of peace! JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 1 LOVE TO STEAL AWHILE AWAY. MRS. PHOEBE HINSDALE BROWN was born at Canaan, N Y., in 1783, and died at Henry, Ill., Oct. 10, 1861. Her son, the Rev. S. R. Brown, D D., missionary at Yokohama, relates that the hymn below arose from the habit of Mrs. Brown of retiring some distance from her house every day at a certain hour for meditation and prayer. The well-beaten path to the woods was discovered, and she was ridiculed by some thoughtless neighbor. She was a woman of great influence, and besides doing many other good deeds, educated three Chinese youths who became valuable members of society. I LOVE to steal awhile away From every cumbering care, I love in solitude to shed Where none but God can hear. I love to think on mercies past, I love by faith to take a view Of brighter scenes in heaven; The prospect doth my strength renew, While here by tempests driven. Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er, Be calm as this impressive hour, PHOEBE HINSDALE BROWN. WHILE THEE I SEEK. MISS HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS, born near Berwick, Eng. land, in 1762, went to Paris to live, shortly after the Revolu tion, where she was imprisoned for writing in favor of the Girondists, but was released on the fall of Robespierre. She died in Paris, in December. 1827. Miss Williams was the author of a number of volumes, some of which treated the subject of French affairs. She died at Paris, Dec. 14, 1827 GOD'S PRAISE. Thy love the power of thought bestowed; In each event of life, how clear Thy ruling hand I see! In every joy that crowns my days, My heart shall find delight in praise, Or seek relief in prayer. When gladness wings my favored hour, Thy love my thoughts shall fill ; Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, My soul shall meet thy will. My lifted eye, without a tear, The gathering storm shall see; My steadfast heart shall know no fear; That heart shall rest on thee. HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. A SONG OF PRAISE. PHILIP SKELTON, a learned English clergyman, whose sermons were warmly commended by John Wesley, was born in Ireland in 1707, and educated at Trinity College, Dublin. He died in 1767. To God, ye choir above, begin Praise him, thou sun, who dwells unseen Where thy refulgent orb would seem Thou silver moon, ye host of stars, Through the serene and silent night Sing him, ye distant worlds and suns, On rapid wings his praise, Exert your voice, ye furious fires, Ye works of God, that dwell unknown Beneath the rolling main; Ye birds, that sing among the groves, Ye stately hills, that rear your heads, Ye insects small, to which one leaf A vast extended world displays 537 Ye race, still less than these, with which To which one drop, however small, Whate'er ye are, where'er ye dwell, And if ye want or sense or sounds, From all the boundless realms of space PHILIP SKELTON. ON A PRAYER-BOOK SENT TO Lo, here a little volume, but great book! To find the rest Of a rich binding in your breast. It is in one choice handful, heaven; and all Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie thence, |