Imploring the constant Presence of God.

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her father's God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame.

By day, along the astonished lands,
The cloudy pillar glided slow;
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands
Returned the fiery column's glow.

Thus present still, though now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous day,

Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen
To temper the deceitful ray.

And, oh! when gathers on our path,
In shade and storm, the frequent night,
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath,
A burning and a shining light.

Battle Hymn.

BY REV. W. M. FERNALD.

WHEN Israel's foes, a numerous host, Through years of conflict pressed their cause,

God's powerful arm was all her boast:
Confederate rebels owned his laws.

'Twas his right arm, his spirit's aim,
That guided youthful David's hand;
And, lo, to Joshua's vision came
The sword-armed angel in command.

Almighty God, who seekest life,
Not death, amid these dread alarms,
Prepare us for this mortal strife;
Lead thou the van; direct our arms.

Thine is the battle, mighty Lord;
The skill, the wisdom, all are thine:
The fire that lit the sacred Word
Shall flash from out our battle line.
So shall our serried ranks move on
With unseen armies from above,
And so shall victory be won
Through deeds of death to deeds of love.

The Patient waiting upon God.

BY DR. DODDRIDGE.

WAIT on the Lord, ye heirs of hope, And let his word support your souls: Well can he bear your courage up, And all your foes and fears control.

He waits his own well-chosen hour The intended mercy to display; And his paternal pities move, While wisdom dictates the delay.

Blest are the humble souls that wait With sweet submission to his will: Harmonious all their passions move, And in the midst of storms are still,

Still, till their Father's well-known voice Wakens their silence into songs;

Then earth grows vocal with his praise, And heaven the grateful shout prolongs.

A Prayer for the Times.

GOD of our fathers, 'tis thy hand Hath turned the tide of death away; That rolled in madness o'er the land, And filled thy people with dismay.

Thy voice awaked us from our dream;
Thy spirit taught our hearts to feel:
'Twas thy own light whose radiant beam
Came down our duty to reveal.

Almighty Parent, still in thee
Our spirits trust for strength divine:
Gird us with heaven's own energy,
And o'er our paths let wisdom shine.

The work of man's destruction stay;
The tide of fire still backward press;
Drive each delusive mist away,
And every humble effort bless.

GIARDINI.

2 O God, our Lord, arise, Scatter our enemies,

And make them fall;
Let thine all gracious aid
Our sure defence be made;
Our souls on thee be stayed;

Lord, hear our call.

3 Come, thou, O Sovereign Lord,

Gird on thy mighty sword,

Our prayer attend;
Come, and thy people bless,
And give thy word success:
Spirit of holiness,

On us descend.

4 Come, holy Comforter,
Thy sacred witness bear
In this glad hour:
Thou who Almighty art,
Now rule in every heart,
And ne'er from us depart,
Spirit of power.

5 To thy Paternity,
Eternal praises be
Hence, evermore.
Thy sov'reign majesty
May we in glory see,
And to eternity

Love and adore.

Let Freedom's Banner wave.

BY MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
TUNE, "America."

HERE, where our fathers came
Bearing the holy flame

To light our days;

Here, where with faith and prayer
They reared these walls in air,
Now to the heavens so fair
Their flag we raise.

Look ye, where free it waves
Over their hallowed graves,
Blessing their sleep!

Now pledge your heart and hand,
Sons of a noble land,

Round this bright flag to stand,
Till death to keep.

God of our fathers, now
To thee we raise our vow;
Judge and defend;

Let Freedom's banner wave
Till there be not a slave:
Show thyself strong to save
Unto the end.

Praise to the God of Harvest.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.

THE God of harvest praise;
In loud thanksgiving raise
Hand, heart, and voice.
The valleys smile and sing,
Forests and mountains ring,
The plains their tribute bring,
The streams rejoice.

Yea, bless his holy name,
And purest thanks proclaim,
Through all the earth.
To glory in your lot
Is duty; but be not
God's benefits forgot
Amidst your mirth.

The God of harvest praise;
Hands, hearts, and voices raise
With sweet accord;
From field to garner throng,
Bearing your sheaves along,
And in your harvest-song
Bless ye the Lord.

A Psalm of Freedom.

BY REV. EDMUND H. SEARS.

STILL Wave our streamer's glorious folds
O'er all the brave and true,
Tho' ten dim stars have turned to blood
On yonder field of blue.

It is our Nation's judgment-day
That makes her stars to fall;
And all the dead start from their graves
At Freedom's trumpet-call.

Lo! on the thunders of the storm

She rides, an angel strong: "Now my swift day of reckoning comes; Now ends the slaver's wrong.

"Lift up your heads, ye faithful ones;

For now your prayers prevail:
Ye faithless, hear the tramp of Doom,
And dread the iron hail!

"God's last Messiah comes apace
In FREEDOM's awful name:
He parts the tribes to right and left,-
To glory or to shame."

Then wave the streamer's gallant folds
O'er all the brave and true,
Till all the stars shine out again
On yonder field of blue.

Song of the Stars and Stripes.

BY REV. E. H. SEARS.

WE see the gallant streamer yet
Float from the bastioned wall.
One hearty song for fatherland:
That banner shall not fall.
Last on our gaze, when outward bound

We plough the ocean's foam;
First on our longing eyes again
To waft our welcome home.

Beneath thy shade we've toiled in peace;
The golden corn we reap;
We've taken home our bonny brides;
We've rocked our babes to sleep;
We marched to front the battle-storms
That brought the invaders nigh,
When the grim lion cowered and sank
Beneath the eagle's eye.

Beneath the stars and stripes we'll keep,
Come years of weal or woe:
Close up, close up the broken line,
And strike the traitors low!