SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

H. H. M.

LORD! have mercy when we strive
To save through Thee our souls alive!
When the pamper'd flesh is strong,
When the strife is fierce and long;
When our wakening thoughts begin,
First to loathe their cherish'd sin,
And our weary spirits fail,
And our aching brows are pale,
Oh then have mercy! Lord!
Lord! have mercy when we lie
On the restless bed, and sigh,
Sigh for Death, yet fear it still,
From the thought of former ill;
When all other hope is gone;
When our course is almost done;
When the dim advancing gloom
Tells us that our hour is come,

Oh then have mercy! Lord!
Lord! have mercy when we know
First how vain this world below;
When the earliest gleam is given
Of Thy bright but distant Heaven!
When our darker thoughts oppress,
Doubts perplex and fears distress,
And our saddened spirits dwell
On the open gates of Hell,

Oh then have mercy! Lord!

SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

R. H.

WHEN Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil; When Summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil; When Winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood, In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.

The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade;

The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade; The Sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way, The Moon and Stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display.

Shall Man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,
Shall Man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny?
No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love, and Saviour, honour
Thee.

The flowers of Spring may wither, the hope of Summer fade, The Autumn droop in Winter, the birds forsake the shade; The winds be lull'd-the Sun and Moon forget their old decree,

But we in Nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.

EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

FIRST PSALM, OLD VERSION.

THE man is bless'd that hath not lent

To wicked men his ear,

Nor led his life as sinners do,
Nor sat in scorners' chair.

But in the law of God the Lord
Doth set his whole delight;
And in the same doth exercise
Himself, both day and night.

He shall be like the tree that is
Planted the rivers nigh,
Which in due season bringeth forth
Its fruits abundantly.

Whose fruit shall never fade nor fall,
But flourishing shall stand;
Even so all things shall prosper well
That this man takes in hand.

As for ungodly men, with them
It shall be nothing so,

But as the chaff which by the wind

Is driven to and fro.

Therefore the wicked men shall not

In judgement stand upright;
Nor in assemblies of the just
Shall sinners come in sight.

E

NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

ADDISON.

WHEN rising from the bed of death
O'erwhelm'd by guilt and fear,

I see my Maker face to face,
Oh! how shall I appear?

If yet, while pardon may be found
And mercy may be sought,

My heart with inward horror shrinks
And trembles at the thought;

When Thou, O Lord! shalt stand display'd

In majesty severe,

And sit in judgement on my soul,

Oh! how shall I appear?

But Thou hast told the troubled mind,
Who doth his sins lament,

The timely tribute of his tears
Shall endless woe prevent:

Then view the sorrows of my

Before it be too late,

heart

And hear my Saviour's dying groan

To give those sorrows weight!

For never shall my soul despair

Thy pardon to procure,

Who know Thine only Son hath died

To make that pardon sure!

TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

R. H.

JERUSALEM, Jerusalem! enthroned once on high,

Thou favour'd home of God on earth, thou Heav'n below the sky!

Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a curse and grief

to see,

Jerusalem, Jerusalem! our tears shall flow for thee.

Oh! hadst thou known thy day of grace, and flock'd beneath the wing

Of Him who call'd thee lovingly, thine own anointed King, Then had the tribes of all the world gone up thy pomp to

see,

And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all thy sons been free!

"And who art thou that mournest me?" replied the ruin grey,

"And fear'st not rather that thyself may prove a cast-away? I am a dried and abject branch, my place is giv'n to thee; But woe to every barren graft of thy wild olive-tree!

"Our day of grace is sunk in night, our time of mercy spent,

For heavy was my children's crime, and strange their punishment;

Yet gaze not idly on our fall, but, sinner, warned be,

Who spared not His chosen seed may send His wrath on

thee!