"Our day of grace is sunk in night, thy noon is in its

prime;

Oh turn and seek thy Saviour's face in this accepted

time!

So Gentile, may Jerusalem a lesson prove to thee,

And in the New Jerusalem thy home for ever be !"

ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

STERNHOLD.

OH Lord, turn not Thy face away from them that lowly lie, Lamenting sore their sinful life with tears and bitter cry! Thy mercy gates are open wide to them that mourn their

sin;

Oh shut them not against us, Lord, but let us enter in!

We need not to confess our fault, for surely Thou can'st

tell;

What we have done, and what we are, Thou knowest very

well:

Wherefore, to beg and to intreat, with tears we come to

Thee,

As children that have done amiss fall at their father's knee.

And need we then, oh Lord! repeat the blessing which we crave!

When Thou dost know, before we speak, the thing that we would have?

Mercy! oh Lord,-mercy we seek:—this is the total sum! For mercy, Lord! is all our prayer,-oh, let Thy mercy

come!

TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

POPE.

HARK! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers!

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Prepare the way! a God, a God, appears !" "A God! a God!" the vocal hills reply, The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity.

The Saviour comes, by prophet bards foretold:
Hear Him ye deaf, and all ye blind behold!
He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day.

'Tis He th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear,
And pour new music on th' unfolded ear;
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego,
And leap exulting like the bounding roe!

No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear,
From every face He wipes off ev'ry tear;
In adamantine chains shall Death be bound;
And Hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound!

THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

R. H.

"WHO yonder on the desert heath,
Complains in feeble tone?"
-"A pilgrim in the vale of Death,
Faint, bleeding, and alone!"

"How cam'st thou to this dismal strand
Of danger, grief, and shame ?"
"From blessed Sion's holy land,
By Folly led, I came !"

"What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare?

Whose fury laid thee low?"

"Sin for my footsteps twin'd her snare,

And Death has dealt the blow!"

"Can art no medicine for thy wound,
Nor Nature strength supply?"

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"They saw me bleeding on the ground,
And pass'd in silence by !"

But, sufferer! is no comfort near

Thy terrors to remove ?"

"There is to whom my soul was dear,

But I have scorn'd His love."

"What if His hand were nigh to save From endless Death thy days!"

"The soul He ransom'd from the grave Should live but to his praise !"

"Rise then, oh rise! His health embrace, With heavenly strength renew'd;

And, such as is thy Saviour's grace,
Such be thy gratitude!"