FOR THE SAME.

ADDISON.

WHEN all Thy mercies, oh my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise!

Oh how shall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare

That glows within my beating heart?
But Thou canst read it there!

Thy providence my life sustain'd,
And all my wants redrest ;
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.

When in the slippery paths of youth,

With heedless haste I ran ;

Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe,

And led me up to man.

When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou

With health renew'd my face; And, when in sin and sorrow sunk, Revived my soul with grace.

Ten thousand thousand goodly gifts

My daily thanks employ,

Nor is the least a cheerful heart

That tastes those gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life hy goodness I'll pursue:

And after death, in distant worlds, My strains of love renew.

Through all eternity to Thee
A joyful song I'll raise;
For oh! eternity's too short
To utter all Thy praise!

IN TIMES OF DISTRESS AND DANGER.

R. H.

OH GOD that madest earth and sky, the darkness and the day,

Give ear to this Thy family, and help us when we pray! For wide the waves of bitterness around our vessel roar, And heavy grows the pilot's heart to view the rocky shore!

The cross our Master bore for us, for Him we fain would bear,

But mortal strength to weakness turns, and courage to despair!

Then mercy on our failings, Lord! our sinking faith renew! And when Thy sorrows visit us, oh send Thy patience too.

BEFORE A COLLECTION MADE FOR THE SOCIETY FOR THE PROPAGATION

OF THE GOSPEL.

R. H.

FROM Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand;

From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,

They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain!

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Java's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile:

In vain with lavish kindness

The gifts of God are strewn,

The Heathen, in his blindness,
Bows down to wood and stone!

Can we, whose souls are lighted
With Wisdom from on high,
Can we to men benighted

The lamp of life deny?

Salvation! oh, Salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation

Has learn'd Messiah's name!

Waft, waft ye winds his story,
And you ye waters roll,
Till like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole ;
Till o'er our ransom❜d Nature,
The Lamb for sinner's slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,

In bliss returns to reign!

[On the Dedication of a Church, see first Sunday after

Easter.]