NATURE AND FAITH.

WE wept-'twas Nature wept-but Faith
Can pierce beyond the gloom of death,
And in yon world, so fair and bright,
Behold thee in refulgent light!

We miss thee here, but Faith would rather
Know thou art with thy Heavenly Father.
Nature sees the body dead-

Faith beholds the spirit fled;
Nature stops at Jordan's tide-
Faith beholds the other side;

That, but hears farewells and sighs-
This, thy welcome in the skies;
Nature mourns a trying blow-
Faith assures it is not so;

Nature never sees thee more
Faith but sees thee gone before;
Nature tells a dismal story-
Faith has visions full of glory;
Nature views the change with sadness-
Faith contemplates it with gladness;
Nature murmurs-Faith gives meekness,
Strength is perfected in weakness;
Nature writhes, and shuns the rod-
Faith looks up and blesses God:
Sense looks downwards-Faith above,
That sees harshness-this sees love;
Oh! may Faith victorious be-
May she reign triumphantly!

SLEEP IN JESUS.

To go to God is not "to die,"
But from earth's shadows dim,
Up to the Father's house to fly,
And be at home with Him.

To dwell with God is not "to die,"
But far from reach of foes,
Sabbath to keep eternally,

In infinite repose.

Oh, sheep of Christ! 'tis not "to die,"
To hear the Shepherd's voice
In heaven's own fold, life's river by,
Bid His own flock rejoice.

Oh, ransomed soul! 'tis not "to die,"

To be for ever free;

In the full glory soar on high,

In endless liberty.

Oh, child of God! 'tis not "to die,"

To be proclaimed His heir;

To enter the inheritance,

And take possession there!

RURAL SOUNDS.

BUT who the melodies of morn can tell?
The wild brook babbling down the mountain side;
The lowing herd; the shepherd's simple bell;
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide,
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean tide;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark;
Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings;
The whistling ploughman walks afield; and, hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings;
Through rustling corn the hare astonished springs;
Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour;
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;
Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower,
And the shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower.

BEATTIE.

I AM DEBTOR.

WHEN this passing world is done,
When has sunk yon glaring sun,
When we stand with Christ in glory,
Looking o'er life's finished story,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know-

Not till then-how much I owe.

When I hear the wicked call
On the rocks and hills to fall,
When I see them start and shrink
On the fiery deluge brink,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know—
Not till then-how much I owe.

When I stand before the throne
Dressed in beauty not my own,
When I see thee as thou art,
Love thee with unsinning heart,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know-
Not till then-how much I owe.

When the praise of heaven I hear,
Loud as thunders to the ear,
Loud as many waters' noise,
Sweet as harp's melodious voice,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know-
Not till then-how much I owe.

Even on earth, as through a glass
Darkly, let thy glory pass;
Make forgiveness feel so sweet;
Make thy Spirit's help so meet;
Even on earth, Lord, make me know
Something of how much I owe.

Chosen not for good in me,
Wakened up from wrath to flee,
Hidden in the Saviour's side,
By the Spirit sanctified,

Teach me, Lord, on earth to show,

By my love, how much I owe.

Oft I walk beneath the cloud,
Dark as midnight's gloomy shroud;
But, when fear is at the height,
Jesus comes, and all is light;
Blessed Jesus! bid me show
Doubting saints how much I owe.

When in flowery paths I tread,
Oft by sin I'm captive led;

Oft I fall-but still arise

The Spirit comes-the tempter flies;
Blessed Spirit! bid me show
Weary sinners what I owe.

Oft the nights of sorrow reign-
Weeping, sickness, sighing, pain;
But a night thine anger burns-
Morning comes, and joy returns;
God of comforts! bid me show
To thy poor how much I owe.

M'CHEYNE.

ON THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA IN THE

BAY OF CARMEL.

O LORD! this swelling, tideless sea,
Is like thy love in Christ to me;
The ceaseless waves that fill the bay

Through flinty rocks have worn their way,

And thy unceasing love alone

Hath broken through this heart of stone.