There is a Book.

Faith is their fix'd, unswerving root,
Hope their unfading flower;
Fair deed of charity their fruit,
The glory of their bower.

The dew of heaven is like Thy grace,

It steals in silence down;

But, where it lights, the favour'd place
By richest fruits is known.

One Name, above all glorious names,
With its ten thousand tongues,
The everlasting sea proclaims,
Echoing angelic songs.

The raging fire, the roaring wind,
Thy boundless power display:
But in the gentler breeze we find
Thy Spirit's viewless way.

Two worlds are ours: 'tis only sin
Forbids us to descry

The mystic heaven and earth within,

Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou who hast given me eyes to see

And love this sight so fair,

Give me a heart to find out Thee,

And read Thee everywhere.

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The Wild Gazelle.

HEBREW MELODY.

LORD BYRON.—Music by J. Nathan.

HE wild gazelle of Judah's hills

THE

Exulting yet may bound,

And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by.

A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair.

The cedars wave on Lebanon,

But Judah's statelier maids are gone.

More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;

For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:

It cannot quit its place of birth;

It will not live in other earth.

But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;

And where our fathers' ashes be
Our own may never lie:

Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.

The Unbeliever.

The Mariner's Evening Hymn.

J. E. CARPENTER.-Music by S. Nelson.

RULER of the storm, whose might

Can still the angry wave,

Thy mercy, through the coming night,
We trembling sinners crave!

This trackless waste, at such an hour,
That Thou alone canst span,
Tell us how infinite Thy power,
How mean a thing is man!

O Father of the deep, our path
Lies o'er the midnight sea,
Let not the waves arise in wrath;
Hush'd be they still by Thee!
And as with contrite hearts we bend,
And bow before Thy form,

Let not our prayers in vain ascend,
Dread Ruler of the storm!

The Unbeliever.

A. POPE.

EHOLD yon wretch, by impious passion driven, Believes and trembles while he scoffs at Heaven; By weakness strong, and bold through fear alone, He dreads the sneer by shallow coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod;

To man a coward, and a brave to God.

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This World is not our Home.

J. E. CARPENTER.-Music by N. 7. Sporle.

HIS world is not our home;

TH

There is a better, brighter,

Where sorrows never come,
Where troubled hearts are lighter.
We are but pilgrims here,
Still ever onward trying
To pass from this dull sphere
To that beyond us lying.

This world is not our home;

We wander through its bowers,—

In age amid its thorns,

In youth amid its flowers.

But there's a world of bliss,

Where those bright flowers fade never,

For those who are just in this

To live and bloom for ever.

The Cloud-capp'd Towers.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.—Music by R. 7. Stevens.

THE

'HE cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve: And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Forgive, Bless'd Shade.

Trust in the Lord.

JOHN DUFF.-Music by E. L. Hime.

RUST in the Lord in sorrow's hour,

TRUS

Trust in His high almighty power;

Then if thy life be pure and fair,

Thou ne'er shalt perish in despair;

Bright dreams of heaven will cheer thy grief,
Bringing thee days of calm relief;

Thus will thy trust in Him on high
Bless thy last hour, thy latest sigh.

Trust in the Lord when wealth is thine,
Give to the poor who starve and pine;
Prayers will ascend to praise the deed,
Saving the sick in hour of need.
Hope ever in a peaceful life,

Shun those who'd lead thee into strife;
Then shall thy days be calm and bright,
Bless'd with the ray of heavenly light.

Forgive, Bless'd Shade.

Music by Dr Calcott.

FORGIVE, bless'd shade, the tributary tear,

That mourns thy exit from a world like this;

Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here,
And stay'd thy progress to the seats of bliss.
No more confined to grovelling scenes of night,
No more a tenant pent in mortal clay;
Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight,
And trace thy journey to the realms of day.

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