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Yea, brighten up! for in this life

Enough there is of death!
The very wind that sweeps around

Bears emblems on its breath.

'Yet ever with us still remain

From morn till set of sun,
Thou pure example of his life

Till earthly days are done.

• Teach us to have a holy fear

Of all that tends to sin ;
To steadfast do our duty here,

Whatever we may win.

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Be it affection of good men,

Or hate of cruel foes ;
Be firm! yield not ! your life full well,

Our God and Father knows.

Thus will we take our quit of thee,

And all thy memory tell ;
Till in that other land we meet,

Farewell, dear friend, farewell !'

Composed at Brawby, during December, 1887, in memory of the Rev. William Abbey, who for nearly half a century was vicar of Salton, of which the village of Brawby forms a part. He died in November, 1887, aged 76. In his manners, words and actions, he exhibited all the evidences of a self-sacrificing Christian gentleman, and day by day showed to all around the beauty of Christian holiness by the example of a pure and blameless, as well as a loving and considerate life. His death seemed as the removal of a lighthouse or landmark from some rocky, dangerous coast. The quiet good that such a life reflects, however, even when the author of it has passed away, is not to be estimated or known in this world. He it was who engaged me to come to Brawby, and for his unfailing courtesy and considerate kindness towards me, I shall always revere his memory.

THE DISCIPLE'S CRY.

HELP, Lord ! help!

I perish but for thee!
Oh, Saviour, friend of sinners, help !

Bear with me patiently.
I've pierced Thee often, Lord,

Since I have known Thy way ;
Since Thou hast been my resting-place,

My succour and my stay.
Yea, thoughts have come so fell,

Urged by the Tempter on;
It seemed as if the powers of hell

Were there in battle throng
To rob me of my soul, of Thee,

And every hope of heaven.
And, oh! I fell, dear Lamb of Calvary,

For with my strength I'd striven;
I never leaned on Thee,

Nor looked to Thee for aid,

Or else those tears of penitence

Had never been displayed. Yea, I have wandered far from Thee,

Far on a lonely, weary road, Away from home and happiness,

And from Thy face, my God; But Thou art ever kind

Thou knowest what's in man; Thou dost remember we are dust;

Our lives are but a span ! Lo! now my days are hastening on

Swift as this fleeting breath; Soon, soon I must be gone,

My heart-throbs cease in death. But oh! I would for time to come,

In days which still remain, Before the setting of life's sun,

For ever o'er the plain ;
Lean on Thee, Lord, in every storm,

Aye, every trivial gale;
And thus shall I the victory win,

For Thou dost never fail !

WHEN THE STORMS.

When the storms of life are over,

And the victory draweth nigh, We shall see our great Commander,

Jesus Christ the Lord most high. We shall see Him, we shall see Him!

We shall be like Him;
We shall be like Him,

By-and-by.

When the sins of life are over,

And the winnowing days are done, We shall stand before the Saviour

In that land beyond the sun, We shall see Him, etc.

When the joys of life are over,

And its sorrows pass'd away, We shall live for ever with Him

In that home of endless day. We shall see Him, etc.

There for ever and for ever,

While eternity shall roll,
We shall know each other better,

In that haven of the soul.
We shall see Him, etc.

THE LITTLE MAIDEN.

A FLOWERET by the wayside,

The daisies on the lea, The primrose mid the woodlands

Are sweet and dear to me. They speak of God and beauty,

Whose matchless skill doth trace Their gem-like forms so lovely,

With poetry and grace. Yet dearer far the children

Around a cottage door Tell of a love immortal

Beyond this earthly shore. So innocent, so guileless,

So free from vicious sin, So full of pranks and frolics,

With laughter's merry din. They twine around affections,

They creep into the heart; They cluster with their tendrils

Where none may dare to part. They are like gleams of glory

Which sparkle on the rills, Or music of sweet waters

That murmur mid the hills.

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