“LIFT UP YOUR HEADS, O YE GATES"

120

"LORD, ARE THERE FEW THAT BE SAVED"

159

Page

NIGHT SPREADS HER SABLE VEIL

118

NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE

88

"O THAT I HAD WINGS LIKE A DOVE"

89

LAYS

OF THE

PIOUS MINSTRELS.

BEFORE THE THRONE.

LITTLE child,

A little meek-faced quiet village child,
Sat singing by her cottage door at eve
A low sweet sabbath song. No human ear

Caught the faint melody-no human eye

Beheld the upturned aspect, or the smile

That wreathed her innocent lips the while they breathed

The oft-repeated burden of the hymn,

"Praise God! Praise God!"

A Seraph by the Throne

In the full glory stood. With eager hand

He smote the golden harp-strings, till a flood

Of harmony on the celestial air

Welled forth, unceasing. Then, with a great voice,
He sang the "Holy, holy, evermore,

Lord God Almighty!" and the eternal courts
Thrilled with the rapture, and the hierarchies,

B