3 Ye stars are but the shining dust

Of my divine abode,
The pavement of those heavenly courts

Where I shall see iny God. 4 The Father of eternal light

Will there his bearns display; Nor shall one moment's darkness blend

With that unvaried day.
5 There all the millions of his saints

Shall in one song unite;
And each the bliss of all shall view

With infinite delight.

L. M.

631. MONTGOMERY. Religion our Guide in Life and Death. 1 THROUGH shades and solitudes profound,

The fainting traveller winds his way;
Bewildering meteors glare around,

And tempt his wandering feet astray; 2 Till mild Religion from above

Descends, a sweet, engaging form,
The messenger of heavenly love,
The bow of promise in a storm!
3 Ambition, pride, revenge depart,

And folly flies her chastening rod;
She makes the humble, contrite heart

A temple of the living God.
4 Beyond the narrow vale of time,

Where bright, celestial ages roll,
To scenes eternal, scenes sublime,
She points the way, and leads the soul.

5 At her approach the grave appears

The gate of Paradise restored ;
Her voice the watching cherub hears,

And drops his double, flaming sword. 6 Baptized with her renewing fire,

May we the crown of glory gain ;
Rise when the host of heaven expire,
And reign with God, for ever reign.

L. M. 632. DRUMMOND.

* Affliction cometh not forth of the dust."
1 Affliction's faded form draws nigh,

With wrinkled brow and downcast eye,
With sackcloth on her bosom spread,

And ashes scattered o'er her head.
2 But deem her not a child of earth :

From heaven she draws her sacred birth;
Beside the throne of God she stands,

To execute his dread commands.
3 Oft as in pleasure's paths we stray,

Perplexed in sin's deceitful way,
With storms she thunders o'er our heads,

And sudden ruin round us spreads. 4 The messenger of grace, she flies

To train us for our home, the skies ; And, onward as we move, the way Becomes more smooth, more bright the day. 5 Her weeds to robes of glory turn,

Her looks with kindling radiance burn; Her lips these soothing words reveal, “ God smites to bless, he wounds to heal!"

L. M.

633. DODDRIDGE. The weeping Seed-time and joyful Harvest. Psalm 126. 1 The darkened sky, how thick it lowers !

Troubled with storms, and big with showers;
No cheerful gleam of light appears,
But Nature pours forth all her tears.
2 Yet let the sons of

grace revive;
God bids the soul that seeks him live,
And from the gloomiest shade of night
Calls forth a morning of delight.

3 The seeds of ecstasy unknown

Are in these watered furrows sown;
See the green blades, how thick they rise,
And with fresh verdure bless our eyes !

4 In secret foldings they contain

Unnumbered ears of golden grain ;
And heaven shall pour its beanis around,
Till the ripe harvest load the ground.

5 Then shall the trembling mourner come,

And bind his sheaves, and bear them horne: The voice long broke with sighs shall sing, Till heaven with hallelujahs ring.

1 DeEm not that they are blest alone

Whose days a peaceful tenor keep;
The God who loves our race has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

2 The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears, And weary hours of woe and pain

Are earnests of serener years.
3 O there are days of hope and rest

For every dark and troubled night!
And grief may bide, an evening guest,

But joy shall come with early light.
4 And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier,

Dost shed the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere,

Will give him to thy arms again.
5 For God hath marked each anguished day,

And numbered every secret tear;
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.

635. 8 & 48. M.

FROM THE SPANISA OF

Don JORGE MANRIQUE.
Vanity of the World.
1 Alas! how poor and little worth
Are all those glittering toys of earth

That lure us here!
Dreams of a sleep that death must break :
Alas! before it bids us wake,

They disappear.
Where is the strength that spurned decay,
The step that rolled so light and gay,

The heart's blithe tone ?
The strength is gone, the step is slow,
And joy grows weariness and woe
When

age comes on.

3 Our birth is but a starting-place; Life is the running of the race,

And death the goal: There all those glittering toys are brought; That path alone, of all unsought,

Is found of all.

4 O let the soul its slumbers break,
Arouse its senses, and awake

To see how soon
Life, like its glories, glides away,
And the stern footsteps of decay

Come stealing on.

1 BENEATH our feet and o'er our head

Is equal warning given ; Beneath us lie the countless dead,

Above us is the heaven!

2 Their names are graven on the stone,

Their bones are in the clay ; And ere another day is done,

Ourselves may be as they.
3 Death rides on every passing breeze,

He lurks in every flower ;
Each season has its own disease,

Its peril every hour.
4. Our eyes have seen the rosy light

Of youth's soft cheek decay,
And death descend in sudden night

On manhood's middle day.