2 Be thou ready when thy brother Bows in dark affliction's shade; Be thou ready when thy sister

Needs thy kindness and thy aid; Let thine arm sustain and cheer them, They have claims upon us all,And thy deeds, like morning sunlight, On their weary hearts shall fall.

3 Be thou ready when the erring
List to sin's enchanting strain,
Ready with kind words to woo them
Back to virtue's path again.
Be thou ready, in thy meekness,
To do good to friend and foe,
As thy Father sheddeth freely
Light on all that dwell below.

4 Be thou ready for the morrow,

When delight shall please no more;
When the rose and lily fadeth,

And the charm of song is o'er;
When the voices of thy kindred
Faintly move thy dying ear;
Be thou ready for thy journey
To some higher, brighter sphere.

1

S. M.

423.

Call to Christian Duties.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

LABORERS of Christ, arise,
And gird you for the toil;

The dew of promise from the skies
Already cheers the soil.

2

Go where the sick recline,

Where mourning hearts deplore;
And where the sons of sorrow pine,
Dispense your hallowed lore.

3 Urge, with a tender zeal,
The erring child along,

4

Where peaceful congregations kneel,
And pious teachers throng.

So shall you share the wealth
That earth may ne'er despoil,
And the blest Gospel's saving health
Repay your arduous toil.

S. M.

424.

MONTGOMERY.

Sow thy Seed everywhere.

1 Sow in the morn thy seed,

At eve hold not thy hand;

To doubt and fear give thou no heed,
Broadcast it o'er the land!

Beside all waters sow,

The highway furrows stock,

Drop it where thorns and thistles grow,
Drop it upon the rock!

2 The good, the fruitful ground,
Expect not here nor there;

O'er hill, and dale, and plain 't is found;

Go forth, then, everywhere!

And duly shall appear,

In verdure, beauty, strength,

The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,
And the full corn at length.

3 Thou canst not toil in vain;
Cold, heat, and moist and dry,
Shall foster and mature the grain
For garners in the sky;

Then, when the glorious end,
The day of God, shall come,
The angel-reapers shall descend,
And Heaven cry, "Harvest home!"

up

BARBAULD.

1 AWAKE, my soul! lift
thine eyes;
See where thy foes against thee rise,
In long array, a numerous host;
Awake, my soul! or thou art lost.

2 Here giant Danger threatening stands,
Mustering his pale, terrific bands;
There Pleasure's silken banners spread,
And willing souls are captive led.

3 See where rebellious passions rage,
And fierce desires and lusts engage;
The meanest foe of all the train

Has thousands and ten thousands slain.

4 Thou treadst upon enchanted ground;
Perils and snares beset thee round;
Beware of all; guard every part;
But most, the traitor in thy heart.

5 Come, then, my soul! now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield;
Put on the armor from above,

Of heavenly truth, and heavenly love.

6 The terror and the charm repel,

And powers of earth, and powers of hell: The Man of Calvary triumphed here; Why should his faithful followers fear?

1 'Tis by the faith of joys to come
We walk through deserts dark as night;
Till we arrive at heaven our home,
Faith is our guide, and faith our light.

2 The want of sight she well supplies;
She makes the pearly gates appear;
Far into distant worlds she flies,
And brings eternal glories near.

3 Cheerful we tread the desert through,
While faith inspires a heavenly ray;
Though lions roar, and tempests blow,
And rocks and dangers fill the way.

4 So Abraham, by divine command,
Left his own house to walk with God;
His faith beheld the promised land,
And fired his zeal along the road.

"Why stand ye here all the day idle?"

1 THE God of glory walks his round, From day to day, from year to year, And warns us each, with awful sound, "No longer stand ye idle here!"

2 "Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright, Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear, Waste not of hope the morning light!

Ah, fools! why stand ye idle here?

3" And ye, whose locks of scanty gray
Foretell your latest travail near,
How swiftly fades your wasted day!
And stand ye yet so idle here?"

4 O Thou, by all thy works adored,
To whom the sinner's soul is dear!
Recall us to thy vineyard, Lord,

And grant us grace to please thee here!

Forth with your leader, to partake
His toils, his victories.

2 Ye must not idly stand,

His sacred voice who hear;
Arm for the strife the feeble hand,
The holy standard rear.

3 Naught doth the world afford,
But toil must be the price;
Wilt thou not, servant of the Lord,
Then toil for paradise?

4

Awake, ye sons of light!
Strive till the prize be won;
Far spent already is the night,
The day comes brightening on.