"To morrow I will seek the Lord,"
The foolish heart will say;
To morrow may no life afford-
So seek the Lord to day.
Seek him while yet he will be found-
Seek him from early youth-
Seek him in all his works around,
And in his page of truth.
Seek him with all your might and mindSeek him with holy care
Seek him in thoughts of heavenly kindSeek him in praise and prayer.
Seek him when your delights decay,
And when they flourish, seek;
Seek him on every Sabbath day,
And through the passing week.
Seek him, and him you soon shall find,.
And own how blest are they,
Who put the morrow from their mind,
To seek the Lord to day.
"Couldst thou not watch one hour?" Mark xiv. 37,
My weary soul with patience wait,
Be watchful in thy fallen state!
Thou hast an anxious charge to keep,
Thou shall not rest, thou must not sleep :
Withstand awhile the tempter's power-
Canst thou not watch one little hour?
Thy lovely home lies far away,
'Midst regions of perpetual day,
And never toil, or anxious care,
Shall break Thy glorious Sabbath there;
But watching at thy post below,
No hour of respite canst thou know.
Lest some loved sin, in soft disguise,
Should cheat thy tired, and listless eyes,
And some low whisper faintly say,
Thy Lord, his coming does delay-
Oh! heed not thou the dangerous sound,
Thou'rt on the world's enchanted ground.
Fulfil thy promise, Lord, abide
Within my heart, my strength, my guide!
If thou my wanderings wilt control,
If thou wilt aid my languid soul,
Unwearied shall its watching be,
Till death is lost in victory.
A PRAYER TO THE REDEEMER.
PROPHET of the latter days!
Beaming with unfading rays;
Brightness of the Father's light;
Image of his love and might;
Fill my soul with purer awe,
Than dark Sinai's fiery law.
Sprinkle with thy Paschal blood;
Lead me through each hostile flood;
Sweeten Marah's bitter spring;
O'er my path thy Manna fling;
Broach the flint rock's chrystal wave;
Strongly succour-promptly save!
Soothe the passions of my breast;
Guide me tow'rds the promised rest;
Keep thy bleeding cross in sight;
Lifted o'er the shades of night,
Bid me fear and doubt no more,
Till I land on Canaan's shore.
THE Oak but little recks it
What seasons come or go,
It loves to breathe the gale of spring,
And basks in summer's glow!
But more to feel the wintry winds
Sweep by in awful mirth,
For well it knows each blast must fix,
Its roots more deep in earth.
Would that to me life's changes,
Did thus with blessings come-
That mercies might like gales of spring
Cause some new grace to bloom,
And that the storm which scattereth
Each earth-born hope abroad,
Might anchor those of holier birth,
More firmly on my God.
How sweet is the song of the Lark, as she springs To welcome the morning with joy on her wings! The higher she rises, the sweeter she sings;
And she sings while we hear her no more; When storms and dark clouds veil the sun from our sight,
She has mounted above them, she sings in the light, There, far from the scenes that disturb and affright, She loves her gay music to pour.
It is thus with the Christian:-he sees from afar The day-spring appearing, the bright morning star; He quits this dark valley of sorrow and care,
For the land whence this day-spring is given; He sings in his way from this cloud covered spot; The swifter his progress, the sweeter his note; When we hear it no longer, the song ceases not,-It blends with the chorus of heaven.
GENIUS AND INTEMPERANCE.
OH! could I write, that I myself could save,
From this one cause, this sure untimely grave,
This endless want, that soon must stop my breath,
These flaming draughts, which bring the surest
death.
Then should my muse upon her wings advance,
And Genius triumph o'er Intemperance-
I know there's mirth, and there's a flash of joy,
When friends with friends a social hour employ,
When the full bowl is circled all around,
And not a single jarring string is found.
But truest wisdom of a young man's heart,
Is from such tempting scenes to stand apart-
Thousands of hopeful youths, who first begin
To mix with friends in this bewitching sin,
Soon lost their resolution-and what then?
But conscience smitten, outcast wretched men-
I could employ my pen for weeks, for years
Write on this subject-wet it with my tears;
For spacious as the ocean is the scope;
For drinking drowns all genius, wealth and hope,
Lays best of characters below the dust,
And fills connexions with a deep distrust.
But in weak verse, the ills can ne'er be told-
Eternity alone can these unfold,
That those who know these ills, may stop in time
Is my last wish, as thus I end my rhyme."
• The writer of these lines fell a victim to the "bewitching sin" of intemperance, against which such persons have
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