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2 Time is the measure but of change ;

No present hour is found;
The past, the future, fill the range

Of Time's unceasing round.
Where, then, is now ? In realms above,

With God's atoning Lamb,
In regions of eternal love,

Where sits enthroned I AM
3 Then, pilgrim, let thy joys and tears

On Time no longer lean ;
But henceforth all thy hopes and fears

From earth's affections wean :
To God let votive accents rise;

With truth, with virtue, live; So all the bliss that Time denies

Eternity shall give.

L. M.

J. TAYLOR. True Length of Life. 1 LIKE shadows gliding o'er the plain,

Or clouds that roll successive on, Man's busy generations pass,

And while we gaze, their forms are gone. 2 " He lived, - he died ;” behold the sum,

The abstract of the historian's page! Alike, in God's all-seeing eye,

The infant's day, the patriarch's age. 3 O Father, in whose mighty hand

The boundless years and ages lie, Teach us thy boon of life to prize, And use the moments as they fly;

4 To crowd the narrow span of life

With wise designs and virtuous deeds ; So shall we wake from death's dark night

To share the glory that succeeds.

S. M.

DODDRIDGE The l'ncertainty of Life. 1 TO-MORROW, Lord, is thine,

Lodged in thy sovereign hand;
And, if its siin arise and shine,

It shines by thy command. 2 The present moment flies,

And bears our life away ;
0, make thy servants truly wise,

That they may live to-day. 3 One thing demands our care;

O, be it still pursued,
Lest, slighted once, the season fair

Should never be renewed. 4 To Jesus may we fly,

Swift as the morning light,
Lest life's young, golden beams should die

In sudden, endless night.

C. M.

Frailty of Life.
1 THEE we adore, Eternal Name,

And humbly own to thee
How feeble is our mortal frame,

What dying worms are we.

2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,

As months and days increase,
And every beating pulse we tell

Leaves but the number less.
3 The year rolls round, and steals away

The breath that first it gave;
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,

We're travelling to the grave. 4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground,

To push us to the tomb;
And fierce diseases wait around

To hurry mortals home.
5 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense,

To walk this dangerous road,
And, if our souls are hurried hence,

May they be found with God.

C. M.

J. NEWTON. Vanity of Life. 1 THE evils that beset our path

Who can prevent or cure ?
We stand upon the brink of death,

When most we seem secure.
2 If we to-day sweet peace possess,

It soon may be withdrawn;
Some change may plunge us in distress

Before to-morrow's dawn.
3 Disease and pain invade our health,

And find an easy prey ;
And oft, when least expected, wealth

Takes wings and flies away.

4 The gourds, from which we look for fruit,

Produce us only pain ;
A worm unseen attacks the root,

And all our hopes are vain.
5 Since sin has filled the earth with woe,

And creatures fade and die,
Lord, wean our hearts from things below,

And fix our hopes on high.


L. M.


Ps. 49.

1 WHY should I fear in evil days,

With snares encompassed all around? What trust can transient treasures raise

For them in riches who abound? His brother who from death can save ?

What wealth can ransom him from God ? What mine of gold defraud the grave?

What hoards but vanish at his nod ?

2 To live forever is their dream ;

Their houses by their name they call; While, borne by time's relentless stream,

Around them wise and foolish fall; Their riches others must divide;

They plant, but others reap the fruit ; In honor man cannot abide,

To death devoted, like the brute. 3 This is their folly, this their way;

And yet in this their sons delight; Like sheep, of death the destined prey,

The future scorn of the upright;

The grave their beauty shall consume,

Their dwellings never see them more; But God shall raise me from the tomb,

And life for endless time restore. 4 What though thy foe in wealth increase,

And fame and glory crown his head ? Fear not, for all at death shall cease,

Nor fame, nor glory, crown the dead : While prospering all around thee smiled,

Yet to the grave shalt thou descend; The senseless pride of fortune's child

Shall share the brute creation's end.

L. M. 6L.

The transitory Nature of the World.
1 SPRING up, my soul, with ardent flight,
Nor let this earth delude thy sight

With glittering trifles gay and vain:
Wisdom divine directs thy view
To objects ever grand and new,

And faith displays the shining train.
2 Be dead, my hopes, to all below;
Nor let unbounded torrents flow,

When mourning o'er my withered joys: So this deceitful world is known; Possessed, I call it not my own,

Nor glory in its painted toys.
3 The empty pageant rolls along ;
The giddy, inexperienced throng

Pursue it with enchanted eyes;
It passeth in swift march away;
Still more and more its charms decay,

Till the last gaudy color dies.

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