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And pitch'd in most mysterious unison
With my heart's sympathies; for when I laid
My fingers on its airy chords, straightway
My very soul gush'd forth in melody,
The harp and harper vibrating in tune;
While words, like echoes of an old refrain

That heard in childhood, haunts our riper years,
Broke in heaven's music from my lips.

A HOME IN HEAVEN.

A

WILLIAM HUNTER.

HOME in Heaven! what a joyful thought,

As the poor man toils in his weary lot! His heart opprest, and with anguish driven, From his home below, to his home in heaven.

A home in Heaven! as the sufferer lies
On his bed of pain, and uplifts his eyes
To that bright home; what a joy is given,
With the blessed thought of his home in heaven.

A home in Heaven! when our pleasures fade,
And our wealth and fame in the dust are laid;
And strength decays, and our health is riven,
We are happy still with our home in heaven.

A home in Heaven! when the faint heart bleeds,
By the Spirit's stroke, for its evil deeds;
Oh! then what bliss in that heart forgiven,
Does the hope inspire of a home in heaven.

HEAVEN IN SONG.

A home in heaven! when our friends are fled
To the cheerless gloom of the mouldering dead;
We wait in hope on the promise given ;

We will meet up there in our home in heaven.

A home in heaven! when the wheel is broke,
And the golden bowl by the terror-stroke;
When life's bright sun sinks in death's dark even,
We will then fly up to our home in heaven.

Our home in heaven! oh, the glorious homé !
And the Spirit, join'd with the bride, says "come!"
Come, seek His face, and your sins forgiven,
And rejoice in hope of your home in heaven!

INVITATIONS FROM HEAVEN.

COME to the land of peace!

COM

Come where the tempest hath no longer sway,

The shadow passes from the soul away,

The sounds of weeping cease!

Fear hath no dwelling there!

Come to the mingling of repose and love,
Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove
Through the celestial air!

Come to the bright and blest,

And crowned forever-'midst the shining band,
Gathered to heaven's own wreath from every land,
Thy spirit shall find rest!

Thou hast been long alone;

Come to thy mother! on the Sabbath shore,

The heart that rocked thy childhood back once more Shall take its wearied one.

In silence wert thou left,

Come to thy sisters!-joyously again

All the home-voices, blest in one sweet strain,
Shall greet their long bereft.

Over thine orphan head

The storm hath swept, as o'er a willow's bough;
Come to thy father!—it is finished now;

Thy tears have all been shed.

In thy divine abode

Change finds no pathway, memory no dark trace; And, O, bright victory!-death by love no place! Come, spirit, to thy God!

MINISTER'S WELCOME TO HEAVEN.

EDWARD H. BICKERSTETH.

N amaze

IN

I asked what meant such gratulation there, And one of many answered, "From thy mouth We heard of Jesus' love, and thine the hand That led us to His feet." It was enough; For all the Parent and the Pastor woke Within me all the holy memories Of bygone days flowed in a refluent tide

Over my soul once more. Some I had known
From rosy dawn of childhood. . .

Some I had shepherded, yea, many. And
Some in after years had poured the burden
Of a wounded spirit into mine. . .

And others, dying, heard me read of him

Who on the cross for mercy cried to Christ;
Heard, and themselves believed. All these I knew,
And quick as light their story flashed on me.
But in that group of filial spirits came
Many I knew not-part of that great store
Of unsuspected treasure heaven conceals.
And they too poured on me beatitudes.

MY PLACE IN HEAVEN.

MY

JOHN MASON.

Y Jesus is gone up to heaven
Το get a place for me;

For 'tis His will, that, where He is,
There should His servants be.

Canaan I view from Pisgah's top,
Of Canaan's grapes I taste:
My Lord, who sends unto me here,
Will send for me at last.

I have a God that changeth not:
Why should I be perplext?

My God, that owns me in this world,
Will own me in the next.

Go fearless then, my soul, with God.
Into another room:

Thou who hast walkéd with Him here
Go, see thy God at home.

My dearest friends they dwell above;
Them will I go to see:

And all my friends in Christ below
Will soon come after me.

I

NO STRANGER IN HEAVEN.

EDWARD H. BICKERSTETH.

WAS no stranger in a strange land there:

But rather as one who travel-worn and weary, Weary of wandering through many climes,

At length returning homeward, eyes far off
The white cliffs of his fatherland, and ere
The laboring ship touches its sacred soil

Leaps on the pier, while round him crowding press
Children, and kith and friends, who in a breath
Ask of his welfare, and with joyous tongues
Pour all their love into his thirsty ear.

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