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OH FOR THE WINGS OF FAITH AND LOVE.

Mrs. ANNE Steele.

Ο

H for the wings of faith and love,

To bear my thoughts and hopes above

These little scenes of care!

Above these gloomy mists which rise,

And pain my heart, and cloud my eyes,

To see the dawn of heavenly day, and breathe celes

tial air.

Yet higher would I stretch my flight,
And reach the sacred courts of light,
Where my Redeemer reigns;
Far-beaming from His radiant throne,
Immortal splendors, joys unknown,

With never-fading lustre, shine o'er all the blissful

plains.

Ten thousand times ten thousand tongues
There join in rapture-breathing songs,

And tune the golden lyre

To Jesus, their exalted Lord;

Dear name, how loved, and how adored!

His charms awake the heavenly strain, and every

note inspire.

No short-lived pleasure there beguiles,

But perfect bliss forever smiles,

With undeclining ray;

Thither my thoughts would fain ascend,

But, ah! to dust and earth they bend,

Fettered with empty vanities, and chained to lifeless

clay.

Dear Lord, and shall I ever be

So far from bliss, so far from Thee,

An exile from the sky?

Oh break these chains, my wishes fire,

And upward bid my heart aspire ;

Without Thy aid I cannot rise; oh give

to fly!

me wings

THY PRESENCE BEAMS ETERNAL DAY.

Mrs. ANNE STEELE.

HOULD nature's charms, to please the eye,

SHOUL

In sweet assemblage join,

All nature's charms would droop and die,

Jesus, compared with Thine.

Vain were her fairest beams displayed,
And vain her blooming store;

Even brightness languishes to shade,

And beauty is no more.

But ah, how far from mortal sight
The Lord of glory dwells!

A veil of interposing night

His radiant face conceals.

Oh could my longing spirit rise
On strong, immortal wing,
And reach Thy palace in the skies,
My Saviour and my King!

Thy presence beams eternal day

O'er all the blissful place;

Who would not drop this load of clay

And die to see Thy face?

TO JESUS THE CROWN OF MY HOPE.

WILLIAM COWPER.

TO Jesus, the crown of my hope!

My soul is in haste to be gone;

Oh bear me, ye cherubim, up,
And waft me away to His throne!

My Saviour, whom absent I love,
Whom, not having seen, I adore,
Whose name is exalted above

All glory, dominion, and power;

Dissolve Thou these bonds, that detain
My soul from her portion in Thee;
Ah, strike off this adamant chain,
And make me eternally free!

When that happy era begins,

When arrayed in Thy glories I shine, Nor grieve any more by my sins

The bosom on which I recline,

Oh then shall the veil be removed,

And round me Thy brightness be poured;

I shall meet Him whom absent I loved,
I shall see whom unseen I adored.

And then never more shall the fears,
The trials, temptations, and woes,
Which darken this valley of tears,
Intrude on my blissful repose.

Or, if yet remembered above,

Remembrance no sadness shall raise;
They will be but new signs of Thy love,
New themes for my wonder and praise.

Thus the strokes which from sin and from pain
Shall set me eternally free,

Will but strengthen and rivet the chain
Which binds me, my Saviour, to Thee.

W1

WHEN YONDER GLORIOUS SKY.

From the Spanish of Ponce de Leon, by J. BOWRING.

HEN yonder glorious sky,

Lighted with million lamps, I contemplate,
And turn my dazzled eye

To this vain mortal state,

All dim and visionary, mean and desolate,

Oh could my longing spirit rise
On strong, immortal wing,
And reach Thy palace in the skies,
My Saviour and my King!

Thy presence beams eternal day

O'er all the blissful place;

Who would not drop this load of clay

And die to see Thy face?

TO JESUS THE CROWN OF MY HOPE.

T

WILLIAM COWPER.

O Jesus, the crown of my hope!
My soul is in haste to be gone;
Oh bear me, ye cherubim, up,
And waft me away to His throne!

My Saviour, whom absent I love,
Whom, not having seen, I adore,
Whose name is exalted above

All glory, dominion, and power;

Dissolve Thou these bonds, that detain
My soul from her portion in Thee;
Ah, strike off this adamant chain,
And make me eternally free!

When that happy era begins,

When arrayed in Thy glories I shine, Nor grieve any more by my sins.

The bosom on which I recline,

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