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TOPLADY.

Sweet in the confidence of faith,
To trust His firm decrees;
Sweet to lie passive in His hand,
And know no will but His.

Sweet to rejoice in lively hope,

That when my change shall come;
Angels will hover round my bed,
And waft my spirit home.

There shall my disimprison'd soul
Behold Him and adore;

Be with His likeness satisfied,
And grieve and sin no more:

Shall see Him wear that very flesh,
On which my guilt was lain;
His love intense, Ilis merit fresh,
As though but newly slain.

Soon too my slumbering dust shall hear
The trumpet's quickening sound;
And by my Saviour's power rebuilt,
At His right hand be found.

These eyes shall see Him in that day,
The God that died for me;
And all my rising bones shall say,
Lord, who is like to Thee?

If such the views which grace unfolds
Weak as it is below;

What raptures must the Church above
In Jesus' presence know!

If such the sweetness of the stream,
What must the fountain be,

Where saints and angels draw their bliss,
Immediately from Thee!

O may the unction of these truths

For ever with me stay;

Till from her sinful cage dismiss'd,
My spirit flies away.

403

The Dying Believer to his Soul.

Deathless principle, arise;

Soar, thou native of the skies.
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To His glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before His throne,
Deck His mediatorial crown;
Go, His triumphs to adorn;
Made for God, to God return.

Lo, He beckons from on high!
Fearless to His presence fly:
Thine the merit of His blood;
Thine the righteousness of God.

Angels, joyful to attend,

Hovering, round thy pillow bend ;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort thee quick to heaven.

Is thy earthly house distrest?
Willing to retain her guest?
'Tis not thou, but she, must die:
Fly, celestial tenant, fly.
Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,
Sweetly breathe thyself away:
Singing, to thy crown remove;
Swift of wing, and fired with love.

Shudder not to pass the stream:
Venture all thy care on Him;
Him, whose dying love and power
Still'd its tossing, hush'd its roar.
Safe is the expanded wave;

Gentle as a summer's eve:
Not one object of His care
Ever suffer'd shipwreck there.

See the haven full in view!

Love divine shall bear thee through.

Trust to that propitious gale:

Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail.

PERRONET.

Saints, in glory perfect made,
Wait thy passage through the shade:
Ardent for thy coming o'er,

See, they throng the blissful shore.
Mount, their transports to improve:
Join the longing choir above:
Swiftly to their wish be given:
Kindle higher joy in heaven.

-Such the prospects that arise
To the dying Christian's eyes!
Such the glorious vista, Faith
Opens through the shades of death!

405

EDWARD PERRONET.

Except that he lived at Canterbury, and was the son of the vicar of Shoreham, Kent, we can give no information regarding the author of the following hymn-one of the noblest in the language, and with its own tune, "Miles Lane," one of the best known to English congregations.

Crown Him Lord of All.

All hail the power of Jesus' name!
Let angels prostrate fall:
Bring forth the royal diadem,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Crown Him, ye martyrs of our God,
Who from His altar call;

Extol the stem of Jesse's rod,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Ye chosen seed of Israel's race,
A remnant weak and small;
Hail Him who saves you by His grace,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Ye Gentile sinners, ne'er forget
The wormwood and the gall;
Go, spread your trophies at His feet,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Let every kindred, every tribe,
On this terrestrial ball,
To Him all majesty ascribe,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Oh that with yonder sacred throng
We at His feet may fall,
There join the everlasting song,
And crown Him Lord of all!

CHARLES WESLEY.

To the organising faculty and amazing activity of John Wesley, there was provided a remarkable antithesis or supplement in the poetic fire of his brother Charles; and to the society so wonderfully brought together by the practical energy of the one, there was supplied an element of continual inspiration by the genius and fervour of the other. Keeping higher influences out of sight, the Wesleyan Hymn-book is to the Wesleyan Connexion very much what the soul is to the body; and although John Wesley himself and many others contributed, the collection owes its distinctive charm to that triumphant spirit who poured forth the "good matter" of the gospel in strains which often remind us of the harp of Pindar.

"Those hymns are sung now in collieries and copper mines. How many has their heavenly music strengthened to meet death in the dark coal-pit; on how many dying hearts have they come back, as from a mother's lips, on the battle-field; beside how many death-beds have they been chanted by trembling voices, and listened to with joy unspeakable; how many have they supplied with prayer and praise, from the first thrill

CHARLES WESLEY,

407

of spiritual fear to the last rapture of heavenly hope! They echo along the Cornish moors, as the corpse of the Christian miner is borne to his last resting-place; they cheer with heavenly messages the hard bondage of slavery; they have been the first words of thanksgiving on the lips of the liberated negro; they have given courage to brave men, and patience to suffering women; they have been a liturgy engraven on the hearts of the poor; they have borne the name of Jesus far and wide, and have helped to write it deep on countless hearts. And England is no more without a people's hymn-book."*

CHARLES WESLEY was born at Epworth, December 18, 1708, and died at London, March 29, 1788.

The Day of Judgment.

Stand the omnipotent decree:
Jehovah's will be done!
Nature's end we wait to see,
And hear her final groan:
Let this earth dissolve, and blend
In death the wicked and the just;
Let those ponderous orbs descend,
And grind us into dust.

Rests secure the righteous man!
At his Redeemer's beck,
Sure to emerge, and rise again,

And mount above the wreck;

Lo! the heavenly spirit towers,

Like flame, o'er nature's funeral pyre,

Triumphs in immortal powers,

And claps his wings of fire!

Nothing hath the just to lose,

By worlds on worlds destroy'd;

"The Voice of Christian Life in Song," by the Author of "Tales and Sketches of Christian Life." (P. 264.) A volume of exquisite taste and delightful instruction.

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