Mortals, your homage be gratefully bringing, And sweet let the gladsome hosannas arise; Ye angels, the full hallelujah be singing;

One chorus resound through the earth and the skies. MUHLENBURG.

CHRIST WASHING THE DISCIPLES

FEET.

BLESSED Jesus! when I see Thee bending,

Girt as a servant, at Thy servants'

feet,

Love, lowliness, and might, in zeal all blending, To wash their dust away, and make them.

meet

To share Thy feast. I know not to adore,
Whether Thy humbleness or glory more.

Conscious Thou art of that dread hour impending,

When Thou must hang in anguish on the

tree;

Yet, as from the beginning, to the ending

Of Thy sad life, Thine own are dear to Thee,

And Thou wilt prove to them, ere Thou dost

part,

The untold love which fills Thy faithful heart.

The day, too, is at hand, when, far ascending, Thy human brow the crown of God shall wear,

Ten thousand saints and radiant ones attending,

To do Thy will and bow in homage there; But Thou dost pledge, to guard Thy church from ill,

Or bless with good, Thyself a servant still.

Meek Jesus! to my soul, Thy spirit lending, Teach me to live, like Thee, in lowly love; With humblest service all Thy saints befriending,

Until I serve before Thy throne above— Yes! serving e'er my foes, for Thou didst seek The feet of Judas in Thy service meek.

Daily my pilgrim feet, as homeward wending My weary way, are sadly stained with sin; Daily do Thou, Thy precious grace expending,

Wash me all clean without, and clean within, And make me fit to have a part with Thee And Thine, at last, in Heaven's festivity.

O blessed name of SERVANT! comprehending

Man's highest honour in his humblest name; For Thou, God's Christ, that office recommending,

The throne of mighty power didst truly claim; He who would rise like Thee, like Thee must

Owe

His glory only to his stooping low.

GEORGE W. BETHUNE.

THE HEART'S SONG.

"Behold I stand at the door."

PN the silent midnight watches,
List thy bosom-door;

I

How it knocketh-knocketh-knocketh,
Knocketh evermore !

Say not 'tis thy pulse's beating,

'Tis thy heart of sin;

'Tis thy Saviour stands entreating,
Rise and let me in.

Death comes down with equal footstep

To the hall and hut:

Think you Death will stand a-knocking
Where the door is shut!
Jesus waiteth-waiteth-waiteth;

But thy door is fast:

Grieved, at length away He turneth,
Death breaks in at last!