Keep thy robe white, nor stain its spotless hue,
Be sober, prayerful, vigilant, and true.
Soon shalt thou strike on high thy golden lyre,
To swell the heavenly strain thy voice con-

spire.” “Worthy the Lamb who died to set us free, Who bought with his heart's blood our endless

liberty."

EVENING PRAYER.

“LET my prayer be set forth before Thee as incense, and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.”—Psalm cxli. 2.

WHEN the soft zephyr whispers through the

trees,
And the leaves flutter in the gentle breeze,
When the deep sunset glow is in the sky,
And wearied nature lays her mantle by,

And the melodious choristers of Spring
Cease their clear notes, and fold the wearied

wing In quiet rest, and the dim twilight creeps With deepening shadow o'er the sky, and

weeps The falling dew o'er the departing day, The closing flowers, the sun's last gilded ray; Then, Christian, in thy solitude repair To the still chamber,—'tis the hour of prayer. Now breathe the hidden feelings of thy soul, Now breathe thy griefs and cares without

control Into thy gracious Saviour's tender breast And His deep love shall soothe thy heart to

MORNING PRAISE.

WAKE, slumbering Christian, ere the first faint

blush Of morning tinge the sky with crimson flush ; Ere nature and her train with beauty rife Spring in a joyous bound to light and life, And the glad sky-lark as she soars on high, With liquid sweetness trills her melody. As the bold eagle with unflinching gaze, Steers his swift course towards the sun's brignt

rays, Plume thy soul's wings, and with a stedfast eye Mount up by faith to joys beyond the sky; Forget the things of earth, and upward move On holy pinions to thy home above, And let thy morning sacrifice ascend As fragrant incense to thy God and Friend, Till it descend upon thee in a shower Of heavenly blessings multiplied each hour.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

“PRECIOUS in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”—Psalm cxvi. 15.

“Oh, loose this frame, this knot of man untie,
That my free soul may use her wing
Which now is pinioned with mortality.”

HERBERT.

“I FEAR not death, for Christ has pass'd

Its terrors through ;
And following Him, I mount at last

With heaven in view.

These ebon arrows tipp'd with love

Affright me not:
By faith upborne, I fly above,

All else forgot.

Like the free bird which springs on high,

I leave my clay;
And upward soar with stedfast eye

To realms of day.

To see His face who died for me

Whose precious blood, Offered in love upon the tree,

Brought me to God.

Though feebly gasps my failing breath,
I feel no fear;
I tremble not, though this be death,

For Christ is near.

His arm of love supports my head

He whispers peace ;
His presence cheers my dying bed,

My sorrows cease.

Loosely these earthly fetters hang

One struggle more,