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How rare is that blest place, that age or season,
Which may not own this character of reason?
And must we therefore brutishness prefer,
Because well-used reason is so rare?
But when the drunken frenzy fit is gone,
And devils their deceiving work have done;
When death the dreaming sinner doth awake,
O what a dreadful change doth God then make?
Then wise men only are the pure and just,
Who Christ, who God obey, and in him trust.

HYMN FOR MORNING.

[PARNELL.]

See the star that leads the day,
Rising, shoots a golden ray,
To make the shades of darkness go
From heaven above and earth below;
And warn us early with the sight,
To leave the beds of silent night.
From a heart sincere and sound,
From its very deepest ground,
Send devotion up on high,
Wing'd with heat, to reach the sky.
See the time for sleep has run!
Rise before or with the sun:

Lift thy hands, and humbly pray
The Fountain of eternal day,-
That, as the light, serenely fair,
Illustrates all the tracts of air,

The sacred Spirit so may rest,
With quick’ning beams upon thy breast;
And kindly clear it all within,
From darker blemishes of sin;
And shine with grace, until we view
The realm it gilds with glory too.
See the day that dawns in air,
Brings along its toil and care:
From the lap of Night it springs,
With heaps of business on its wings.
Prepare to meet them in a mind
That bows submissively resign'd;
That would to works appointed fall,
That knows that God has order'd all.
And whether with a small repast
We break the sober morning fast;
Or in our thoughts and houses lay
The future methods of the day;
Or early walk, abroad to meet
Our business with industrious feet;-
Wbate'er we think, whate'er we do,
His glory still be kept in view.
0, Giver of eternal bliss,
Grant, heavenly Father! grant me this!
Grant it to all, as well as me,
All those whose hearts are fix'd on thee,
Who revere thy Son above,
Who thy sacred Spirit love.

Sin can never taint thee now,

Nor doubt thy faith assail,
Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ,

And the Holy Spirit fail :
And there thou ’rt sure to meet the good,

Whom on earth thou lovedst best, Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.
Earth to earth,' and 'dust to dust,'

The solemn priest hath said,
So we lay the turf above thee now,

And we seal thy narrow bed :
But thy spirit, brother, soars away

Among the faithful blest, Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

THE EXIT.

(BAXTER.)
My soul, go boldly forth,
Forsake this sinful earth,
What hath it been to thee

But pain and sorrow,
And thinkest thou it will be

Better to-morrow?

Love not this darksome womb,
Nor yet a gilded tomb,
Though on it written be

Mortal men's story;
Look up by faith, and see

Sure, joyful glory.

Why art thou for delay ?
Thou cam’st not here to stay :
What tak'st thou for thy part,

But heav'nly pleasure ?
Where then should be thy heart,

But where's thy treasure ?

Thy God, thy head's above;
There is the world of love;
Mansions there purchas'd are,

By Christ's own merit,
For these he doth prepare

Thee by his Spirit.

Look up towards Heav'n, and see
How vast those regions be,
Where blessed spirits dwell,

How pure and lightful!
But earth is near to Hell,

How dark and frightful !

Here life doth strive with death, To lengthen mortals’ breath; Till one short race be run,

Which would be ended, When it is but begun,

If not defended.

Here life is but a spark,
Scarce shining in the dark;
Life is the element there,

Which souls reside in;
Much like as air is here,

Which we abide in.

Hither thou cam'st from thence:
The divine influence
In flesh my soul did place,

Among the living:
To be of human race,

Was his free giving.

There I shall know God more.
There is the blessed choir;
No wickedness comes there,

All there is holy:
There is no grief or fear,

No sin or folly.

Jerusalem above,
Glorious in light and love,
Is mother of us all,

Who shall enjoy them.
The wicked Hell-ward fall;

Sin will destroy them.

O blessed company,
Where all in harmony,
Jehovah's praises sing,

Still without ceasing :
And all obey their King,

With perfect pleasing.

God there is the saint's rest,
God is their constant feast;
He doth them feed and bless,

With love and favour,
Of which they still possess,

The pleasant savour.

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