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Oh, give me Thee! When Faith and Hope are lost in perfect fight; And holy Love shall shed her heavenly light Eternally.
HE child-like Faith that aks not fight,
Waits not for wonder or for sign,
FAITH AND WORKS.
Ther you shall, I trowe, se
Se how they do agre.
God doth us iuftifye ;
EFLECTED on the lake, I love
To see the stars of evening glow ; So tranquil in the heavens above,
So restless in the wave below.
Thus heavenly hope is all serene,
But earthly hope, how bright soe’er,
* From “An Answere to a papystycall exhortacyon, pretendynge to auoyde false doctrine, under that colour to maintay ne the same.” No. 554, in the Lambeth Library. List of some of the early printed books by Dr. S. R. Maitland.
250 Converted Heathen.—Indian's Prayer.
THE CONVERTED HEATHEN.
HAT are they now? Morality may
spare Her grave concern, her kind suspicion
The wretch, who once sang, wildly danced, and laughed, And fucked in dizzy madness with his draught, Has wept a silent flood, reversed his
THE INDIAN'S PRAYER.
N de dark woods, no Indian nigh,
Upon my knee so low ;
See me in night wid teary face,
God send He angel take me care,
If Indian heart do pray ;
“ Poor Indian, neber fear;
Me wid you night and day.”
He take um part,
Me pray Him two times more.
H! land of the godly, how lone and
deserted! Thy tribes wander friend less, thy
glory is gone, Thy prophets are filent, their glory de
parted, And hush'd is the voice of the Monarch of Song.
Midst the towers of thy Salem, the lone wolf is howling;
O’er the wrecks of thy Temple the wild Arab strays ; 'Mong the tombs of thy Fathers the tiger is prowling; As a dream we remember the fame of thy days.
Arm of the Lord, awake! awake!
HOSE holy fields,
were nail'd For our advantage, on the bitter cross.