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The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade; The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade, The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way, The moon and stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display.

Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,
Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny ?
No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honour Thee.

The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade, The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake the shade; The winds be lull'd—the sun and moon forget their old decree, But we in nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.

TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

JERUSALEM, Jerusalem! enthroned once on high,

Thou favour'd home of God on earth, thou Heaven below the sky! Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a curse and grief to see, Jerusalem, Jerusalem! our tears shall flow for thee.

Oh! hadst thou known thy day of grace, and flock'd beneath the wing

Of Him who call'd thee lovingly, thine own anointed King, Then had the tribes of all the world gone up thy pomp to see, And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all thy sons been free.

"And who art thou that mournest me ?" replied the ruin grey, "And fear'st not rather that thyself may prove a cast-away? I am a dried and abject branch, my place is given to thee; But woe to every barren graft of thy wild olive-tree!

"Our day of grace is sunk in night, our time of mercy spent, For heavy was my children's crime, and strange their punishment;

Yet gaze not idly on our fall, but, sinner, warned be,

Who spared not His chosen seed may send His wrath on thee!

"Our day of grace is sunk in night, thy noon is in its prime;
Oh turn and seek thy Saviour's face in this accepted time!
So, Gentile, may Jerusalem a lesson prove to thee,
And in the new Jerusalem thy home for ever be!"

THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

"WHO yonder on the desert heath,
Complains in feeble tone ?"

-"A pilgrim in the vale of death,

Faint, bleeding, and alone!"

"How cam'st thou to this dismal strand

Of danger, grief, and shame ?"

"From blessed Sion's holy land,
By Folly led, I came !"

"What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare? Whose fury laid thee low?"

-"Sin for my footsteps twined her snare,

And Death has dealt the blow!"

"Can art no medicine for thy wound, Nor nature strength supply ?"

"They saw me bleeding on the ground, And pass'd in silence by !"

"But, sufferer! is no comfort near, Thy terrors to remove ?"

"There is to whom my soul was dear,

But I have scorn'd His love."

"What if His hand were nigh to save From endless death thy days?"

"The soul He ransom'd from the grave

Should live but to His praise!"

"Rise then, oh rise! His health embrace,

With heavenly strength renew'd; —And, such as is thy Saviour's grace,

Such be thy gratitude!"

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Lo the lilies of the field,

How their leaves instruction yield!
Hark to Nature's lesson given
By the blessed birds of Heaven!
Every bush and tufted tree
Warbles sweet philosophy :
"Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow!

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Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose?
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
Than we, poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.

Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow!
God provideth for the morrow!

"One there lives whose guardian eye
Guides our humble destiny;
One there lives who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall:
Pass we blithely then the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow:

God provideth for the morrow!"

SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

WAKE! not, oh mother! sounds of lamentation!
Weep not, oh widow! weep not hopelessly!
Strong is His arm, the Bringer of Salvation,
Strong is the Word of God to succour thee!

Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him:
Hide his pale features with the sable pall:
Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him :
Widow'd and childless, she has lost her all!

Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping? Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delay'd? "Set down the bier, he is not dead but sleeping!

Young man, arise;"-He spake, and was obey'd!

Change then, oh sad one! grief to exultation :
Worship and fall before Messiah's knee.
Strong was His arm, the Bringer of Salvation!
Strong was the Word of God to succour thee!

NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

OH blest were the accents of early creation,
When the Word of Jehovah came down from above;
In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,
And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!

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