Accept then, O Supremely Great!-0 Infinite !-O

God!

From this primeval altar-the green and virgin sodThe humble homage that my soul in gratitude would

pay

To Thee! whose shield has guarded me through all my wandering way.

For, if the ocean be as nought in the hollow of Thine hand,

And the stars of the bright firmament, in Thy balance grains of sand,

If Niagara's rolling flood seem great-to us who lowly bow

O! Great Creator of the Whole! how passing great art Thou!

Yet though Thy Power is greater than the finite mind. may scan,

Still greater is Thy Mercy-shown to weak, dependent

man;

For him Thou clothed the fertile field with herb, and fruit, and seed;

For him the woods, the lakes, the seas, supply his hourly need.

Around-on high-or far—or near-the. Universal

Whole

Proclaims Thy glory, as the orbs in their fixed courses

roll;

And from Creations grateful voice the hymn ascends above,

While heaven re-echoes back to Earth the chorus, "God is Love."

Written at first sight of its magnificent Falls, August, 1838, by J. S. BUCKINGHAM.

CARDIPHONIA.

IF the hard heart must be smitten, ere the springs of life can flow,

As the waters locked in Horeb, gushed beneath the prophet's blow;

If the veil before the temple where our idols are

enshrined,

Must be rent in twain to teach us we are weak and frail and blind;

If the whirlwind and the fire must the still small voice

precede,

Wakening in our hearts the echo, "Earth is but a failing reed";

If the waves which overwhelm us, may not in their wrath be stayed ;

Grant us still to feel, O Father, "It is I, be not afraid."

If before our household altars, we grow weary of our

trust;

If the wing of faith be broken, and her pinions trail in

dust;

If we faint beneath our burdens, as we vainly question

why

All our springs of consolation and our wells of hope are

dry;

If our cup from Marah's fountain be replenished o'er

and o'er,

Till the dregs are drops of bitter, earth has not a solace

for;

Though our strength be borne of suffering and our hearts be sore dismayed ;—

Oh! sustain us with Thy presence, "It is I, be not afraid."

If our pleasant picture fading leaves a background of

despair,

Let a ray of light from heaven beam upon the darkness

there,

As in some old time-worn picture, which the dust has gathered o'er,

Light discloses to the gazer beauty all unknown before : So the bright rays piercing downwards through the mist which round us lies,

May illumine life's darkened canvas, and reveal before our eyes

Glimpses sweet of pleasant waters, when our footsteps shall be stayed,—

As we listen to the whisper, "It is I, be not afraid."

It may be the spirit strengthens, and the soul grows pure and white,

When the clouds of sorrow darken, and all starless is the night,

That within their gloom is gathered gentle and refreshing rain,

Every little gem of patience quickened into life again; But we fain would come before Thee, ere our evil days

draw nigh,

Ere our sun and moon are darkened, or the clouds are in the sky;

While life's silver cord is binding us to gladness and to mirth,

And its golden bowl is filling from the choicest founts of earth.

While the fragrance and the beauty of our morning round us lies,

We would of the heart's libation pour to Thee a sacrifice, Trustful that the hand which scatters blessings every

morning new,

Would refill our urn of offering, as a floweret with the

dew.

Pure and sweet the exhalations from a grateful heart to

heaven;

Unto Thee then be the incense of our Cardiphonia

given,

Ere the noonday sun shall wither, or the gathering twilight hour

Closes the outpouring chalice of the noon's expanded flower.

A PRAYER.

HANNAH LLOYD.

2 COR. v. 14, 15

LET me not die before I've done for Thee
My earthly work, whatever it may be.
Call me not hence with mission unfulfilled;
Let me not leave my space of ground untilled!
Impress this truth upon me—that not one
Can do my portion that I leave undone;
For each one in Thy vineyard hath a spot
To labour in for life, and weary not.
Then give me strength all faithfully to toil;
Converting barren earth to fruitful soil.
I long to be an instrument of Thine,
To gather worshippers unto Thy Shrine;
To be the means one human soul to save
From the dark terrors of a hopeless grave.

Yet most I want a spirit of content

To work where'er Thou'lt wish my labour spent,
Whether at home, or in a stranger clime,

In days of joy, or sorrow's sterner time.

I want a spirit passive, to lie still,
And by Thy power to do Thy holy will.

And when the prayer unto my lips doth rise,
"Before a new home doth my soul surprise,
Let me accomplish some great work for Thee."
Subdue it, Lord! let my petition be,

"Oh! make me useful in this world of Thine,
In ways according to THY will not MINE."
Let me not leave my space of ground untilled;
Call me not hence with mission unfulfilled ;
Let me not die before I've done for Thee
My earthly work, WHATEVER it may be.

A THOUGHT ON TEACHING.

HE who checks a child with terror,
Stops its play or stills its song,

Not alone commits an error,
But a grievous moral wrong.

Give it play, and never fear it ;
Active life is no defect;
Never, never break its spirit,
Curb it, only to direct.

Would you check the flowing river,

Thinking it would cease to flow;

Onward it must go for ever:

Rather teach it where to go.