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While angels in their songs rejoice

And say, “Behold he prays !"
The saints, in prayer, appear as one,

In word, in deed, and mind,
When with the Father and his Son,

Their fellowship they find.
Nor prayer is made on earth alone,

The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus on the eternal throne,

For sinner's intercedes.

O thou by whom we come to God,

The Life, the Truth, the Way, The path of prayer thyself hast trod; Lord, teach us how to pray.


Communing with our Hearts.

Return, my roving heart, return,
And chase these shadowy forms no more ;
Seek out some solitude to mourn,
And thy forsaken God implore.

Wisdom and pleasure dwell at home ;
Retired and silent seek them there ;
True conquest is ourselves t'o'ercome,
True strength to break temptation's snare.
And thou, my God, whose piercing eye
Distinct surveys each deep recess,
In these abstracted hours draw nigh,
And with thy presence fill the place.

Through all the mazes of my heart,
My search let heavenly wisdom guide ;
And still its radiant beams impart,
Till all be searched and purified.

Then, with the visits of thy love,
Vouchsafe my inmost soul to cheer ;
· Till every grace shall join to prove,
That God hath fixed his dwelling there.


Sufferings of Christ.

Thou soft flowing Kedron, by thy silver stream, Our Saviour at midnight, when the moon's pensive beam

(stray, Shone bright on the waters, would oftentimes

And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day! Come saints, bow before him, come bow at his

feet ; O give him the glory the praise that is meet; Let joyful hosannas unceasing arise [skies.

And join the full chorus that gladdens the How damp were the vapours that fell on his

head, How hard was his pillow! how humble his bed'; The angels astonished grew sad at the sight,

And followed their master with solemn delight. Come saints, bow before him, &c.

O garden of Olivet, dear honor'd spot!

The fame of thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot! The theme most transporting to seraphs above!

The triumph of sorrow, the triumph of love! Come saints, bow before him, &c.

Altered from Marie de Fleury.


"Tis midnight-and on Olive's brow,

The star is dimm'd that lately shone ; 'Tis midnight, in the garden now,

The suffering Saviour prays alone. 'Tis midnight-and from all removed,

Emmanuel wrestles lone with fears; E’en the disciple that he loved

Heeds not his master's grief and tears. 'Tis midnight-and for others guilt,

The man of sorrows weeps in blood; Yet he that hath in anguish knelt,

Is not forsaken by his God.

'Tis midnight-and from ether plains

Is borne the song that angels know ; Unheard by mortals are the strains That sweetly soothe the Saviour's woe.

From Mark's Coll.

Comfort under affliction.

When gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few;
On him I lean, who, not in vain,
Experienced every human pain.
He sees my griefs, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
If ought should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way;

To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the thing I would not do ;
Still he who felt temptation's power
Shall guard me in that dang'rous hour.
If wounded love my bosom swell,
Despised by those I prized too well;
He shall his pitying aid bestow,
Who felt on earth severer woe;
At once betray'd, denied, or fled,
By those who shared his daily bread.
When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And sore dismay'd my spirit dies,
Yet he who once vouchsaf?d to bear
The sick’ning anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.
When mourning o'er some stone I bend,
Which covers all that was a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while;
Thou Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For thou did'st weep o'er Lazarus dead,
And O! when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last;
Still, still, unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed for thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.

R. Grant, Edinburgh Sacred Poetry,

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