Come to the Altar, come,

Laud high thy SAVIOUR'S love, Who took a servant's form to gain Mansions for thee above: Pray for a lively Faith,

For grace right paths to see,For thankful memory of His Death, And fervent Charity!

Psalm xxiii.

THE LORD prepares my pasture green, I shall not want while He

Leads me to lie beside clear streams

That ripple quietly.

He cheers my soul with Heavenly Hope Guides me in paths of Love,

And when I tread Death's vale will give True comfort from above.

My table-feast He doth prepare,
I sit before my foes,

My head with oil He doth anoint,
My cup oft overflows.

His loving-kindness, mercy, grace,
Will light me all my days,
While I in His most Holy House
Will celebrate His praise.

The Angel's Call.

"I heard a voice from heaven."-Revelation xiv. 13.

COME, come to a region of Love and Peace,
Where the sounds of sorrow and weeping cease,—
To a land of joy where the SAVIOUR reigns,
Join our unceasing melodious strains.

Myriads of voices in praises arise

To the wide-spread dome of the dazzling skies,
A rainbow encircles our heavenly throng,
The clime resounds their melodious song.

Thought cannot picture a joy so grand,
As that ever found in this glorious land:
Then come where the storm hath no longer sway
Sister in JESUS, come, come away.

Here all is happiness, glory and peace,
Love cannot wither or Time cannot cease,
Come, then come to its beautiful shore

Where the weary cease labour and weep no more.

The Church Bell.

"Man cometh up and is cut down like a flower, he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. In the midst of Life we are in Death."-Order for the Burial of the Dead.

LIST to the solemn bell

With only half-drawn breath,
Air-wafted as the knell

Speaks mournfully of Death:
Hearken! Its solemn tone,
From out the sacred tower,
Tells of the churchyard stone,
Decay of pomp and power,-

Speaks to the child so fair

Who sports in Summer's beams,-
To him with silvery hair

Mocking his hopes and dreams ;

To young, old, grave and gay,

For each it hath a tone,

The spirit here to-day

To-morrow may have flown.

The grass so fresh and green
At morning, ere his round
The glorious sun hath been,
May wither on the ground:
Full often is the day

Sunny ere eve appears,
So Youth is mirthful, gay,
While Age is rife with tears.

Life is a passing ray—

So

says

the bell's deep tone,

Then work while yet 'tis Day,

And rest when Night comes on. Hearken! Its solemn boom

From out the sacred tower Is whispering of the tomb,That end of pride and power!