But save us now, and cleanse us now,
Receive each soul and hear its vow:
"My father's God, on Thee I call,

Thou shalt be my God, and my All."

JEAN INGELOW.

ABIDE WITH ME.

BIDE with me! fast falls the eventide ;

AB

The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide !

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;

O Thou, who changest not, abide with me!

I need Thy presence every passing hour;
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter's power?
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, oh, abide with me!

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;
Where is death's sting? where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me!

Hold, then, thy cross before my closing eyes!
Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies!
Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!

HENRY F. LYTE.

EVENING.

'TIS gone, that bright and orbéd blaze
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;

Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.

Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near;
Oh, may no earth-born clouds arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes.

When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast!

Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live;
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.

Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of Thy love

We lose ourselves in heaven above.

JOHN KEBLE.

THE

VESPER HYMN.

HE day is done, the weary day of thought and toil is past,

Soft falls the twilight cool and gray on the tired earth at last :

By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest friends oppressed,

In Thee alone, the soul, outworn, refreshment finds and rest.

Bend, Gracious Spirit, from above, like these o'erarching skies,

And to Thy firmament of Love lift up these longing

eyes;

And, folded by Thy sheltering Hand, in refuge still and deep,

Let blessed thoughts from Thee descend, as drop the dews of sleep.

And when refreshed the soul once more puts on new life and power;

Oh, let Thine image, Lord, alone, gild the first waking

hour!

Let that dear Presence dawn and glow, fairer than Morn's first ray,

And Thy pure radiance overflow the splendor of the day.

So in the hastening even, so in the coming morn, When deeper slumber shall be given, and fresher life be born,

Shine out, true Light! to guide my way amid that deepening gloom,

And rise, O Morning Star, the first that dayspring to illume!

I cannot dread the darkness where Thou wilt watch

o'er me,

Nor smile to greet the sunrise unless Thy smile I see; Creator, Saviour, Comforter! on Thee my soul is cast; At morn, at night, in earth, in heaven, be Thou my First and Last!

I

ELIZA SCUDDER, October, 1874.

NIGHT.

THANK Thee, Father, that the night is near
When I this conscious being may resign;
Whose only task Thy words of love to hear,
And in Thy acts to find each act of mine ;
A task too great to give a child like me,
The myriad-handed labors of the day,
Too many for my closing eyes to see,
Thy words too frequent for my tongue to say;
Yet when Thou see'st me burdened by Thy love,
Each other gift more lovely then appears,
For dark-robed night comes hovering from above,
And all Thine other gifts to me endears;
And while within her darkened couch I sleep,
Thine eyes untired above will constant vigils keep.

JONES VERY.

INWARD STRIFE.

SIN.

LORD, with what care hast Thou begirt us round!

Parents first season us: then schoolmasters
Deliver us to laws; they send us bound
To rules of reason, holy messengers,

Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin,
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,
Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,

Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,
The sound of glory ringing in our ears;
Without, our shame; within, our consciences;
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears.

Yet all these fences and their whole array
One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.

GEORGE HERBERT.