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E’en here, who seek may consolation find,
When all beside is wrapp'd in deepest gloom ;
O here's a balm to soothe the troubled mind!
To cheer the lonely prospect of the tomb.
To heav'nly knowledge 'tis the precious guide,
Of life and immortality the fount;
Now all the wisdom, learning, wit beside,
Become as foolishness ! of no account !
Unworthy though I am, O gracious Lord,
Compassionate my frailties I implore thee;
Keep me from wand'ring from thy holy word,
Incline thy sinful creature to adore thee.
Nor yet from any merits of my own,
Great God ! but for the sake of Him who gave
His spotless life, to guile and sin unknown,
A ransom, man from death and hell to save.
May I presume t approach the throne of grace,
Since He, whose words shall never pass away,
Hath said that those who humbly seek his face,
In mercy he will guide to realms of day.
Right humbly then my soul shall prostrate bend,

E’en at thy feet, my God, my Saviour, and my Friend.


There's rest in heav'n, there's rest in heav'n

From all the storms on earth that blow ;
The cares with which the heart is riv'n,

While wand’ring in this vale below,
Far from those peaceful realms are driv'n

Where streams of joy for ever flow

There's rest, there's rest in heav'n.
From woes which break the spirit here,

From poverty, disease, and pain,
From anguish and tormenting fear,

That almost rend the he in twain,
Heav'n shall a sweet deliverance bear,

And reinstate my joys again-
There's rest, there's rest in heav'n.

Ah! by my glorious Saviour's side,

Thro' which the cruel spear was driv'n ;
Ah! by those streams that sweetly glide,

For God's own city's pleasure given,
And in those mansions opening wide,

Where endless light and peace reside,

There's rest, there's rest in heav'n.
Then cease, fond man, the rising sigh,

With cares no more thy heart be riv'n ;
Lift up thy thoughts and raise thine eye,

For glory shall to thee be giv’n.
Lo! the bright gates unfold, arise,
Go and possess thy native skies ;
Guilt, sorrow, fear, and conflict fee,
And leave the blessed world for thee-

's rest, there's rest in heav'n. West Drayton.

Δ. Κ.

Oh, beautiful the scenes of earth,

Its green and shady bowers ;
On them the eye would love to gaze,

Through the long summer hours !
Oh, lovely are the silvery streams

That through its valleys flow,
Rejoicing in the cloudless sun,

The summer's golden glow.
Oh, welcome are the gifts of spring!

The music of the fell-
Flowers that their glowing colours fing

O'er many a happy dell.
But what are earthly scenes and joys,

And what are earthly days ?
The heralds of eternity,

Flushed with its glorious rays.
But there are scenes of endless bliss,

And bowers of fadeless bloom,
And there are heaven-born liopes that cheer
The passage to the tomb.

A, R. B.

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Evangelical Miscellany.

JULY, 1836.


ALLINGTON CASTLE, on the banks of the Medway, consists of two courts; the first, entered through the spacious gateway exhibited in our engraving, contains, on its south side, that “ faire house built by Sir Thomas Wiat, senior, a most learned knight,” the ambition of whose son caused the overthrow of “ himself and his state.”

It commands a fine view of the river, and the beautiful meadows through which it flows, and from its picturesque situation and appearance, not less than its historical associations, is calculated to inspire the mind with feelings of the deepest interest. The tranquil Medway, the grey walls of the castle with its ancient dovecote, roofless and fast mouldering away; the luxuriant ivy mantling its hoary battlements ;

the varied foliage of the opposite woods; and the vivid hues of the surrounding landscape, relieved here and there by masses of less gaudy verdure, and clumps of forest trees, all conspire to render this seclusion a place where one may not only “think





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