Night is the time to watch ;

O'er ocean's dark expanse, To aid the Pleiades, or catch

The full moon's earliest glance, That brings into the home-sick mind All we have loved and left behind.

Night is the time for care

Brooding on hours mis-spent, To see the spectre of Despair

Come to our lonely tent; Like Brutus, 'midst his slumbering host, Summon'd to die by Cæsar's ghost.

Night is the time to think;

When, from the eye, the soul
Takes flight, and, on the utmost brink

Of yonder starry pole,
Discerns beyond the abyss of night
The dawn of uncreated light.

Night is the time to pray;

Our Saviour oft withdrew
To desert mountains far away;

So will his follower do,
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,
And cominune there alone with God.

Night is the time for death;

When all around is peace Calmly to yield the weary breath,

From sin and suffering cease, Think of Heaven's bliss, and give the sign To parting friends ;-such death be mine.

THE

STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

(KIRKE WHITE.]

When marshall’d on the nightly plain,

The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,

From every host, from every gem; But one alone the Saviour speaks,

It is the star of Bethlehem. Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawn'd—and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceas’d the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.
It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease ;
And through the storm and danger's thrall,

It led me to the port of peace. Now safely moor’d-my perils o'er,

I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore,

The star! the star of Bethlehem !

P

HYMN.

(roscoe.]

O Father! raise me from these clouds of time,
My soul is darken’d with its doubts and fears;
Bless and exalt me with those hopes sublime,
Which still are brightening through eternal years.
For I am but of dust; my largest thought
Can scarcely reach beyond this speck of earth,
Senseless alike my sorrow and my mirth;
I weep-yet know not how a tear is wrought;
I smile-and yet am ignorance and clay;
O thou great Being, who hast form’d my spirit,
Console me, teach me how I may inherit
The heaven thou offerest, thine eternal day.
Rouse all my drooping faculties; for thee
I fain would kindle heart, and mind, and soul.
Alas! what am I? as my

brief
How vain the aim to reach infinity,
To know Omniscience; yet I can believe
That thou, O God! art Glory, Light, and Love;
Some shadow of thy attributes conceive,
In every daily mercy that I prove.
Yes! not a sunbeam meets my raptured eye,
And not a breeze plays softly on my cheek,
And not a pale star lights the evening sky,
But of thy glory to my soul they speak;
And oft as morn, with pure, reviving gale,
And night with shades of beauty, and repose,
Bring their sweet change, 0 how my rapt heart glows,
Thy care, thy love, thy guardian power to hail.

years roll,

And thus indeed I kņow thee-ever feeling
Eternal tenderness, unbounded blessing;
Whether I smile or weep, alike possessing
My life in kindness, still alike revealing
Good, good in every thing; yes—even these tears
Are nature's blest relief, and they may turn
To gems of light in those immortal spheres
Where love is understood, and angels never mourn.

WOMAN'S PRAYER.

[REV. HENRY STEBBING.]

She bowed her head before the throne

Of the eternal King-
The sun upon her forehead shone

With the first light of spring;
In meekness and in love she stood,

A thing of mortal care ;
But pure and strong is womanhood

In faithfulness and prayer.

She had been chastened with that woe

The young heart, in its pride,
Ill bears when wakening from the glow

Love's happy dreams supplied;
But she had in her weakness sought

The Spirit's strength and food;
And faith within her soul had wrought

A deep and fervent mood.

The people of her fathers' land

Had left their onward path;
And God had raised his threatening hand

Against them in his wrath;
Her voice arose with theirs—the few

Who still were faithful there;
And peace was given, and healing dew,

To woman's voice of prayer,

The king sat in his purple state,

And power-dominion-robed ; But there was darkness in his fate,

His sick’ning heart was probed; And priest and peer their vows preferr'd

With quick and courtier care; But whose on high was soonest heard?

Sad woman's lonely prayer.

Wild war was raging—proudly rose

The chieftains of the realm;
And thousands met their country's foes

With spear and crested helm-
And thousands fell, and wrathful men

Raged in their mad despair;
What heard the God of battles then ?

Meek woman's secret prayer.

Oh! strong is woman in the power

Of loveliness and youth ;
And rich in her heart's treasured dower

Of stroug, unchanging truth;
But who may tell her spirit's might,

Above what strength may dare,
When in life's troubles and its night

Her heart is bowed in prayer?