HYMN.* In heaven we shall be purified, so as to be able to endure the splendours of the Deity. AWAKE, Sweet harp of Judah, wake, 'Tis he, the Lamb, to him we fly, Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed, The last stanza of this hymn was added extemporaneously, by A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP. O LORD, another day is flown, And we, a lonely band, Are met once more before thy throne, And wilt thou bend a listening ear Thou wilt! for Thou dost love to hear And, Jesus, thou thy smiles will deign, For thou didst bless the infant train, O let thy grace perform its part, Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine, A flock by Jesus led; In glory on our head. And thou wilt turn our wandering feet, And thou wilt bless our way; Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet Henry, one summer evening, when he was with a few friends on the Trent, and singing it, as he was wont to do on such occasions. 491334 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 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, 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 dangers' 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! I strove against thee, Lord, I know, O pleasures past, what are ye now Yet, Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling, MELODY. Inserted in a Collection of Selected and Original Songs, published by the Rev. J. Plumptre, of Clare Hall, Cambridge. YES, once more that dying strain, Anna, touch thy lute for me; While the virtues thus enweave Mildly soft the thrilling song, Thus when life hath stolen away, SONG.-BY WALLER. A lady of Cambridge lent Waller's Poems to Henry, and when he returned them to her, she discovered an additional Stanza written by him at the bottom of the Song here copied. Go, lovely rose! Tell her, that wastes her time on me, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, In deserts where no men abide, Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare How small a part of time they share, [Yet, though thou fade, From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise; And teach the Maid That Goodness Time's rude hand defies: That Virtue lives when Beauty dies. H. K. WHITE.] |