POETRY.

477

MEMORY.

O MEMORY! Who knows thy power,
Who can describe thy potent sway?
When thine enchantments rule the hour,
And bear the captive soul away.

He feels thy might, whose happy days
Of social intercourse are flown;
Who o'er the lonely pathway strays,

Where friendship's pleasures once were known.

He knows thee too, whose dearest friends,
Repose beneath the yew tree's shade;
With thee the mournful hours he spends,
Through thee converses with the dead.

Thus in thine all-subduing power,
We hail thee as our tenderest guide;
We follow to thy sacred bower,

Would enter there, and there abide.
Yes, Memory! in thy gentle hand,

I place my own. My footsteps lead,
Through all thy fair, enchanted land,
Thy hills and vales, thy sun and shade.
There many a beacon raised, affords

A way-mark to the world on high;
And many a pillar there records,

In time of need the Lord was nigh.

Along thy fair and flowery meads,

My former streams of comfort glide; Among thy calm, though pensive shades, My friends and kindred still abide.

O memory! I could tune my song

To thee, with morning's bursting light; And still th' unwearied strain prolong, Through the dark hours of silent night.

Yet, let not earth engross the strain,
Memory! lay up some holy store;
That thou may'st strike thy harp again,

All-raptur'd on a heavenly shore.

PRISON MELODY.

S. S. S.

"And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God, and the prisoners heard them."-Acts xvi. 25.

DID e'er before such hallowed sound

Create an echo there?

Before, were Jesu's followers found
Making a prison, guarded round,
Their house of praise and prayer!

With fettered feet, and bolted doors,
The jailor watching by;

The walls of stone, and stone the floors,

The body lies: the spirit soars

To joy and bliss on high!

How many a sigh, and tear, and groan,
Disturbed the silence there,

When the pale prisoner, sad and lone,
Made to those heedless walls his moan,
Nor thought of praise or prayer!
But, Lord, thy persecuted saints,
Imprisoned though they be,

Utter no murmurs-no complaints;

The flesh sore press'd, the soul ne'er faints,

When cast for help on Thee.

By faith thy servants see the face

Of their approving Lord;

They pray, and while that sullen place,

Grows radiant with their Master's grace,

They sing with sweet accord.

Apart their fellow-captives share,

Briefly this pious joy ;

Now sounds of praise, now sounds of prayer,

Swell on the solemn midnight air,

And every ear employ.

Within the quiet church to meet,

Where hearts, fast linked in Christian union,

May with their Saviour hold communion,

And find his words with bliss replete,

Yes, it is sweet!

Brighton.

Loved day of rest!

Hiding the week's sad cares which press'd
Our aching hearts, chasing our sorrow—
Gilding with faith and hope the morrow —
Type of the perfect Sabbath of the bless'd—
Sweet day of rest!

MISSIONARY HYMN.

(By the late Rev. John Marriott.)

THOU, whose Almighty word,
Chaos and darkness heard,

And took their flight,

Hear us, we humbly pray!

And where the gospel day

Sheds not its glorious ray,
"Let there be light!"

Thou, who did'st come to bring,
On thy redeeming wing,

Healing and sight;

-Health to the sick in mind:

Sight to the inly blind—

O! now to all mankind

"Let there be light!"

Spirit of truth and love,
Life-giving, holy Dove,

Speed forth thy flight!
Move o'er the water's face,
Bearing the lamp of grace,
And in earth's darkest place,
"Let there be light!”

All glory be to Thee!

O blessed Trinity!

Wisdom, love, might!

Boundless as ocean's tide,

Rolling in fullest pride;

Through the world far and wide,

"Let there be light!"

H. M. W.