The one to feast the Lord was led, But Mary chose the better part. Her Saviour's word refresh'd her heart; With warmth she to her sister spoke, How oft are we like Martha vex'd, Teach us, And needful were the world our own. Let grov'ling hearts the world admire, If the one needful thing be mine. THE WORLD PASSETH AWAY. TROUGH all these things substantial seem, The world itself is but a dream, And soon must pass away: The things that variously employ, That yield us either grief or joy, How sweet to have our portion there, Where sorrow never comes, nor care,- · And nothing will remove; We then may hear without a sigh, The world's destruction to be nigh; How sweet to know the Saviour's name, The Saviour who in mercy came, And vanquish'd all our foes: On him, as on a solid rock, Our hope is built, and stands the shock Of ev'ry storm that blows. Then, let a world of shadows go,- 'Tis laid up there where nothing fades, No rust consumes, no thief invades,--And thus it is secure. MUTUAL EXHORTATIOŃ WHILE in the world we still remain, But when we reach the heav'nly shore, The hope that we should see that day, Then let us here improve our hours, Improve them to a Saviour's praise; To him with zeal devote our pow'rs, And run with joy in wisdom's ways. Let all our meetings now be made Subservient to each other's good; For worldly joys must quickly fade, Nor can they yield substantial food. Whene'er requir'd to part from those, With whom the truth unites us here, We'll call to mind the joyful close, When Christ the Saviour will appear. Then shall his saints all meet again, With him for ever to remain, And sing his everlasting praise, THE BRIGHT AND MORNING STAR. YE worlds of light that roll so near The Saviour's throne of shining bliss; Oh! tell how mean your glories are, How faint and few, compar'd with his. We sing the bright and morning star, Its cheering beams spread wide abroad, Thus, when the eastern magi brought O joy! to reach that heavenly place, GOD OUR LIGHT. O Gon, my sun, thy blissful rays Can warm, rejoice, and guide my heart; Scarce through the shades a glimpse of day But shall my drooping spirits say, The cheerful morn will never rise? O let me not despairing mourn, Though gloomy darkness spreads the sky; My glorious sun will yet return, And night with all its horrors fly. O for the bright, the joyful day, THE WISDOM OF GOD, WAIT, O my soul, thy Maker's will; |