Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er,

Not Jordan's stream nor death's cold flood,
Should fright us from the shore.

THE HAPPY LAND.-P. M.
There is a happy land,
Far, far away;

Where saints in glory stand,
Bright, bright as day.

Oh, how they sweetly sing,
"Worthy is our Saviour King!"
Loud let His praises ring,
Praise, praise for aye.

Come to that happy land,
Come, come away!

Why will you doubting stand?
Why still delay?

Oh, we shall happy be,

When from sin and sorrow free;
Lord, we shall live with Thee,
Blest, blest for aye.

Bright, in that happy land,

Beams every eye;

Kept by a Father's hand,
Love cannot die.

Oh, then to glory run,

Be a crown and kingdom won,
And bright above the sun

We reign for aye.

A GLORIOUS WORLD OF LIGHT.

There is a glorious world of light
Above the starry sky,

Where saints departed, clothed in white,
Adore the Lord most high.

The bliss they feel we, too, shall know,
If Jesus we obey;

That is the place where we shall go
If found in wisdom's way.

This is the joy we ought to seek,
And make our chief concern,
For this we come from week to week,
To read, and hear, and learn.

Soon will our earthly race be run,
Our mortal frame decay;
Children and teachers one by one,
Must droop and pass away.

Great God! impress the serious thought
This day on every breast,

That both the teachers and the taught
May enter into rest.

SPIRITUAL WORSHIP.

Though glorious, O God! must Thy temple have been, On the day of its first dedication,

When the cherubim's wings widely waving were seen, On high o'er the ark's holy station :

When even the chosen of Levi, though skill'd
To minister, standing before Thee,

Retir'd from the cloud which the temple then fill'd,
And Thy glory made Israel adore Thee:

Though awfully grand was Thy majesty then;
Yet the worship Thy Gospel discloses,
Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men,
Far surpasses the ritual of Moses.

And by whom was that ritual for ever repeal'd?
But by Him, unto whom it was given

To enter the Oracle, where is reveal'd,

Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven.

Who, having once entered, hath shewn us the way,
O Lord! how to worship before Thee;

Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day,
But in spirit and truth to adore Thee!

This, this is the worship the Saviour made known,
When she of Samaria found Him

By the patriarch's well, sitting weary, alone,
With the stillness of noon-tide around Him.

How sublime, yet how simple the homage He taught
To her, who enquir'd by that fountain;
If Jehovah at Solyma's shrine would be sought,
Or ador'd on Samaria's mountain-

Woman! believe me, the hour is near,
When He, if ye rightly would hail Him,
Will neither be worhipp'd exclusively here,
Nor yet at the altar of Salem.

For God is a Spirit! and they who aright
Would perform the pure worship He loveth,
In the heart's holy temple will seek, with delight,
That spirit the Father approveth.

And many that prophecy's truth can declare,
Whose bosoms have livingly known it;
Whom God hath instructed to worship Him there,
And convinc'd that His mercy will own it.

The temple that Solomon built to His name,
Now lives but in history's story;

Extinguished long since is its altar's bright flame,
And vanish'd each glimpse of its glory.

But the Christian, made wise by a wisdom divine,
Though all human fabrics may falter,
Still finds in his heart a far holier shrine,
Where the fire burns unquench'd on the altar!

THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL MAY KNOW.

Though earth has full many a beautiful spot,

As a poet or painter might show,

Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and bright,
To the hopes of the heart, and the spirit's glad sight,
Is the land that no mortal may know.

There the crystalline stream, bursting forth from the throne,

Flows on, and for ever will flow;

Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife,
And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life,
In the land which no mortal may know.

And there on its margin, with leaves ever green,
With its fruits healing sickness and woe,
The fair Tree of life! in its glory and pride,
Is fed by that deep, inexhaustible tide

Of the land which no mortal may know.

There, too, are the lost! whom we lov'd on this earth,
With whose memories our bosoms yet glow;
Their relics we gave to the place of the dead,
But their glorified spirits before us have fled
To the land which no mortal may know.

AM,

There the pale orb of night and the fountain of day,
Nor beauty, nor splendour bestow;
But the presence of Him, the unchanging
And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb,
Light the land which no mortal may know.

Oh! who but must pine in this dark vale of tears, From its clouds and its shadows to go,

To walk in the light of the glory above,

And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love, Of the land which no mortal may know.

ON THE DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN.

Thou art gone to the grave,-but we will not deplore thee,

Tho' sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb; The Saviour has passed thro' its portals before thee, And the lamp of His love is thy guide thro' the gloom.