Safety attends where'er they tread,
Eternal life is theirs ;

Borne on Thy bosom, gently led,

Thou carriest all their cares.

Their shepherd Thou, they shall not want,

Though all is barren here;

When for sustaining grace they pant,

Thou bring'st thy fulness near.

They walk by faith, and not by sight,
They trust and follow still,

Thy word the path, the guide, the light,
That brings them to Thy hill.

Though oft on wounding thorns they tread

And heavy crosses bear,

That path doth safe to glory lead,

And Christ's own peace is there.

May I go forth by that "good way,"
Trod by the saints of old,
Who dwelt for many a stormy day

Within Thine earthly fold.

MARGARET'S HYMN.

MARY HOWITT.

THERE is a land where beauty cannot fade,

Nor sorrow dim the eye:

Where true love shall not droop nor be dismay'd, And none shall ever die.

Where is that land-oh, where?

For I would hasten there

Tell me I fain would go,

For I am wearied with a heavy wo!

The beautiful have left me all alone!

The true, the tender, from my paths are gone! Oh, guide me with thy hand,

If thou dost know that land;

For I am burden'd with oppressive care,

And I am weak and fearful with despair!

Where is it tell me, where ?

Thou that art kind and gentle-tell me where !

Friend! thou must trust in Him who trod before

The desolate paths of life:

Must bear in meekness, as He meekly bore,
Sorrow, and pain, and strife!

Think how the Son of God

Those thorny paths hath trod;
Think how He long'd to go,

E

Yet tarried out for thee the appointe wo!
Think of His weariness in places dim,

Where no man comforted nor cared for Him!

Think of the blood-like sweat

With which His brow was wet;

Yet how He pray'd, unaided and alone,

In that great agony-" Thy will be done!"

Friend, do not thou despair:

Christ from His heaven of heavens will hear thy prayer.

THE ENTRANCE OF ABEL INTO HEAVEN.

TEN thousand times ten thousand sung

Loud anthems round the throne,

When lo! one solitary tongue

Began a song unknown—

A song unknown to angel ears,
that told of banish'd fears,

A

song

Of pardon'd sins, and dried-up tears.

Not one of all the heavenly host

Could these high notes attain,
But spirits from a distant coast
United in the strain;

Till he who first began the song,

To sing alone not suffer'd long,

Was mingled with a countless throng.

And still as hours are fleeting by,

The angels ever bear
Some newly-ransom'd soul on high,
To join the chorus there;-
And so the song will louder grow,
Till all, redeem'd by Christ below,
To that fair world of rapture go.

Oh! give me, Lord, my golden harp,
And tune my broken voice,

That I may sing of troubles sharp
Exchanged for endless joys—
The song that ne'er was heard before
A sinner reach'd the heavenly shore,
But now shall sound for evermore.