To Reconcile! It makes us nigh,
Children and friends of God most High:
Saved from wrath, redeemed from curse,
His love we sing, His praise rehearse !

We see the wood, the knife, the Lamb! There darts from heaven the kindling flame!

The real, one, only, Sacrifice

From which sweet savour could arise!

Sin-offering! Guilt imputed dooms,— Burnt-offering! Hate of sin consumes,— Peace-offering! Endless strife it stays,Thank-offering! Ground of endless praise!

Oh, not the flowers of innocence
Might wave to cover our offence,—
None could to hope like this have fled,
But that the Victim's blood were shed!

Each Claim and Attribute agree!
The tide of Mercy now rolls free!
Sin is condemned! Impediment
No more obstructs Love's full intent!

Father! Who gav'st that bitter cup!
Son! Who in death wast lifted up!
Spirit! Who showest us these things!
To this blest Cross the sinner clings!

VERSIONS OF THE PSALMS.

HOW SHALL WE SING THE LORD'S SONG IN A STRANGE LAND?"

PSALM THE FIRST.

THERE is a scale of downward ill;-
The ungodly thought, the sinful course,

Lead to the seat which scorners fill,
Where soon expires the last remorse.

He who shall shun this prone descent
How blest! For his is pure delight ;-
The law divine he scans intent,

And muses o'er it day and night.

He stands a tree 'mid sylvan glades,
Rich in maturity of fruit,

Bright in the green which never fades,
While rivers freshen round his root.

Not so the ungodly; worthless, seared,
Like chaff which whirlwinds dissipate,-
The Judgment which they long have jeered
Now glares on them with sudden fate!

Severed from all the just, they fly!
They perish 'neath the impending doom!
So the Lord bends on saints his eye!

Thus flames of wrath his foes consume!

PSALM THE SECOND.

LOUD the defiance, fierce the rage,

Though vain the dream, of impious states, With myriad-force and battle-gage,

Marshalled by sceptred potentates.

Why to this contest will ye rush?
Why these blest ties, infatuate, rend?
This rising empire seek to crush?

Jehovah will the right defend!

"T is Heaven's own cause! Its highest claim! That all should honour Christ the Son! Their bands, Their cords, are still the same,Peer with his Father,-They are one!

He who in glory sits serene

Enthroned upon the sea of glass,
Indignant scorns the turbulent scene,
The mole-hill pile, the worm-like mass !

He speaks! and baffles all His foes,Writhing sore vexed beneath his feet,"Mean impotents! Can ye depose

My King from His anointed seat?"

"Thou art my Son !" Jehovah saith!

Now breaks Thy Natal, Crowning, Day!

First-fruits of dust!

First-born of death!

Now wield Thy Mediatorial sway!

(To whom of all the angel-throng,

Was this dread kindred e'er addressed,

Since first they woke to life and song,

Or round earth's Saviour wondering pressed ?*)

* Heb. i. 5.

"Thou art my Son,"-The only Line!

Take for inheritance the earth!
"Thou art my Son," My all is Thine,
The rightful treasures of Thy Birth !

The sceptre of Thy hand shall smite
Them who rebel against Thy laws,—
Like strokes of iron when they light
And dash the potter's work to flaws.

O just decree,―ye princes rise,

Confess His claims, receive His words, Be ye instructed, O be wise,

He's King of kings, and Lord of lords.

Kiss Him! Embracings of the heart,
Tears of the spirit, speak your love!
Ye die if wrath-flake on you dart!

How blessed do all, who trust him, prove!

PSALM THE NINETEENTH.

JEHOVAH'S glory brightly streams

Where suns and planets sweep their march,—

Blent yet diffused, as are the beams

They scatter round this azure arch.

Day, like a herald, lifts its shout,—
Still caught by day, the news resounds!

Night, silent monitress, holds out

Her scroll and all its skill expounds!

Onward from earth, through all those spheres, Peals deep and long the echoing line,—