F A PRAYER FOR CONTENTMENT. GREAT Lord of all things! Power Divine! Teach me to bless my lowly lot, Remote from regal state; Content to court the cooling glade, No anxious vigils, here I keep, Nor lead my heart astray; Nor blasting envy's tainted gale Pollutes the pleasure of the vale, Yon tower which rears its head so high Invites the hostile winds: Yon branching oak, extending wide, Then let me shun the ambitious deed, Lord, in thy sure protection blest, And may thy will be done! MORE'S SACRED DRAMAS. THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS. A MANTLE of leaves had enshrouded the rose, As I wandered, I came to a night-blowing flower. All others, their robes and their odours forsaking, Twas a glorious flower! its corolla of white, And lonely and fair, through the shades of the night, And methought, as I look'd, what an emblem is this, Thus blooming afar from the land of its birth, Of Him whose own land is a region of bliss, Though he grew as a plant in this garden of earth. 'Twas thus, while the world all around him was dim, That he shone with love's purest and loveliest ray; 'Twas thus, in the garden so honour'd by him, That night, through his fragrance, was richer than day. Like the flowers, his disciples at midnight were sleeping, And deep were their slumbers, unconscious of care, While he, in the blood of his agony weeping, To his Father was breathing the sweetness of prayer. J. A. W. LOVE NEVER FAILETH. THEY err, who tell us Love can die,— In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Its holy flame for ever burneth, From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. At times deceived, at times opprest, Then hath in heaven its perfect rest: SOUTHEY. THOU GOD SEEST ME. I'm not too young for God to see, He knows my name and nature too; And sees my actions through and through. He listens to the words I say, And knows the thoughts I have within ; Oh! how could children tell a lie, Then when I wish to do amiss, PRAYER FOR A LITTLE CHILD. GREAT GOD! and wilt thou condescend, Art Thou my Father ?-Canst thou bear Or wilt thou listen to the praise Art Thou my Father ?-Let me be Art Thou my Father?-I'll depend Art Thou my Father?-Then at last, MY FATHER'S NAME. My Father's Name-my Father's Name, How hallowed and how dear; That sound, it fell like melody Upon my listening ear. What though a stranger spoke his praise, So exquisite it came, At once I loved him as a Friend, It was my Father's Name. |