Teach me in health each good to prize,
I, dying, shall esteem;

And every pleasure to despise,
I then shall worthless deem.

Morning Light.

359

Morn.

REV. CHARLES WESLEY.

'HRIST, whose glory fills the skies,

CHR

Christ, the true, the only Light, Sun of Righteousness, arise,

Triumph o'er the shades of night! Day-spring from on high be near, Day-star in my heart appear.

Dark and cheerless is the morn
Unaccompanied by Thee ;
Joyless is the day's return,

Till Thy mercy's beams I see,
Till they inward light impart,

Glad my eyes, and warm my heart.

Visit, then, this soul of mine;

Pierce the gloom of sin and grief;

Fill me, Radiancy Divine,

Scatter all my unbelief!

More and more Thyself display,
Shining to the perfect day!

L

Morning Light.

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

ORD God of morning and of night,

We thank Thee for Thy gift of light;

As in the dawn the shadows fly,

We seem to find Thee now more nigh.

Ah, Lord! with tardy steps I creep,
And sometimes sing, and sometimes weep;
Yet strip me of this house of clay,
And I will sing as loud as they.

Jerusalem, my Happy Home.

J

ANONYMOUS.

ERUSALEM, my happy home!

Name ever dear to me!

When shall my labours have an end,

In joy, and peace, and thee?

When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls

And pearly gates behold;

Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,

And streets of shining gold?

Oh when, thou city of my God,
Shall I thy courts ascend;
Where congregations ne'er break up
And Sabbaths have no end?

Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there

Around my Saviour stand;
And soon my friends in Christ below
Will join the glorious band.

Jerusalem, my happy home!

My soul still pants for thee;

Then shall my labours have an end,
When I thy joys shall see.

Christ's Followers.

351

Praise the Lord.

REV. HENRY FRANCIS LYTE.

PRAISE the Lord, His glories show,

Saints within His courts below,

Angels round His throne above,

All that see and share His love.
Earth to heaven, and heaven to earth,
Tell His wonders, sing His worth
Age to age, and shore to shore,
Praise Him, praise Him, evermore !

Praise the Lord, His mercies trace;
Praise His providence and grace,
All that He for man hath done,
All He sends us through His Son :
Strings and voices, hands and hearts,
In the concert bear your parts;
All that breathe, your Lord adore,
Praise Him, praise Him, evermore!

Christ's Followers.

BISHOP REGINALD HEBER.

THE

HE Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain;

His blood-red banner streams afar:
Who follows in His train ?

Who best can drink His cup of

Triumphant over pain,

woe,

Who patient bears His cross below,
He follows in His train.

The martyr, first, whose eagle eye
Could pierce beyond the grave;
Who saw his Master in the sky,
And call'd on Him to save.

Like Him, with pardon on his tongue,
In midst of mortal pain,

He pray'd for them that did the wrong:
Who follows in his train?

A glorious band, the chosen few,
On whom the Spirit came;

Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,
And mock'd the cross and flame.

They met the tyrant's brandish'd steel,

The lion's gory mane;

They bow'd their necks the death to feel:
Who follows in their train ?

A noble army, men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,
In robes of light array'd.

They climb'd the steep ascent of heaven.
Through peril, toil, and pain;

O God! to us may grace be given

To follow in their train!