Fresh hopes have waken'd in our hearts,
Fresh energy to do our parts ;

Thy thousand sleeps our strength restore,
A thousandfold to serve Thee more.

Yet whilst Thy will we would pursue,
Oft what we would we cannot do ;
The sun may stand in zenith skies,
But on the soul thick midnight lies.

O Lord of lights! 'tis Thou alone

Canst make our darken'd hearts Thine own:
Though this new day with joy we see,
O Dawn of God! we cry for Thee!

Praise God, our Maker and our Friend! Praise Him through time, till time shall end! Till psalm and song His Name adore Through Heaven's great day of Evermore!

F

On Going to Labour.

REV. CHARLES WESLEY.

`ORTH in Thy Name, O Lord, I go,

My daily labour to pursue,

Thee, only Thee, resolved to know,
In all I think, or speak, or do.

The task Thy wisdom hath assign'd
Oh, let me cheerfully fulfil;
In all my works Thy presence find,

And prove Thine acceptable will.

The Morning Hymn.

Preserve me from my calling's snare,

And hide my simple heart above, Above the thorns of choking care,

The gilded baits of worldly love.

Thee may I set at my right hand,

Whose eyes mine inmost substance see, And labour on at Thy command,

And offer all my works to Thee.

Give me to bear Thy easy yoke,

And every moment watch and pray; And still to things eternal look,

And hasten to Thy glorious day.

For Thee delightfully employ

Whate'er Thy bounteous grace hath given,

And run my course with even joy,

And closely walk with Thee to Heaven.

The Morning Hymn.

BISHOP THOMAS KEN.

AWAKE, my soul, and with the sun

Thy daily stage of duty run ;

Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise
To pay Thy morning sacrifice.

Thy precious time mis-spent redeem ;
Each present day thy last esteem;
Improve thy talent with due care;
For the great day thyself prepare.

In conversation be sincere ;

Keep conscience as the noontide clear;
Think how all-seeing God thy ways
And all thy secret thoughts surveys.

361

By influence of the light divine
Let thy own light to others shine;
Reflect all Heaven's propitious rays,
In ardent love and cheerful praise.

Wake and lift up thyself, my heart,
And with the angels bear thy part,
Who, all night long, unwearied sing
High praise to the Eternal King.

Awake! Awake! Ye heavenly choir,
May your devotion me inspire,
That I, like you, my age may spend,
Like you may on my God attend!

May I, like you, in God delight,
Have all day long my God in sight,
Perform like you my Maker's will!
Oh, may I never more do ill!

Had I your wings, to heaven I'd fly;
But God shall that defect supply;
And my soul, wing'd with warm desire,
Shall all day long to Heaven aspire.

All praise to Thee, who safe hast kept,
And hast refresh'd me whilst I slept !
Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake,
I may of endless light partake!

I would not wake, nor rise again,
Even Heaven itself I would disdain,
Wert Thou not there to be enjoy'd,
And I in hymns to be employ'd!

Heaven is, dear Lord, where'er Thou art; Oh, never then from me depart !

The Happy Life.

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For, to my soul, 'tis hell to be

But for one moment void of Thee.

Lord, I my vows to Thee renew;
Disperse my sins as morning dew;

Guard my first springs of thought and will,
And with Thyself my spirit fill.

Direct, control, suggest this day

All I design, or do, or say;

That all my powers with all their might
In Thy sole glory may unite.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow ;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

The Happy Life.

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

HOW happy is he born and taught

That serveth not another's will;

Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill;

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the worldly care

Of public fame or private breath ;

Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray,
More of His grace than gifts to lend,
And entertains the harmless day,

With a religious book or friend.

This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.

The Evening Hymn.

BISHOP THOMAS KEN.

ALL praise to Thee, my God, this night,

For all the blessings of the light;

Keep me, oh keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thine own Almighty wings!

Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ill that I this day have done;
That with the world, myself, and Thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

may dread

Teach me to live, that
The grave as little as my bed!
To die, that this vile body may
Rise glorious at the awful day!

O may my soul on Thee repose;
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close;