I cannot live without thy light,
Cast out and banish'd from thy sight:
Thy holy joys, my God, restore,
And guard me that I fall no more.

O may thy love inspire my tongue!
Salvation shall be all my song;

And all my powers shall join to bless
The Lord, my strength and righteousness.

LIGHT!

Mrs. Sigourney.

LIGHT for the dreary vales

Of ice-bound Labrador!

Where the frost-king breathes on the slippery sails, And the mariner wakes no more;

Lift high the lamp that never fails

To that dark and sterile shore.

Light for the forest child!

An outcast though he be

From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smiled And the country of the free;

Pour the hope of Heaven o'er his desert wild,

For what hope on earth has he?

Light for the hills of Grace!

Light for that trampled clime,

Where the rage of the spoiler refuse to cease

Ere it wreck'd the boast of time;

If the Moslem hath dealt the gift of peace,

Can ye grudge your boon sublime?

Light on the Hindoo shed!

On the maddening idol train;
The flame of the suttee is dire and red,
And the fakir faints with pain,

And the dying moan on their cheerless bed,
By the Ganges laved in vain.

Light for the Persian sky!

The Sophi's wisdom fades,

And the pearls of Ormus are poor to buy
Armour when death invades ;

Hark! hark!-'tis the Christian wanderer's sigh
From Ararat's mournful shades.

Light for the Burman vales !

For the islands of the sea!

For the coast where the slave-ship fills its sails With sighs of agony,

And her kidnapp'd babes the mother wails 'Neath the lone banana-tree!

Light for the ancient race

Exiled from Zion's rest!

Homeless they roam from place to place
Benighted and oppress'd.

They shudder at Sinai's fearful base—
Guide them to Calvary's breast.

Light for the darken'd earth!

Ye bless'd, its beams who shed,

Shrink not till the day-spring hath its birth,

Till wherever the footsteps of man doth tread, Salvation's banner, spread broadly forth,

Shall gild the dream of the cradle-bed,

And clear the tomb

From its lingering gloom,

For the aged to rest his weary head.

"COME, YE DISCONSOLATE."

COME, ye disconsolate! where'er you languish,
Come to the mercy-seat, fervently kneel;
Here bring your wounded heart, here tell your anguish,
Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,
Hope of the penitent, fadeless and pure;
Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying,
Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure.

"MY JESUS, AS THOU WILT."

Schmalk.

My Jesus, as thou wilt!

Oh! may thy will be mine!

Into thy hand of love

I would my all resign ;

Through sorrow, or through joy,
Conduct me as thine own,

And help me still to say,
My Lord, thy will be done.

My Jesus, as thou wilt!

Though seen through many a tear, Let not my star of hope

Grow dim or disappear;
Since thou on earth hast wept,
And sorrowed oft alone,

If I must weep with thee,
My Lord, thy will be done.

My Jesus, as thou wilt!

All shall be well for me;
Each changing future scene,
I gladly trust with thee;
Then to my home above
I calmly travel on,
And sing in life or death,

My Lord, thy will be done.

DEAD, YET UNDIVIDED.

Charles Smain.

THEY are together still

The parted yet are one!
The love our being's home can fill,

Although the loved be gone.
The mystery of the spirit's birth
Out-fathoms human skill:

Though one's in heaven, and one on earth, They are together still.

For there's a feeling that unites
The distant and the dead;

The last sweet bloom that winter blights
Yet leaves the odour shed.

And thus affection lives beyond
Death's dark and withering will;
No power hath he to part the fond,
They meet in spirit still.

In quiet thought, in lonely prayer,
That spirit all pervades ;

It lends a glory to the air
Where every spirit fades.
It circles all with holiness,

It blunts the barb of ill,
And e'en the parted it can bless,
And link together still.

THOU HAST BEEN MY REFUGE.

Searle.

OH, strange infirmity, to think
That He will leave my soul to sink
In darkness and distress,

Who has appeared in times of old,
Who saved me when the billows roll'd,
And cheered me with his grace.

What sweeter pledge could God bestow
Of help in future scenes of woe,
Than grace already given ?