There rung the hammer's heavy stroke among the echoing rocks,

There chased the chisel's keen, sharp edge, the rude, unshapen blocks.

Thence polished. perfected, complete, each fitted to its place,

For lofty coping, massive wall, or deep imbedded base, They bore them o'er the waves that rolled their billowy swell between

The shores of Tyre's imperial pride and Judah's hills of green.

With gradual toil the work went on, through days and months and years,

Beneath the summer's laughing sun, and winter's frozen tears;

And thus in majesty sublime and noiseless pomp it rose,-
Fit dwelling for the God of Peace! a temple of repose!

this.

Brethren in Christ! to holier things the simple type apply;
Our God himself a temple builds, eternal and on high,
Of souls elect; their Zion there—that world of light and
bliss;

Their Lebanon—the place of toil—of previous moulding—

From nature's quarries, deep and dark, with gracious aim he hews

The stones, the spiritual stones, it pleaseth him to choose: Hard, rugged, shapeless at the first, yet destined each to shine,

Moulded beneath his patient hand, in purity divine.

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Oh, glorious process! see the proud grow lowly, gentle, meek;

THE SPIRITUAL TEMPLE.

See floods of unaccustomed tears gush down the hardened cheek:

Perchance the hammer's heavy stroke o'erthrew some idol fond;

Perchance the chisel rent in twain some precious, tender bond.

Behold he prays whose lips were sealed in silent scorn before;

Sighs for the closet's holy calm, and hails the welcome door; Behold he works for Jesus now, whose days went idly past: Oh! for more mouldings of the hand that works a change so vast!

Ye looked on one, a well-wrought stone, a saint of God matured,

What chiselings that heart had felt, what chastening strokes endured!

But marked ye not that last soft touch, what perfect grace it gave,

Ere Jesus bore his servant home, across the darksome wave?—

Home to the place his grace designed that chosen soul to fill, In the bright temple of the saved, "upon his holy hill;" Home to the noiselessness, the peace of those sweet shrines above,

Whose stones shall never be displaced-set in redeeming love.

Lord, chisel, chasten, polish us, each blemish work away,
Cleanse us with purifying blood, in spotless robes array;
And thus, thine image on us stamped, transport us to the
shore,

Where not a stroke is ever felt, for none is needed more.
J. T.

Soul and Body.

A SONNET.

POOR

OOR soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Foiled by those r hel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,

Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,

Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,

And let that pine, to aggravate thy store! By terms divine in selling hours of dross !

Within be fed, without be rich no more! So shalt thou feed on death that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

The Lord the Good Shepherd.

THE

HE Lord is my Shepherd, no want shall I know;
I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest;
He leadeth my soul where the still waters flow,

Restores me when wandering, redeems when oppressed.

Through the valley and shadow of death though I stray,
Since thou art my guardian, no evil I fear;
Thy rod shall defend me, thy staff be my stay;

No harm can befall with my Comforter near.

In the midst of affliction my table is spread ;
With blessings unmeasured my cup runneth o'er;
With perfume and oil thou anointest my head;

O! what shall I ask of thy providence more?

O SAVIOUR, WHOSE MERCY.

Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful God!
Still follow my steps till I meet thee above:
I seek, by the path which my forefathers trod

Through the land of their sojourn, thy kingdom of love.
JAMES MONTGOMERY.

O Saviour! whose Mercy.

SAVIOUR! whose mercy, severe in its kindness,

Hath chastened my wanderings and guided my way, Adored be the power that illumined my blindness, And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray.

Enchanted with all that was dazzling and fair,

I followed the rainbow, I caught at the toy; And still in displeasure thy goodness was there, Disappointing the hope and defeating the joy.

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The blossom blushed bright, but a worm was below;

The moonlight shone fair, there was blight in the beam; Sweet whispered the breeze-but it whispered of woe; And bitterness flowed in the soft-flowing stream.

So cured of my folly, yet cured but in part,

I turned to the refuge thy pity displayed; And still did this eager and credulous heart

Weave visions of promise that bloomed but to fade.

I thought that the course of the pilgrim to heaven
Would be bright as the summer, and glad as the morn :-
Thou show'dst me the path; it was dark and uneven,
All rugged with rock, and all tangled with thorn.

I dreamed of celestial rewards and renown,

I grasped at the triumph that blesses the brave;
I asked for the palm-branch, the robe and the crown,
I asked-and thou show'dst me a cross and a grave!

Subdued and instructed, at length to thy will
My hopes and my wishes I freely resign;
O, give me a heart that can wait and be still,
Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine.

There are mansions exempted from sin and from woe,
But they stand in a region by mortals untrod;
There are rivers of joy, but they roll not below;
There is rest, but 'tis found in the bosom of God.
SIR ROBERT GRANT.

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Tempted like as we are."

WHEN

HEN gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who not in vain
Experienced every human pain:

He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.

If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the ill I would not do,

Still He who felt temptation's power
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.

If wounded love my bosom swell,
Deceived by those I prized too well,
He shall his pitying aid bestow
Who felt on earth severer woe;
At once betrayed, denied, or fled,
By those who shared his daily bread.