But when JESUS, LORD of heaven,
He whom Saints with love adore,
Kindly says to man, forgiven,

(6 Go, thou contrite-sin no more—”

Radiant beauty he discloses,

While he saves from sorrow's doom; Sweeter than the blush of roses,

Fairer than the lily's bloom.

THY KINGDOM COME.

WHATE'ER invites us to the throne,
Or brings the contrite, Lord, to thee,
In social worship, or alone,

Still may the supplication be

Thy kingdom come.

By missions let thy gospel spread,
Let India hear the Shepherd's voice,
Awake the nations of the dead,

Bid islands of the sea rejoice:

Thy kingdom come.

By schools of grace, where heathen youth, Gathered from crime, of Jesus hear,Where stubborn hearts, subdued by truth, Bestow the penitential tear,

Thy kingdom come.

By tracts with inspiration fraught,
Blessed messengers to him afar,
Who 'nighted and forlorn, is brought
To welcome Judah's rising Star,
Thy kingdom come.

By bibles, sent to distant lands,
Thy own imperishable word,
Uniting earth in kindred bands,
Spreading the empire of our God,

Thy kingdom come.

By all the prayers thy saints below
Have rendered, and before yon shrine,
Of those that rob'd in glory bow,
O come, and be the victory thine,
Thy kingdom come.

By all the love thou did'st proclaim For Him on whom the curse was laid, Who meekly bore our sin and shame, Grant thou the plea, for Jesus prayed Thy kingdom come.

THERE IS A HARP.

THERE is a harp whose thrilling sound, Swells through the choir of heaven above, 'Mid the blue arch the notes resound, And angels catch the strains of love.

'Tis when some spirit from these spheres,
On viewless pinions wings its way,
And pure, before the throne appears,
In robes of bright ethereal day.

Hark, the glad shout of sacred joy,
In choral numbers loud and long:
The angelic hosts their harps employ,
The cherub wakes his noblest song.

The joyful news in heaven is known,
The seraphim their voices raise;
While the redeemed around the throne,
Swell the sweet symphony of praise.

LINES

ON READING MRS. BARBAULD'S POEMS.

BARBAULD! what sweetness breathes along thy line,
How pure the offerings at rich fancy's shrine;
A hallowed warmth inspires the pleasing lay,
'Tis Virtue's floweret strews the Muse's way.
The heavenly nymph appears with added charms,
New graces win us, willing, to her arms;
Who can resist the fascinating voice?

When thus she pleads, who hesitate in choice?