LONGING FOR HOME.

A Thought at the Close of a Week. AND now another week is past,

And I one week am nearer come; Fly swift, ye hours; convey me fast

To my long wish'd for, dearest home. Far from my father's house, its true, Yet frequent tokens of his love, And kind memorials, not a few,

Oft I receive from him above.

Sometimes he deigns to visit me,

And with his grace my heart to cheer: But oh! I long unceasingly

To dwell at home, and see him there! His love has plac'd me in this school, Where ev'ry lesson of his grace, And all the discipline and rule,

Are to prepare me for that place.
Soon as his plans are all complete,

And I am perfected in love;
Soon as his grace has made me meet
For my inheritance above,
He'll call me from my banish'd state,
And take me to my blissful home.
Then wait, my soul, in patience wait;
Soon will his glorious chariot come.

I ascend

SONNE T.

W. B.

unto my FATHER! that name is music to my ear! My heart reverb'rates at the cheering

Father and your Father.

sound:

Blessed Spirit! Heavenly Dove!
Thee I'd slight not, thee I love;
By thy pow'r, and thine alone,
The value of these gifts I've known.
C

THE POOR BLIND.

A Morning Reflection,

Be glad, my soul; the gloomy night
Has now her rule resign'd:
Rehold mine eyes! the grateful light
Returns again to bless thy sight,

But visits not the blind.

The morn may make the sun arise,
And these no pleasure find;
Then let me well thy mercies prize,
Thank my kind Maker for my eyes,
And pity the poor blind.

They pity claim; but more, much more,
The man of darken'd mind,
This hard lot mouros o'er and o'er;
This his sad case does not deplore,
Nor knows that he is blind.

Christians, who yourselves of late,
In darkness were confin'd;
Can you forget your dismal state;
A Saviour's love so free, so great,
That pity'd you when blind.
"No," you reply, while life remains ;
His grace we'll call to mind:
We'll publish too in joyful strains,
Jesus still lives, and grace still reigns,
In pity to the blind

I greet ye, Missionary bands,

I pray, May God uphold the hands
In pure compassion join'd;
That carry life to dying lands,

And light to sinners blind.

Go on, ye highly favour'd still,
The shades begin to flee;
Go on till light all nations fill,
And (if it were Heav'n's sov`reign will)
Till all the blind shall see.

To the Editor.

DEAR SIR,

The music of Handel, as in most of his compositions, was adapted not merely to the metre but to the sense of the old ver sion of Psalm civ. I have heard, that on occasion of a new version of the Psalms, a premium was once advertised for a new translation ofthat Psalm in theold metre, but that the object was not accomplished. In the following lines I have attempted a more literal, as well as a more modern transfusion of the original into the English language,-adhering to the metre to which Handel's admirable tune was adapted. The whole psalm being too copious for your Miscellany, I have been limited to the first thirteen verses; adding, at the close, what appeared requisite to accommodate the Ode of the Jewish prophet to the use of evangelical worshippers.

PSALM CIV.

ADOKE, O my soul, Jehovah's great name! With majesty cloth'd, and matchless in faine :

The sun's dazzling lustre his robe he hath made;

The heav'ns are a curtain, his glories to shade.

The fathomless deep his mansion sustains; His chariot, the clouds, he guides or re

strain::

The wind's sounding pinions his footsteps proclaim;

His envoys are spirits, his ministers flame.
He founded the earth immovably fast;
Yet summon'd the floods its form to lay

waste:

The loftiest mountains in waves were immers'd;

He spoke by his thunders, the waters dispers'd.

They mounted the hills, thy call to attend; Rebuk'd by thy voice, the vales they, descend;

Retire to their channels, and haste to the deep,

Its limits appointed for ever to keep. The earth thus renew'd, he waters from high;

Of beasts tame and wild, the thirst to supply:

The springs, at his mandate gush forth from the hills,

And wind through the valleys, uniting their rills.

The birds of the heav'ns, there find a re

treat

And pour through the groves their melodies sweet:

For this God is our God for ever and ever; he will be our Guide even unto Death.-Psalm xlviii. 14.

COULD I say, "This God is mine,"
With a confidence divine,
Surely, I no more should rove,
Seeking any meaner love.
He all mercy is, and grace,
Heav'n shines beaming in his face;
Were I settled in his love,
Sure, I never more should reve.
O would he this truth reveal,
And stamp it with his heavenly seal,
Surely, till I soar'd above,
Nothing could my spirit move.

Cursed sin wert thou forgiv'n,
I should have a present Heav'n!
Would my God this veil remove,
I should see his name is Love!

SUNDAY SCHOOL HYMN,
Sung at Paradise Street Chapel,
Birmingham.

Father of Heav'n, to thee we raise
The cheerful notes of solemn praise:
Bless'd be thy name, thou God of love,
By all on earth, by all above.
Thy tender mercy saw us lie
Oppress'd with sin and misery;
Pity'd our helpless, hopeless grief,
And sent thy Son to our relief.
O bless'd Redeemer, who can tell
Thy love in saving us from Hell?
Christ dy'd for us, for us he rose ;
And rising conquer'd all our foes.
Now kindly Jesus doth receive
Poor children who his word believe:
"Forbid them not, my grace is free;
"Let little children come to me.'
While here we live, we'll spend our breath
In praising Jesus; and when Death
Shall close cur lips, our song shall rise,
In nobler strains, above the skies.
O richly bless our friends, we pray,
Who give to our support to-day;
For gold and silver giv'n below,
Eternal life do thou bestow.

w.w