Who land and ocean cross'd,

Led by a load-star, mark'd on high

By Faith's unseen, all-seeing eye, —
To seek and save the lost;
Where'er the curse on Adam spread,
To call his offspring from the dead.

Strong in the great Redeemer's name, They bore the cross, despised the shame ;

And, like their Master here,

Wrestled with danger, pain, distress,

Hunger, and cold, and nakedness,

And every form of fear

To feel his love their only joy,

To tell that love, their sole employ

O Thou, who wast in Bethlehem born,
The man of sorrows and of scorn,

Jesus, the sinners' Friend!

L

O Thou, enthroned, in filial right,

Above all creature-power and might;

Whose kingdom shall extend,

Till earth, like heaven, thy name shall fill, And men, like angels, do thy will: —

Thou, whom I love, but cannot see,

My Lord, my God! look down on me ;
My low affections raise;

The spirit of liberty impart,

Enlarge my soul, inflame my heart,

And, while I spread thy praise,
Shine on my path, in mercy shine,
Prosper my work and make it thine.

NIGHT.

NIGHT is the time for rest

How sweet, when labours close,

To gather round an aching breast

Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head

Down on our own delightful bed!

Night is the time for dreams;

The gay romance of life,

When truth that is, and truth that seems,

Mix in fantastic strife:

Ah! visions, less beguiling far

Than waking dreams by daylight are!

Night is the time for toil;

To plough the classic field,

Intent to find the buried spoil

Its wealthy furrows yield;

Till all is ours that sages taught,

That poets sang, and heroes wrought.

Night is the time to weep;

To wet with unseen tears

Those graves of memory, where sleep

The joys of other years;

Hopes, that were Angels at their birth,

But died when young like things of earth.

Night is the time to watch;

O'er ocean's dark expanse,

To hail the Pleiades, or catch

The full moon's earliest glance,

That brings into the home-sick mind

All we have loved and left behind.

Night is the time for care;

Brooding on hours mispent,

To see the spectre of Despair,

Come to our lonely tent;

Like Brutus, 'midst his slumbering host,

Summon'd to die by Cæsar's ghost.

Night is the time to think;

When, from the eye, the soul

Takes flight, and, on the utmost brink

Of yonder starry pole,

Discerns beyond the abyss of night

The dawn of uncreated light.

Night is the time to pray;

Our Saviour oft withdrew

To desert mountains far away;

So will his follower do,

Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,

And commune there alone with God.