2 To spread the rays of heavenly light,
To give the mourner joy,

To preach glad tidings to the poor,
Was his divine employ.

3 'Midst keen reproach and cruel scorn,
Patient and meek he stood;
His foes, ungrateful, sought his life;
He labored for their good.

4 In the last hour of deep distress, Before his Father's throne,

With soul resigned he bowed, and said, "Thy will, not mine, be done!"

5 Be Christ our pattern and our guide! His image may we bear!

O may we tread his holy steps,
His joy and glory share!

L.M.

260.

The Pool of Bethesda.

BARTON.

1 AROUND Bethesda's healing wave,
Waiting to hear the rustling wing
Which spoke the angel nigh who gave
Its virtue to that holy spring,

With patience and with hope endued,
Were seen the gathered multitude.

2 Had they who watched and waited there
Been conscious who was passing by,
With what unceasing, anxious care
Would they have sought his pitying eye;
And craved, with fervency of soul,

His power divine to make them whole!

3 Bethesda's pool has lost its power!
No angel, by his glad descent,
Dispenses that diviner dower

Which with its healing waters went.
But He whose word surpassed its wave
Is still omnipotent to save.

4 Saviour! thy love is still the same
As when that healing word was spoke;
Still in thine all-redeeming name

Dwells power to burst the strongest yoke;
O be that power, that love displayed,
Help those whom thou alone canst aid!

L. M.

261.

"It is I; be not afraid."

SIR J. E. SMITH.

1 WHEN power divine, in mortal form,
Hushed with a word the raging storm,
In soothing accents Jesus said,
"Lo, it is I; be not afraid."

2 So when in silence nature sleeps,
And his lone watch the mourner keeps,
One thought shall every pang remove;
Trust, feeble man, thy Maker's love.

3 Blest be the voice that breathes from heaven To every heart in sunder riven,

When love, and joy, and hope, are fled, "Lo, it is I; be not afraid."

4 God calms the tumult and the storm; He rules the seraph and the worm; No creature is by him forgot,

Of those who know or know him not.

And when the last dread hour shall come,
While shuddering Nature waits her doom,
This voice shall call the pious dead,-
"Lo, it is I; be not afraid."

C. M.

262.

MRS. HEMANS.

"Peace! be still!"

I FEAR was within the tossing bark,
When stormy winds grew loud,
And waves came rolling high and dark,
And the tall mast was bowed.

2 And men stood breathless in their dread,
And baffled in their skill;

But One was there, who rose and said
To the wild sea, "Be still!"

And the wind ceased; it ceased! that word
Passed through the gloomy sky,
The troubled billows knew their Lord,
And sank beneath his eye.

4 Thou that didst rule the angry hour,
And tame the tempest's mood,
O send thy Spirit forth in power
O'er our dark souls to brood!

5 Thou that didst bow the billows' pride,
Thy mandates to fulfil,

Speak, speak, to passion's raging tide,
Speak, and say, "Peace! be still!"

78. M.

263.

MILMAN.

He rebuked the Wind and the Sea.

1 LORD! thou didst arise and say To the troubled waters, Peace!

And the tempest died away;
Down they sank, the foaming seas,
And a calm and heaving sleep
Spread o'er all the glassy deep;
All the azure lake serene

Like another heaven was seen.

2 Lord! thy gracious word repeat
To the billows of the proud!
Quell the tyrant's martial heat,
Quell the fierce and changing crowd!
Then the earth shall find repose
From oppressions, and from woes;
And an imaged heaven appear

In the world of darkness here.

"Greater love hath no man than this."

1"SEE how he loved!" exclaimed the Jews, As tender tears from Jesus fell;

My grateful heart the thought pursues,
And on the theme delights to dwell.

2 See how he loved, who travelled on,
Teaching the doctrine from the skies;
Who bade discase and pain be gone,
And called the sleeping dead to rise.
3 See how he loved, who, firm yet mild,
Patient endured the scoffing tongue;
Though oft provoked, he ne'er reviled,
Or did his greatest foe a wrong.

4 See how he loved, who never shrank
From toil or danger, pain or death;
Who all the cup of sorrow drank,
And meekly yielded up his breath.

5 Such love can we unmoved survey? O may our breasts with ardor glow, To tread his steps, his laws obey, And thus our warm affections show!

1 THE winds were howling o'er the deep, Each wave a watery hill:

The Saviour wakened from his sleep; He spake, and all was still.

2 The madman in a tomb had made
His mansion of despair:

Woe to the traveller who strayed,
With heedless footsteps, there!

3 He met that glance so thrilling sweet,
He heard those accents mild;
And, melting at Messiah's feet,
Wept like a weaned child.

4 O madder than the raving man!
O deafer than the sea!

How long the time since Christ began To call in vain to me!

5 Yet could I hear him once again,
As I have heard of old,

Methinks he should not call in vain
His wanderer to the fold.

L. M.

266.

RUSSELL.

"He hath not where to lay his head."

1 O'ER the dark wave of Galilee

The gloom of twilight gathers fast,