The yoke is forced upon our necks,
Its galling weight it doth perplex,
And know not what will be the next-
Perhaps the battle cry.

"O save our Nation!" is our song, Though we are many thousand strong, Yet nothing can avenge the wrong, Without thy helping hand

If we like Israel of old,

Suffer thy wrath, which has been told, May we like them be ever bold

And conquer through thy name.

This Nation 's towered in thy sight, Because she trusted in thy might, Therefore, we pray, take not thy flightNor leave us in dispair,

Long have we lived in thine embrace,
And many mercies we can trace,
To Thee in every clime and place-
With over-flowing love.

Still may our hearts to thee o'er-flow, With grateful praise while here below, And if our foes should down us throwWe still will cling to thee.

Therefore great sovereign we will pray, That we may walk the narrow way, Should our vile natures lead astrayThou only can forgive,

Should Slavery's arrant power yet crush,

Our once free Nation in the dust,
We like the Jews will say we must-
Weep o'er this happy land.

Р

Down sat by Babylon's cold stream,
With heart-felt sense in the extreme,
From careworn cheeks te tears did teem-
In past remembrance sweet.

But thou canst still our cause defend,
And may we on thy grace depend,
Be thou alone our guardian friend-
And we desire no more.

We thank thee, Lord for peaceful days,
Our lot was cast under thy rays,

O fill our hearts with prayer and praise-
The glory shall be thine.

Though Kings and Presidents proclaim,
The people's rights they do disdain,
In pride and selfishness to gain-

Honors they shoul not share.

A. H.

HIMSELF HATH DONE IT!

Himself hath done it, all-O! how those words,
Should hush to silence every murmuring thought!
Himself hath done it-He who loves me best,
He who my soul with his own blood hath bought.

Himself hath done it-Can it then be ought,

Than full of wisdom, full of tenderest love? Not one unneeded sorrow will He send,

To teach this wandering heart no more to rove.

Himself hath done it-Yes, although severe,
May seem the stroke, and bitter be the cup,
Tis His own hand that holds it, and I know
He'll give me grace to meekly drink it up.

Himself hath done it-O! no arm but His,
Could e'er sustain beneath earth's dreary lot;
But while I know He's doing all things well,
My heart His loving kindness questions not.

Himself hath done it--He who 's searched me through,
Sees how I cleave to earth's ensnaring ties;
And so He breaks each reed on which my soul,
Too much for happiness and joy relies.

Himself hath done it-He would have me see
What broken cisterns human friends must prove;
That I may turn and quench my burning thirst,
At his own fount of everlasting love.

Himself hath done it-Then I fain would say:
Thy will in all things evermore be done;
E'en though that will remove whom best I love,
While Jesus lives I cannot be alone.

Himself hath done it-precious, precious words;
Himself, my Father, Saviour, Brother, Friend:
Whose faithfulness no variation knows,

Who, having loved me, loves me to the end.

And when, in his eternal presence blest,
I at His feet my crown immortal cast,
I'll gladly own, with all his ransomed Saints,
Himself hath done it-all, from first to last.

THOUGHTS ON DEATH.

What is death? It is the separation of soul and body. It is the laying down our corruptable part, to dissolve into its native dust, and our spirits to return to him who gave them; the body is sown a natural one and is raised a spiritual body, for flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kingdom of Heaven-therefore it must be dissolved in the grave, and then raised in a situation fitted to dwell with Christ forever, and forever, or sink beneath his wrath, for as the tree falls, so it will lie, for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge in the grave, whither we go.

When we sow our fields, we expect the seed sown, to die:-as the Apostle saith: "Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it die. For this corruptible, must put on incorruption, and this mortal put on immortality." Death is called the last enemy, because our natures struggle for the last time. It is also called the gate of endless joy to the Saint. There is a sting in death from which our natures recoil. "This sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the Law;" but there is a victory to be obtained over death: ("O death where is thy sting? O grave where is thy victory?")-did the Saints but realize that when they were unclothed, they could as is supposed see their former associates, and the ancient Saints, and not only them but the Lord Jesus Christ;-but now we see through a glass darkly, that is our flesh. Why will we dread or fear to enter into Jordon's cold streams; or stand on the brink shivering? fearing to launch away? It is no wonder we tremble when we have our senses, and see ourselves standing as it were, in both worlds and hearing the angel say that time with us shall be no longer; we can hardly help looking back on our unprofitable and sinful lives, and say: How can we be saved? No other way, only in and through the blood and righteousness of our Saviour, the Redeemer of mankind.

Shall we not give glory to the name of Jesus, for opening up a way whereby we can be saved from eternal destruction? May our souls enter into a survey of Divine Providence, or grace, towards us; for while we were undone by sin, God looked upon us with a pitying eye and said, live! O thou spirit of wisdom, and love, and pity, accept of a thank-offering from a heart not altogether ignorant of thy mercies. He hath forgiven me ten thouand offences. Open thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth thy praise. O that thou wouldst search me and know my heart, and let me break forth into a song of praise! Let our thoughts be often on death, that when we feel his cold hand pass over our extremeties first, and then reach for our vital part, we may be calm and our minds serene in the trying hour, and trust in him who does all things well. He has said in his word he will never leave nor forsake such as put their confidence in him.

He knows that it is not good for us to live always here. It is declared that we are strangers and pilgrims here below, and it is a blessing to the Saint, to lay down this tabernabcle of clay, which is full of pain and disease, which are the seeds of death, and when it is grown, or arrived at maturity, then comes the sentence: "Thou shalt surely die." The flaming sword is set in the garden to prevent from "Partaking of the Tree of life and living forever." Thus we see that disease and death are affixed to our mortal part, and there is no escape.

But to the sinner this is sad indeed! for there is no change in the grave; as the tree falls so it lies; an increase of sorrow and pain, the worm that never dies is gnawing his guilty conscience, and in dispair, waiting for a fiercer doom. O sinner, that you should flee from the wrath to come! Strive to enter into the straight gate and narrow way that leads to life, which will secure you from that storm w hich will fall upon all those that reject him, who has died for us-is the desire of her who writes this,

ABIGAIL HOUSE.