This mighty Him makes all things sure,
Through life, in death, and evermore,
In Him, the great Amen!

Secured in this, the Church, etc.

O faithful Witness of our God,
Who came by water and by blood,
Proving the Holy One!

Thy record must for ever stand
Of life eternal from God's hand,
And all in Thee, His Son.

Secured in this, the Church, etc.

Sweetly Thy verilies we hear,

For God's Amen dispels all fear,

Thy faithfulness it proves;

And while such grace for God is shown,
To God's Amen we add our own,

Our So be it He loves.

Secured in this, the Church, etc.

Ye saints of God, in age or youth,
Who swear by Him, the God of truth,
By Him I say again ;—

Make Him whom God hath made to you,

Your Alpha and Omega too;

God's Christ is your Amen.

Secured in this, the Church, etc.

Nor less above, ye heavenly host,

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

Give praise through Him, with men ; For of Him, through Him, by Him sure, The Church shall glory evermore,

In Him, the great Amen. Secured in this, the Church on high, And all below unceasing cry,

Amen! Amen! Amen!

To Thee, O Lord, all praise is given,
The loud response of earth and heaven,—
All hail, Thou great Amen!

REGINALD HEBER, D.D.

REGINALD HEBER was born on the 21st April, 1783, at Malpas, Cheshire. In his seventeenth year, he entered Brasenose College, Oxford. In 1802, he obtained the University prize for Latin hexameters, and in the following year gained the gold medal for his poem of "Palestine." He graduated A.M. in 1808. He was elected to a Fellowship at All Souls' College, and soon after obtained the living of Hodnet. In 1822, he was elected preacher to the benchers of Lincoln's Inn, with an addition of £600 to his yearly income. In 1823, he accepted the Bishopric of Calcutta. To the duties of his high office in India, he applied himself with apostolic ardour. His valuable life was cut short while in course of an episcopal visitation. He died, suddenly, of apoplexy, while taking a bath, at Trichinopoly, on the 3rd April, 1826, in his forty-third year. Bishop Heber was a contributor to The Quarterly Review; he wrote a memoir of Jeremy Taylor, and published some other prose writings. In 1827, his hymns were published in an octavo volume, along with sacred lyrics by Mr. Milman and others. We have made use of this edition.

MISSIONARY HYMN.

FROM Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand;
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Java's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;

In vain, with lavish kindness,
The gifts of God are strewn ;
The heathen, in his blindness,
Bows down to wood and stone !

Can we, whose souls are lighted
With Wisdom from on high,

Can we to men benighted
The lamp of life deny?
Salvation! oh, Salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation

Has learn'd Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, His story;
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole.
Till o'er our ransom'd nature,
The Lamb, for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign! ·

THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.

BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid ; Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.

Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining, Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;

Angels adore Him, in slumber reclining,

Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all!

Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
Odours of Edom, and offerings Divine,
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation,

Vainly with gifts would His favour secure ; Richer by far is the heart's adoration,

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,

Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid;

Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.

THE CHRISTIAN'S HYMN.

By cool Siloam's shady rill

How sweet the lily grows!

How sweet the breath, beneath the hill,
Of Sharon's dewy rose !

Lo, such the child whose early feet
The paths of peace have trod;
Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God.

By cool Siloam's shady rill

The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill

Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour

Of man's maturer age

Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,
And stormy passion's rage!

O Thou, whose infant feet were found
Within Thy Father's shrine,-

Whose years, with changeless virtue crown'd,
Were all alike Divine,-

Dependent on Thy bounteous breath,
We seek Thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age, and death,
To keep us still Thine own.

"HELP, LORD, OR WE PERISH."

WHEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming,
When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming,
Nor hope lends a ray, the poor seaman to cherish,
We fly to our Maker: " Help, Lord, or we perish."

O Jesus! once toss'd on the breast of the billow,
Aroused by the shriek of despair from Thy pillow,
Now seated in glory, the mariner cherish,
Who cries in his danger, "Help, Lord, or we perish."

And oh, when the whirlwind of passion is raging,
When hell in our heart his wild warfare is waging,
Arise in Thy strength, Thy redeemed to cherish;
Rebuke the destroyer: "Help, Lord, or we perish.”

AT A FUNERAL.

THOU art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb;
Thy Saviour has pass'd through its portal before thee,
And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave; we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may die, for the Sinless has died.

Thou art gone to the grave, and, its mansion forsaking,
Perhaps thy, weak spirit in fear linger'd long ;

But the mild rays of Paradise beam'd on thy waking,

And the sound which thou heard'st was the seraphim's song.

Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,
Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide;
He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee,
And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died.

THE BELIEVER'S PRAYER.

LORD, whose love, in power excelling,
Wash'd the leper's stain away :
Jesus, from Thy heavenly dwelling,
Hear us, help us, when we pray.

From the filth of vice and folly,
From infuriate passion's rage,
Evil thoughts, and hopes unholy,
Heedless youth, and selfish age;

From the lusts whose deep pollutions
Adam's ancient taint disclose ;
From the tempter's dark intrusions,
Restless doubt, and blind repose;

From the miser's cursèd treasure ;
From the drunkard's jest obscene ;

From the world-its pomp and pleasure,-
Jesus, Master, make us clean!