Oh, by Thy soul-inspiring grace,

Uplift our hearts to realms on high;
Help us to look to that bright place
Beyond the sky,

Where light, and life, and joy, and peace,
In undivided empire reign,
And thronging angels never cease
Their deathless strain,—

Where saints are clothed in spotless white,
And evening shadows never fall,
Where Thou, eternal Light of light,
Art Lord of all.

A HYMN OF PRAISE.

LORD of power, Lord of might,
God and Father of us all,
Lord of day and Lord of night,
Listen to our solemn call;
Listen, whilst to Thee we raise
Songs of prayer and songs of praise.

Light, and love, and life are Thine,
Great Creator of all good;
Fill our souls with light Divine ;
Give us, with our daily food,
Blessings from Thy heavenly store,
Blessings rich for evermore.

Graft within our heart of hearts
Love undying for Thy name;
Bid us, ere the day departs,
Spread afar our Maker's fame.
Young and old together bless;
Clothe our souls with righteousness.

Full of years, and full of peace,

May our life on earth be blest;
When our trials here shall cease,

And at last we sink to rest,
Fountain of eternal love,
Call us to our home above.

N N

PATRICK HUNTER THOMS.

PATRICK HUNTER THOMS is a native of Dundee. He is editor of Professor Moses Stuar Letters to Dr. Channing on the Divinity of Christ, to which he has prefixed an introductary essay. Several fugitive pieces, both in prose and verse, have proceeded from his pen.

THE HOUSE OF PRAYER.
(Contributed.)

WHEN Adam dwelt in Eden's bowers,
And view'd creation young and fair,
His footsteps press'd the stainless flowers,
As still he sought the house of prayer.

When Abel drew the firstling's blood,
And drained it on the altar bare,
The spot which drank the crimson flood
Was owned of God a house of prayer.

When Jacob lay at dead of night,
And angels scal'd the mystic stair,
Its top was lost in glory bright,

The base a pillar'd house of prayer.

When Hebrew captives named the name
Of Him who made them aye His care,
They walk'd unscath'd amidst the flame
That glow'd around their house of prayer.

So when the loving Saviour knelt

On Olivet, mid evening air,

And told His God the woes He felt,

That mountain brow His house of prayer,—

Or in Gethsemane's dark shade,

When tears of blood His form did wear,

By foes beset, by friends betrayed,

His solace was the house of prayer.

When contrite souls to God draw nigh,
And at His feet disburden care,
Or tell their grief in bursting sigh,
Their refuge is the house of prayer.

In lonely cot or silent glen,

The spirit of devotion there,
Unknown, unseen by eye of men,

God dwells within that house of prayer.

AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY.

THE son of Richard Toplady, a major in the army, who died at the siege of Carthagena, the subject of this sketch was born at Farnham, Surrey, on the 4th November, 1740. He was educated at Westminster school. After a further period of desultory study, he took orders in June, 1762. Soon after he was instituted in the living of Blagdon, Somersetshire. In 1768, he became vicar of Broadhembury, Devonshire, an office which he retained till his death. He died on the 11th August, 1778, in his 38th year. His writings, which are chiefly theological, have been collected and published in six volumes 8vo. His "Poems on Sacred Subjects,' were published anonymously at Dublin in 1759. The whole of his hymns and poems, 133 in number, were reprinted by Mr. Daniel Sedgwick, in 1860.

A PRAYER, LIVING AND DYING.*

ROCK of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!
Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flow'd,

Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labours of my hands
Can fulfil Thy law's demands:
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears for ever flow,
All for sin could not atone,—

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

* This hymn has been erroneously assigned to Charles Wesley. It originally appeared in The Gospel Magazine, signed "A. T.," in March, 1776, when Toplady was editor.

Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the Fountain fly,
Wash me, Saviour, or I die.

Whilst I draw this fleeting breath ;
When my eye-strings break in death;
When I soar through tracts unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne,-
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!

FOR THE DIVINE GUIDANCE.

O THAT my ways were made so strait,
And that the lamp of faith
Would, as a star, direct my feet
To find the narrow path.

O that Thy strength might enter now,
And in my heart abide,

To make me as a faithful bow
That never starts aside.

O that I all to Christ were given,
From sin and earth set free;
Who kindly laid aside His heaven
And gave Himself for me!

No more the panting hart desires
The cool, refreshing stream,
Than my dry, thirsty soul aspires
At being one with Him.

Set up Thine image in my heart,
Then let Thy kingdom come;

Bid every idol now depart,
Thy temple and Thy home.

Still keep me in the heavenly path;
Bestow the inward light;

And lead me by the hand till faith
Is ripened into sight.

TO THE SOUL.*

DEATHLESS principle, arise!
Soar, thou native of the skies!
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To His glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before His throne,
Deck His mediatorial crown;
Go, His triumphs to adorn ;
Made for God, to God return.

Lo, He beckons from on high!
Fearless, to His presence fly;
Thine the merit of His blood,
Thine the righteousness of God!
Angels, joyful to attend,

Hovering, round thy pillow bend;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort thee quick to heaven.

Is thy earthly house distrest,
Willing to retain her guest?
'Tis not thou, but she must die-
Fly, celestial tenant, fly!
Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay;
Sweetly breathe thyself away.
Singing, to thy crown remove,
Swift of wing, and fired with love.

Shudder not to pass the stream;
Venture all thy care on Him,-
Him, whose dying love and power
Still'd its tossing, hush'd its roar ;

*This hymn was written by the author when he was under affliction; it was sent by him to Lady Huntingdon.