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Thy saints proclaim thee King; and in their hearts
THE PILGRIM PATH.
“Oh, Sister dear, the pilgrim-way seems strait, and long,
And though thou say’st its paths are peace, yet oft I
see thee weep, And storms beat rudely round thine head, and tempests
roughly blow; Sister, where leads this toilsome path, and wherefore
dost thou go ?”
“ Ada, I know thou lov'st to walk beside the flowing
stream, Thou lov'st to welcome with thy song the sun's first
rising beam, Thou lov’st to guide thy fairy bark across the smooth
clear lake, And with the music of thy voice deep echoes to awake.
Bright are earth's streams, sweet sister mine, and
beautiful her flowers, And lovely are the rainbow hues, brought forth by
summer showers ; But the immortal soul of man craves purer, higher
bliss, More lasting joys than can be found in such a world as
56 Ada, the track thou askest of, the pilgrim's narrow
road, Leads on to the celestial land, the angels' bright abode : Prophets and kings, in ages past, its upward path have
trod, Nor rested till they reached their home, the city of our
• There is a river in that land, whose waters never fail, A tree of life, whose fruit shall bloom, untouched by
wintry gale; Treasures which never can corrupt, riches which will
And, dearer far, eternal love, which cannot change or
“Yes, Ada, that steep rugged road, from which so many
to Heaven, where night is lost in everlasting day; Though darkly now, as through a glass, I see its distant
shore, E’en that dim sight hath made me prize the joys of
earth no more.
“ Its paths are peaceful, Ada mine, and pleasant are
All unattractive as they seem to the poor worldling's
gaze, With a kind Saviour's hand to guide, a Saviour's smile
to cheer, What is there, oh, what can there be, a Christian needs
to fear ?
Thou say’st, I weep. Ah, well I may, so oft I turn aside, So oft I yield to murmuring thoughts, to discontent,
and pride, But Jesus has atoned for all His blood is all my plea, And while I sorrow, I rejoice, since He has died for me. “It was not ever with me thus, for once, like thee, I
thought The pilgrim-way was full of pain, with sadness only
fraught; I saw our sainted mother die, and light broke on my
mind, Oh, fragrant is the memory which she hath left behind. “She told me all her journeyings, and sweetly beamed
As, with a calm untroubled faith, she look'd beyond the
sky; The golden towers of heaven were near,-its pearly
gates in view, With her last breath she bid me come, and charged me
to bring you. “I ask thee by our mother's love-no-by a holier plea, By all the Lord of glory bore to save and rescue thee; Together let us tread this path, and pilgrims, hand in
hand, Together seek a better home in our Immanuel's land.”
I listened, but I heard no voice—Ada made no reply,
But, while I still look'd anxiously, behold the orphan
pair Knelt low before a wicket-gate-It was the gate of prayer.
ON THE SERVICES OF THE CHURCH.
'I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.'
Observe the assertion here made ; it is not merely that God the Father is Almighty, the Maker of heaven and earth : it is put in a subjective form, a declaration of the individual working of our own mind. “I believe in God.' Now, remember in whose presence this declaration is made ; in that of the heart-searching God. Remember, too, the fate of him who fell down dead in the congregation, because he had not lied unto men, but unto God; and then realise how solemn a moment it is, when the whole assembly repeats, “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth. The worldling, engrossed with this world's cares,
who says to the fine gold, 'thou art my confidence,' he repeats it, and, as he does so, turns perhaps reverently to the east, but surely a lie is in his right hand, for he is hastening after another God. The votary of pleasure repeats it, and then gracefully bows her knee at the mention of the Redeemer's name ; but does she believe that God is the Maker of heaven and earth ? If so, he made all those bright gay things on which her heart is fixed : he made the eye that rejoices in their beauty, the ear that delights in their harmony. They can answer no purpose, but that for which he crested