PLEADING FOR MERCY.

WHEN at Thy footstool, Lord, I bend, And plead with Thee for mercy there, O think Thou of the sinner's Friend,

And for His sake receive my prayer! O think not of my shame and guilt, My thousand stains of deepest dye: Think of the blood which Jesus spilt, And let that blood my pardon buy.

Think, Lord, how I am still Thy own, The trembling creature of Thy hand; Think how my heart to sin is prone,

And what temptations round me stand.

O think how blind and weak am I,

How strong and wily are my foes:

They wrestled with Thy hosts on high; How should a worm their might oppose?

O think upon thy holy word,

And every plighted promise there—

How

prayer should evermore be heard,

And how Thy glory is to spare.

O think not of my doubts and fears,

My strivings with Thy grace divine :

Think upon Jesus' woes and tears,
And let His merits stand for mine.

Thine eye, Thine ear, they are not dull;

Thine arm can never shortened be:

Behold me here—my heart is full—

Behold, and spare and succour me.

No claim, no merits, Lord, I plead ;

I come a humbled helpless slave: But, ah! the more my guilty need,

The more Thy glory, Lord, to save.

TO ELLEN,

WEEPING IN CHURCH ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER

FATHER'S DEATH,

WHEN FIFTEEN YEARS OLD.

Ан wherefore should the silent tear

Down Ellen's youthful visage stray, When such a Hand unseen is near

To wipe each falling drop away ;
A hand that bears a balm from high,
For every earthly tear and sigh?

And wherefore mourn a parent's doom,
When such a Parent from above

Extends His arms and bids her come,

And dwell with Him whose name is Love;

Who ne'er that orphan will disown,

Whom Jesus' blood has made His own?

That gentle Hand, ah would she see,

And

prove its power to soothe and heal!

Ah would she to that Father flee,

And know how well he loves her weal!

Ah would she learn how sweet it is
Through Christ to be for ever His!-

Come, then, and give that heart to Him,
Which long has dwelt on meaner things:
Come, find thy song a worthier theme,
And learn to soar on loftier wings.
He who has died that thou mightst live,
Deserves the best 'tis thine to give.

The Spirit seeks to live thy Friend,
And Christ thy brother deigns to be;
The joys, that know nor bounds nor end,
To thy possession all are free.
Whate'er is lovely, pure, or great,
On Ellen now vouchsafes to wait.