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The billowy shore is booming loud,
The sky is black with storm and cloud,
The fields are bare, the air is chill,
And winter reigns from vale to hill.

The shortening day, the muffled sky, The wild wind whistling bleakly by, The naked fields, the leafless tree, Speak, mortal man, speak all to thee,

They talk of sin, they talk of woe,
Of ruin wrought to all below;
They taunt the author of their doom,
And point him onward to the tomb,

The waves lift up their voice; the woods
Make solemn answer to the floods :

They bid us stand abased and awed,
And own an Omnipresent God.

Calm on the tempest's hurrying wings
He walks His trembling earth, and flings,
Unmoved by elemental din,
His scourges o'er a world of sin.

Almighty! be it mine to lie

Adoring as Thou passest by,
And hear Thee at the close proclaim
The gentler glories of Thy name!

The fire, the earthquake, and the wind-
In these


God I would not find But in the Voice still, small, and dim, That speaks of Christ, and peace through Him. “MY BELOVED IS MINE, AND I AM HIS.”


Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest ;

Far did I rove, and found no certain home: At last I sought them in His sheltering breast, Who opes

His arms, and bids the weary come. With Him I found a home, a rest divine ; And I since then am His, and He is mine.

Yes, He is mine! and nought of earthly things,

Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or power, The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings,

Could tempt me to forego His love an hour. Go, worthless world, I cry, with all that's thine! Go! I my Saviour's am, and He is mine.

The good I have is from His stores supplied :

The ill is only what He deems the best. He for my friend, I'm rich with nought beside ;

And poor without him, though of all possessed. Changes may come--I take, or I resign, Content, while I am His, while He is mine.

Whate'er may change, in Him no change is seen,

A glorious sun, that wanes not, nor declines : Above the clouds and storms He walks serene,

And on His people's inward darkness shines. All may depart-I fret not nor repine, While I


Saviour's am, while He is mine.

He stays me falling ; lifts me up when down ;

Reclaims me wandering; guards from every foe; Plants on my worthless brow the victor's crown,

Which in return before His feet I throw, Grieved that I cannot better grace His shrine Who deigns to own me His, as He is mine.

While here, alas ! I know but half His love,

But half discern Him, and but half adore ; But when I meet Him in the realms above,

I hope to love Him better, praise Him more, And feel, and tell, amid the choir divine,

How fully I am His, and He is mine!

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