quired frequent abbreviation. Thus, in selecting from the works of Wordsworth, and the great author of "The Christian Year," she has sometimes taken a single thought or picture detached from the context, having to make her choice between this course and the omission of some of the holiest and loveliest lines in English sacred song. Once or twice only she has altered a word, or transposed a line for the sake of connection, or changed into modern language the obsolete expressions of some very old writer.

The Compiler cannot close her task without the prayer that this volume may in some measure tend to make Sunday a pleasant day to children. May it help to teach them to praise God the Father, Son, and Spirit; to contemplate life and death and their own hearts as Christians should; to understand the spirit of the Bible; and through this fair creation to look up to Him who is its Creator.

C. F. ALEXANDER.

Prayer is the burthen of a sigh,
The falling of a tear,

The upward glancing of the eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;

Prayer the sublimest strains that reach

The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice

Returning from his ways,

While angels in their songs rejoice,
And cry, Behold he prays!

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;

His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters Heaven with prayer.

The saints, in prayer, appear as one
In word, and deed, and mind,
While with the Father and the Son
Sweet fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made by man alone,
The Holy Spirit pleads;
And Jesus, on th' eternal throne,
For sinners intercedes.

O Thou, by whom we come to God!
The Life, the Truth, the Way!
The path of prayer Thyself hast trod :
Lord! teach us how to pray.

7. Montgomery

II

PSALM CXLVIII

'OME, O come! with sacred lays, the Almighty's praise;

Hither, bring in true consent,

Heart, and voice, and instrument.
Let the orpharion sweet

With the harp and viol meet :
To your voices tune the lute :
Let not tongue nor string be mute:
Nor a creature dumb be found,
That hath either voice or sound.

Let such things as do not live,
In still music praises give ;
Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep
On the earth, or in the deep;
Loud aloft your voices strain,
Beasts and monsters of the main ;
Birds, your warbling treble sing;
Clouds, your peals of thunder ring;
Sun and Moon exalted higher,
And you Stars, augment the choir.

Come, ye sons of human race,
In this chorus take your place,
And amid this mortal throng,
Be ye masters of the song.
Angels and celestial powers,
Be the noblest tenor yours.
Let, in praise of God, the sound
Run a never-ending round,

That our holy hymn may be
Everlasting, as is He.

From the earth's vast hollow womb
Music's deepest bass shall come,
Sea and floods from shore to shore
Shall the counter-tenor roar.
To this concert, when we sing,
Whistling winds, your descant bring:
Which may bear the sound above
Where the orb of fire doth move;
And so climb from sphere to sphere,
Till our song th' Almighty hear.

So shall He from Heaven's high tower
On the earth His blessing shower;
All this huge wide orb we see
Shall one choir, one temple be;

There our voices we will rear
Till we fill it everywhere:

And enforce the fiends that dwell
In the air, to sink to hell.

Then, O come! with sacred lays,
Let us sound th' Almighty's praise.
G. Wither