O God, whose blessed Son was manifested, that He might destroy the works of the devil, and make us the sons of God, and heirs of eternal life; Grant us, we beseech Thee, that having this hope, we may purify ourselves, even as He is pure; that when He shall appear again with power and great glory, we may be made like unto Him in His eternal and glorious kingdom, where with Thee, O Father, and Thee, O Holy Ghost, He liveth and reigneth, ever one God, world without end. Amen.

It rarely happens that the beautiful Collect for this Sunday, which was added at the last review of the Liturgy in 1661, is used in public; but there is not one that may be used with greater propriety and advantage in private.

Having stated the great end of Christ's manifestation in the world, to destroy the works of the devil, and to restore us to the relationship to God which disobedience had forfeited,-it implores that grace

which can alone enable us to purify ourselves as the indispensable qualification of eternal felicity; and concludes with a declaration of belief in the reappearance of our Almighty Redeemer to judge the world, and of his consequent everlasting covenant.

The Epistle is in such close harmony with the Collect, that it may be considered as an amplification, in a peculiarly affecting and beautiful style, of it; while the Gospel proceeds to a display of that awful hour, when, at the sound of the trumpet, the whole race of mankind shall appear before the judgment seat of Christ.

The Proper Lessons, which conclude those of Isaiah, shew, in language the most sublime and impressive, the calling-in of the Gentiles, the rejection and subsequent restoration of the Jews, and finally, the universality of Christ's kingdom, when all things being accomplished which had been willed in the eternal counsels of God, a new earth and a new heaven of everlasting duration, exceeding the beauty of the former, shall be created.

ISAIAH lxvi. 1.

Thus saith the Lord: The heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool; where is the house that ye build for me? and where is the place of my rest?

THOUGH not in temples human made

Can God, the everlasting, be confined,

Though not the outstretched sky o'erlaid
With glittering stars his glorious steps can bind,-
Though highest heaven he makes his throne,
His footstool only this, our earth below,

Yet will he not refuse to own

The dome where faith designs his name to shew.

Doubt not but he regards such work,
As erst, with favourable eyes, if nought
Of boastful piety shall lurk

Where his Almighty honour should be sought.
And truly 'tis a lovely sight

To see such sacred dwelling set apart

For his own use; one to delight,

And kindle zeal, e'en in the coldest heart.

As yet the voice of joy and praise
Has not awoke the echoes of those walls;

But now the organ's swell doth raise

Its lofty sounds, and joy each breast enthralls.

Sweet grateful tears on sudden start, The presence of Almighty God is felt;

And while that sense doth awe impart,

All rude sensations in devotion melt.

We feel that house, as now it is, The place where he but waits to dwell; we own "The fullness of the earth is his,"

And his the compass of the world alone ;

That he, whose hand, whose heart is clean,

May only there abide; and joyful then

We bid those gates give way, unseen That he may enter in, and dwell with men.

What tender thoughts our bosom fill,
As he, Christ's minister, pours forth the prayer,
That God may bless each office still,

Bless this our work, and all that work who share ;
Bless those who may hereafter seek
Entrance, or grace, or pardon, or repose,—
Times that of joy or sorrow speak,

The chequered scenes man's generation knows.

It is a scene of love, of peace,

Celestial hope, an image e'en of heaven,

Of that pure state when life shall cease,

The purer still as we have striven

Against the force of sin and woe,

Or felt the weariness of human care,

Or toil which respite might not know, And tasted even here the bliss of prayer.

Yet is it earth, and perfect bliss,
E'en in that joyful throng may not be found :
Some forms revered perhaps we miss,

Whose zeal first raised that structure from the ground;
Like David not allowed to see,
Although approved, completion of his will;

But dear and hallowed memory

In all that meets our view, presents them still.

Some pensive drops perchance may fall;

For sweet it is to stand in holy place

With those we love, nor can we call

Sufficient to our aid entirely to efface

The pain to feel ourselves alone.

We rise in thought to those bright realms where they, We trust, adore before the throne,

And by affection urged desire to stay.

But ah! how pure must they become
Who would the sacred courts of heaven ascend,
For God's own sons the promised home :

Vice may not there, as here, with virtue blend.