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Night is the time for death;
When all around is peace,
Calmly to yield the weary breath,
From sin and suffering cease.

Think of heaven's bliss, and give the sign
To parting friends; such death be mine!

"At evening time it shall be light." Zech. xiv. 7.

At evening time, let there be light:

Life's little day draws near its close;
Around me fall the shades of night—
The night of death, the grave's repose;
To crown my joys, to end my woes:
At evening time, let there be light!

At evening time, let there be light:
Stormy and dark hath been my day;
Yet rose the morn divinely bright,

Dews, birds, and blossoms, cheer'd the way;
O! for one sweet, one parting ray!
At evening time, let there be light!

At evening time, there shall be light;

For God hath spoken-" So let it be !"
Fear, doubt, and anguish take their flight;
His glory now is risen on me:
Mine eyes shall his salvation see:

'Tis evening time, and there is light!

"Ask, and it shall be given you." Luke xi. 9.

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,

Uttered or unexprest;

The motion of a hidden fire

That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear;

The upward glancing of an 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 Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air;

His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters heaven by prayer.

Prayer. is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways;

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

The saints in heaven appear as one,
In word, and deed, and mind;
While, with the Father and his Son,
Their fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made on earth alone;
The Holy Spirit pleads:

And Jesus, at the 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!

CHILDREN'S HYMNS.

I.

The darkness is over, the sun is on high,
The lark is up singing his song in the sky;
The cattle and labourers all are abroad,
And every thing's serving and praising its God.

I will not be sleeping my morning away,
But try to be busy and useful as they;

I'll rise with the skylark, and join in his song,
And thank God for watching me all the night long.

How kind God is to me, how great and how good,
And for me my Saviour has shed his own blood;
Lord, teach me that Saviour to love and to know,
And make me more like Him the older I

grow.

How early He rose, to get time for his prayer; His own dearest mother He honoured with care: And now He's in glory he's loving to all,

And will save whosoe'er shall on his name call.

K

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