I won't give you the whole of it—
'Is thy earthly house distressed?
Willing to retain her guest?
'Tis not thou, but she, must die;
Fly, celestial tenant, fly.'
Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,
Sweetly breathe thyself away:
Singing, to thy crown remove,
Swift of wing, and fired with love.'
'Shudder not to pass the stream;
Venture all thy care on him;
Him whose dying love and power
Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar.
Safe is the expanded wave,
Gentle as a summer's eve;
Not one object of his care
Ever suffered shipwreck there.'"
"That ain't no hymn in the book, is it?" inquired the ox driver.
"Haw!—go 'long. That ain't in the book, is it, Lois?"
"Not in the one we use in church, Mr. Sears."
"I wisht it was!—like it fust-rate. Never heerd it afore in my life."
"There's as good as that in the church book," remarked Mrs. Armadale.
"Yes," said Lois; "I like Wesley's hymn even better—
'Come, let us join our friends above
That have obtained the prize;
And on the eagle wings of love
To joys celestial rise.
. . . .