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A SABBATH EVENING HYMN.

Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pis­toles,

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy

poor spearmen's souls.

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright;

Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to- night,

For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath rais'd the slave,

And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave.

Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are;

And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre!

T. B. MACAULAY.

A SABBATH EVENING HYMN.

MILLIONS within thy courts have met,

Millions this day before thee bow'd; Their faces Zion- ward were set,

Vows with their lips to thee they vow'd:­

But thou, soul- searching God! hast known The hearts of all that bent the knee,