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 Sleeping on the brink of sin, Tophet gaped to take us in; Mercy to our rescue flew,— Broke the snare, and brought us through.

Here, as in a lion's den, Undevoured we still remain; Pass secure the watery flood, Hanging on the arm of God.

Here"

(Terrible, most distracting to the ear was the strained shout in which the last stanza was given).

Here we raise our voices higher, Shout in the refiner's fire; Clap our hands amidst the flame, Glory give to Jesus' name!"

The roof of the chapel did not fly off; which speaks volumes in praise of its solid slating.

But if Briar-chapel seemed alive, so also did Briar-mains: though certainly the mansion appeared to enjoy a quieter phase of existence than the temple; some of its windows too were a-glow: the lower casements opened upon the lawn, curtains concealed the interior, and partly obscured the ray of the candles which lit it, but they did not entirely muffle the sound of voice and laughter. We are privileged to enter that front-door, and to penetrate to the domestic sanctum.

It is not the presence of company which makes