“The looks, the thoughts, the sweet employ Of saints, whose treasure is above, Be mine to-day! their zeal, their joy, Their peace, and purity, and love. “My spirit may with theirs unite, My humble notes with theirs may blend, Although denied the pure delight Thy sacred courts with them to attend. “The faith and patience of the saints, These I may exercise each hour— When, weak with pain, the body faints, I best may exercise their power. “O Saviour! with completion crown Desires thou wakenest not in vain; Stoop to thy lowly temple down, Bring all these graces in thy train! “This is thy day of bounty, Lord! I ask no small, no stinted boon, But showers, rich showers of blessing, poured On me, though worthless and alone. “If the weak tendril round thee twine, It ne’er is hidden from thine eye: I cling to thee, life-giving Vine, Strength, verdure, fruitfulness supply!” Hugh White, himself on the bed of sickness, used to send Mrs. Hemans beautiful flowers in her last illness; and perhaps he may have sent her this pretty hymn too. I should like to know that he did, and that it comforted her with the comfort wherewith he himself was comforted: one Christian poet should fitly thus console another. Having chewed the cud awhile on this sweet hymn, and possibly on one or two others, I begin my toilette with great deliberation. It is indeed always a lengthy process; not on account of any special self-decoration (of course, the “Sabbath robes of richest dress,” in the hymn, have a purely figurative meaning, though I think respect for the day may be shown in the outward garb too), not because I delight in braiding of the hair and costly array; but on account of downright bodily weakness, which necessitates frequent little rests and intermissions: and as I have no one to hurry for, why should I hurry? However, by eight o’clock I find my way to my sofa in the adjoining room, with the little breakfast table set near the fire in winter, and near the open window in summer. I read a psalm, collect, and the epistle and gospel of the day, to myself, while I recover myself a little. I have no voice for reading aloud before breakfast. My breakfast is no great matter; it does not take long, neither do I hurry it; but when one has nothing to do but to eat and drink, it cannot be a very tedious occupation. Phillis clears the table, brings in her Bible, we read a portion, verse and verse alternately, and then I offer a prayer, and she then goes to her breakfast. Then I lie and meditate a little.