This book is like the harp that David played,
'Tis strung by human hand,
Yet overstrung by God.
'Tis rich in deepest tones of melody,
Low chords of grief inwrought
With precious notes of joy.

'Tis like the human heart, in nature strung,
Then overstrung by God,
And tuned to suit His will.
While ever and anon the human cry
Breaks forth, still God controls
The hand that sweeps the strings.

What depths of sorrow! Mournful, broken chords,
As from the human heart
When over pressed by grief!
What agony unspeakable for sin
Confessed to Him who loves
To hear His children call,
And graciously restores the soul again,
And wakes once more the song of victory! (Ps. 51.)

What agony of soul poured out by Him
Who bore the weight of sin-
Your sin and mine-in love.
The Sinless for the sinful-oh what grace!
Made sin for us, God's Lamb,
Who knew no sin indeed.(Ps. 22.)

What tones of sweet dependence wake the strings!
What notes of trustfulness
And sweet security!
What vindication of the Almighty One
Who loveth mercy, and
Will ever honor faith! (Ps. 62.)

And hear the wondrous closing of the book-
The final joyous burst
Of Israel's pent-up praise!
No heart could sing, no harp could play like this,
Except the hand of God
Had touched it first in love.
Then let our hearts be tuned, as harps overstrung
With golden strings of faith,
And love, and joy, and praise;
Then we shall sing:"To Him that loveth us
And washed us from our sins
In His most precious blood; "
And give Him glory who hath won for us
Eternal life with Him
By virtue of His Cross.

H. McD