He knows the worthy from the vile,
And sends his mercies down :

None are too mean to share his smile,
Or to provoke his frown.

Great God! and since thy piercing eye
My inmost heart can see,
Teach me from ev'ry sin to fly,
And turn that heart to thee.

DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS,

HEAR what the voice from Heaven proclaims,

For all the pious dead;

Sweet is the savour of their names,
And soft their sleeping bed.

They die in Jesus, and are bless'd;

How kind their slumbers are!
From suff'rings and from sin releas'd,
And freed from ev'ry snare.

Far from this world of toil and strife,
They're present with the Lord;

The labours of their mortal life
End in a large reward.

Of all the pious christians dead,
May we the footsteps trace;
Till, with them, in the land of light,
We dwell before thy face.

ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ ON A POOR BUT HONEST MAN.

Stor, reader, here, and deign a look
On one without a name;

Ne'er enter'd in the ample book

Of fortune or of fame.

Studious of peace, he hated strife,
Meek virtues fill'd his breast;
His coat of arms-" a spotless life;"
"An honest heart," -his crest.

Quarter'd therewith was innocence;
And thus his motto ran:
"A conscience void of all offence
Before both God and man."

In the great day of wrath, tho' pride
Now scorns his pedigree;
Thousands shall wish they'd been allied
To this great family.

AN OLD BEGGAR MAN.

I SEE an old man sitting there,
His wither'd limbs are almost bare,
And very hoary is his hair.

Old man, why are you sitting so?
For very cold the wind doth blow-
Why don't you to your cottage go?

Ah, master! in the world so wide
I have no home wherein to hide,
No comfortable fire-side!

When I, like you, was young and gay,
I'll tell you what I us'd to say-
That I would nothing do but play.

And so, instead of being taught
Some useful business, as I ought,
To play about was all I sought.

And now that I am old and gray,
I wander on my lonely way,
And beg my bread from day to day.

But oft I shake my hoary head,
And many a bitter tear I shed,
To think the useless life I've led!

MY MOTHER.

Wно fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?

My Mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,

Who was it sung sweet lullaby,

And rock'd me that I should not cry ?

My Mother.

Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When sleeping on my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?

My Mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gaz'd upon my heavy eye,

And wept for fear that I should die?

My Mother.

Who drest my doll in clothes so gay,
And taught me prettily to play,

And minded all I had to say?

My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?

My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God's holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,

My Mother.

Who wast so very kind to me,

My Mother.

Ah, no! the thought I cannot bear;

And, if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,

My Mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,

My Mother.'

And when I see thee hang thy head, 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, And tears of sweet affection shed,

My Mother.

For God, who lives above the skies,
Would look, with vengeance in his eyes,
If I should ever dare despise,

My Mother.

MY FATHER.

Who took me from my Mother's arms,
And smiling at her soft alarms,

Shewed me the world and nature's charms?

My Father.

Who made me feel and understand

The wonders of the sea and land,

And mark'd, through all, the Maker's hand?

My Father.

Who climbed with me the mountain's height, And watch'd my looks of dread delight, While rose the glorious orb of light?

My Father.