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Fills the brown shade with a religious awe.
And ye, whose holder note is heard afar,

Who shake the astonish'd world, lift high to heaven
Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage.
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills,
And let me catch it, as I muse along.

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye softer floods, that leave the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself,

Sound His stupendous praise: whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.-
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer-ray
Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams,
Or winter rises in the blackening east ;

Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me: Since God is ever present, ever felt,

In the void waste as in the city full;

And where He vital breathes there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go
Where UNIVERSAL LOVE smiles not around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns;
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose

Myself in Him, in light ineffable!

Come, then, expressive silence, muse His praise.

Thomson.

ON THE ATTRIBUTES OF GOD.

"ON Me, on Me,"

Exclaim'd the Son of GOD, "on Me alone
"Let all Thy wrath be pour'd: their's was the offence,
"Be mine the punishment." He spake, and left
The golden city's hyacinthine walls;

And thro' the middle of the eastern gates,
Hewn from one solid emerald, as He pass'd,
The angel bow'd obeisance. Earth receiv'd
Her gracions visitant. By Him subdued,
Legions of spirits accursed their mangled prey
Reluctant quitted, and with horrid yell

Howl'd hideous; touch'd by Him, the palsied hand,
Long wither'd, felt his genial warmth return,
Circling thro' every vein. He spake, and straight
From the thick film was purg'd the visual ray.
Awed by His potent word, the grave op'd wide
His marble jaws, and yielded back to life
His putrid dead. But what could all avail?
Insulted, scorn'd, betray'd by those He lov'd,
He fell. Yet bleeding on the accursed tree,
While the last breath hung quivering on His lips,
His mercy still endured. Towards heaven He cast
The last faint glances of His closing eye,
Forgive them, O forgive!-He bow'd, and died.

Dr. Roberts.

LINES WRITTEN IN THE CHURCH-YARD OF
RICHMOND, YORKSHIRE.

METHINKS it is good to be here,

If thou wilt let us build; but for whom?

Nor Elias nor Moses appear,

But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? Oh, no! Affrighted he shrinketh away;

For see, they would pin him below,

In a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay,
To the meanest reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? Ah, no! She forgets
The charms which she wielded before;
Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin which but yesterday fools could adore,
For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it

wore.

Shall we build to the purple of Pride,The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside;

And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding-sheet, and the fringe of the shroud.

To Riches? Alas, 'tis in vain ;
Who hid in their turns have been hid:

The treasures are squandered again.

And here in the grave are all metals forbid,
But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?

Ah! here is a plentiful board;

But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here.

Shall we build to Affection and Love?
Oh, no! they have wither'd and died,
Or fled with the Spirit above:

Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side,

Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.

Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot grieve; Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear,

Which compassion itself could relieve: Ah, sweetly they slumber; nor hope, love, nor fear; Peace, peace, is the watch-word, the only one here.

Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow?
Ah, no; for his empire is known;
And here there are trophies enow.

Beneath the cold dead, and around the dark stone,
Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown.

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which ensures it fulfill'd ; And the third to the LAMB of the great sacrifice, Who bequeath'd us them both, when He rose to the skies. H. Knowles..

A HYMN.

FROM Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver

Their land from Error's chain.

What tho' the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,
Tho' every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strown:
The heathen in his blindness

Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we, whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to men benighted
The lamp of life deny ?
Salvation! oh! Salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation

Has learnt Messiah's name !

Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sun of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole:

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