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And bade his better feelings wake :

Why does he lift the cruel scourge ? Then, sudden as the trodden snake

The restless pilgrimage why urge? On the scared traveller darts his fangs,

'Tis all to quell thy fiercer rage, The prophet's bold rebuke aroused thy keenest 'Tis all to sooth thy deep despair, [bear. pangs.

He courts the body's pangs, for thine he cannot And 0 that look, that soft upbraiding look!

See o'er the bleeding corse of her he loved, A thousand cutting, tender things it spoke,

The jealous murderer bends unmoved, The sword so lately drawn was not so keen, Trembling with rage, his livid lips express Which, as the injured Master turn'd him round, His frantic passion's wild and rash excess. In the strange solemn scene,

O God, she's innocent transfixt he stands, And the shrill clarion gave th' appointed sound, Pierced through with shafts from thine avenging Pierced sudden through the reins,

hands ; Awakening all thy pains,

Down his pale cheek no tear will flow, And drew a silent shower of bitter tears

Nor can he shun, nor can he bear, his wo. Down Peter's blushing cheek, late pale with coward fears.

'Twas phantoms summon'd by thy power

Round Richard's couch at midnight hour, Cruel Remorse! where Youth and Pleasure That scared the tyrant from unblest repose ; sport,

With frantic haste, "To horse! to horse!” he cries, And thoughtless Folly keeps her court, While on his crowned brow cold sweat-drops rise, Crouching midst rosy bowers thou lurk'st unseen ;

And fancied spears his spear oppose ; Slumbering the festal hours away,

But not the swiftest steed can bear away
While Youth disports in that enchanting scene;

From thy firm grasp thine agonizing prey,
Till on some fated day

Thou wast the fiend, and thou alone,
Thou with a tiger-spring dost leap upon thy prey,

That stood'st by Beaufort's mitred head, And tear his helpless breast, o'erwhelm’d, with With upright hair and visage ghastly pale : wild dismay.

Thy terrors shook his dying bed, Mark that poor wretch with clasped hands! Past crimes and blood his sinking heart assail,

Pale o'er his parent's grave he stands, His hands are clasp'd,-hark to that hollow groan! The grave by his ingratitude prepared ;

See how his glazed, dim eye-balls wildly roll, Ah then, where'er he rests his head,

"Tis not dissolving Nature's pains; that pang is of On roses pillow'd or the softest down,

the soul. Though festal wreaths his temples crown,

Where guilty souls are doom'd to dwell, He well might envy Guatimozin's bed,

"Tis thou that makest their fiercest hell, With burning coals and sulphur spread,

The vulture thou that on their liver feeds, And with less agony his torturing hour. have

As rise to view their past unhallow'd deeds ; shared.

With thee condemn'd to stay,

Till time has rollid away
For Thou art by to point the keen reproach;
Thou draw'st the curtains of his nightly couch,

Long eras of uncounted years,

And every stain is wash'd in soft repentant tears. Bring'st back the reverend face with tears bedew'd,

Servant of God --but unbeloved-proceed,
That o'er his follies yearn'd;

For thou must live and ply thy scorpion scourge : The warnings oft in vain renewid,

Thy sharp upbraidings urge The looks of anguish and of love,

Against th' unrighteous deed, His stubborn breast that failed to move,

Till thine accursed mother shall expire, When in the scorner's chair he sat, and wholesome And a new world spring forth from renovating fire counsel spurn'd.

0! when the glare of day is fled, Lives there a man whose labouring breast And calm, beneath the evening star, Is with some dark and guilty secret prest,

Reflection leans her pensive head, Who hides within its inmost fold

And calls the passions to her solemn bar; Strange crimes to mortal ear untold ?

Reviews the censure rash, the hasty word, In vain to sad Chartreuse he flies,

The purposed act too long deferr'd,
Midst savage rocks and cloisters dim and drear,

Of time the wasted treasures lent,
And there to shun thee tries :

And fair occasions lost, and golden hours mispent:
In vain untold his crime to mortal ear,
Silence and whisper'd sounds but make thy voice When anxious Memory numbers o'er
more clear.

Each offer'd prize we failed to seize ;

Or friends laid low, whom now no more Lo. where the cowled monk with frantic rage Our fondest love can serve or please, Lifts high the sounding scourge, his bleeding And thou, dread power! bring'st back, in terrors shoulders smites !

drest, Penance and fasts his anxious thoughts engage, Th’ irrevocable past, to sting the careless breast; Weary his days and joyless are his nights, His naked feet the flinty pavement tears,

0! in that hour be mine to know, His knee at every shrine the marble wears ; While fast the silent sorrows flow,

And wisdom cherishes the wholesome pain,

No heavier guilt, no deeper stain,
Than tears of meek contrition may atone,
Shed at the mercy-seat of Heaven's eternal throne.



The portal opens-hark, a voice !
“Come forth, O king! O king, rejoice!
The bowl is fill'd, the feast is spread,
Come forth, O king!”—The king is dead.
The bowl, the feast, he tastes no more,
The feast of life for him is o'er.

Again the sounding portals shake,
And speaks again the voice that spake :
—“The sun is high, the sun is warm,
Forth to the field the gallants swarm,
The foaming bit the courser champs,
His hoof the turf impatient stamps ;
Light on their steeds the hunters spring ;
The sun is high-Come forth, O king!”

Along these melancholy walls
In vain the voice of pleasure calls :
The horse may neigh, and bay the hound, -
He hears no more ; his sleep is sound.
Retire ;-once more the portals close ;
Leave, leave him to his dread repose.



YES, Britain mourns, as with electric touch,
For youth, for love, for happiness destroy'd,
Her universal population melts
In grief spontaneous, and hard hearts are moved,
And rough, unpolish'd natures learn to feel
For those they envied, levell’d in the dust
By Fate's impartial stroke; and pulpits sound
With vanity and wo to earthly goods,
And urge and dry the tear.—Yet one there is
Who midst this general burst of grief remains
In strange tranquillity ; whom not the stir
And long-drawn murmurs of the gathering crowd,
That by his very windows trail the pomp
Of hearse, and blazon'd arms, and long array
Of sad funereal rites, nor the loud groans
And deep-felt anguish of a husband's heart,
Can move to mingle with this flood one tear:
In careless apathy, perhaps in mirth,
He wears the day. Yet is he near in blood,
The very stem on which this blossom grew,
And at his knees she fondled in the charm
And grace spontaneous which alone belongs
To untaught infancy :-Yet, О forbear!
Nor deem him hard of heart; for awful, struck
By Heaven's severest visitation, sad,
Like a scathed oak amidst the forest trees,
Lonely he stands ;-leaves bud, and shoot, and fall,
He holds no sympathy with living nature
Or time's incessant change. Then in this hour,
While pensive thought is busy with the woes
And restless change of poor humanity,
Think then, O think of him, and breathe one

From the full tide of sorrow spare one tear,
For him who does not weep!

Jehovah reigns : let every nation hear,
And at his footstool bow with holy fear;
Let heaven's high arches echo with his name,

And the wide peopled earth his praise proclaim; Then send it down to hell's deep glooms resounding,

(ing Through all her caves in dreadful murmurs sound

He rules with wide and absolute command
O'er the broad ocean and the steadfast land:
Jehovah reigns, unbounded, and alone,

And all creation hangs beneath his throne.
He reigns alone; let no inferior nature
Usurp, or share the throne of the Creator.

He saw the struggling beams of infant light
Shoot through the massy gloom of ancient night;
His spirit hush'd the elemental strife,
And brooded o'er the kindling seeds of life:
Seasons and months began their long procession,
And measured o'er the year in bright succession.

The joyful sun sprung up th’ ethereal way, THE WAKE OF THE KING OF SPAIN.

Strong as a giant, as a bridegroom gay ; Array'd in robes of regal state,

And the pale moon diffused her shadowy light But stiff and cold the monarch sate;

Superior o'er the dusky brow of night; In gorgeous vests, his chair beside,

Ten thousand glittering lamps the skies adorning, Stood prince and peer, the nation's pride ;

Numerous as dew-drops from the womb of morning And paladin and high-born dame

Earth's blooming face with rising flowers he drest, Their place amid the circle claim:

And spread a verdant mantle o'er her breast ; And wands of office lifted high,

Then from the hollow of his hand ne pours And arms and blazon'd heraldry,

The circling water round her winding shores, All mute like marble statues stand,

The new-born world in their cool arms embracing, Nor raise the eye, nor move the hand :

And with soft murmurs still her banks caressing.
No voice, no sound to stir the air,
The silence of the grave is there.

At length she rose complete in finish'd pride,
All fair and spotless, like a virgin bride;

Fresh with untarnish'd lustre as she stood, • The kings of Spain for nine days after death are

Her Maker bless’d his work, and call'd it good; placed sitting in robes of state with their attendants around them, and solemnly summoned by the proper The morning stars with joyful acclamation officers to their meals and their amusements, as if living. I Exulting sang, and hail'd the new creation.

Though the sickening flocks should fall, And the herds desert the stall ;

Should thine alter'd hand restrain The early and the latter rain; Blast each opening bud of joy, And the rising year destroy:

Yet this fair world, the creature of a day, Though built by God's right hand, must pass

away ; And long oblivion creep o'er mortal things,

The fate of empires, and the pride of kings :
Eternal night shall veil their proudest story,
And drop the curtain o'er all human glory.

The sun himself, with weary clouds opprest,
Shall in his silent, dark pavilion rest;
His golden urn shall broke and useless lie,

Amidst the common ruins of the sky;
The stars rush headlong in the wild commotion,
And bathe their glittering foreheads in the ocean

But fixa, O God! for ever stands thy throne ;
Jehovah reigns, a universe alone;
Th' eternal fire that feeds each vital flame,

Collected, or diffused, is still the same.
He dwells within his own unfathom'd essence,
And fills all space with his unbounded presence.

Yet to thee my soul should raise Grateful vows, and solemn praise ; And, when every blessing's flown, Love thee-for thyself alone.


FOR EASTER SUNDAY. Again the Lord of life and light

Awakes the kindling ray ; Unseals the eyelids of the morn,

And pours increasing day.

But 0! our highest notes the theme de base,
And silence is our least injurious praise ;
Cease, cease your songs, the daring flight control,

Revere him in the stillness of the soul ;
With silent duty meekly bend before him,
And deep within your inmost hearts adore him.

O what a night was that, which wrapt

The heathen world in gloom! O what a sun which broke this day,

Triumphant from the tomb !

This day be grateful homage paid,

And loud hosannas sung ; Let gladness dwell in every heart,

And praise on every tongue.

Ten thousand differing lips shall join

To hail this welcome morn, Which scatters blessings from its wings,

To nations yet unborn.

Jesus the friend of human kind,

With strong compassion moved, Descended like a pitying God,

To save the souls he loved.

HYMN II. PRAISE to God immortal praise, * For the love that crowns our days ; Bounteous scource of every joy, Let thy praise our tongues employ ; For the blessings of the field, For the stores the gardens yield, For the vine's exalted juice, For the generous olive's use ; Flocks that whiten all the plain, Yellow sheaves of ripen'd grain ; Clouds that drop their fattening dews, Suns that temperate warmth diffuse ; All that Spring with bounteous hand Scatters o'er the smiling land; All that liberal Autumn pours From her rich o'erflowing stores : These to thee, my God, we owe; Source whence all our blessings flow; And for these my soul shall raise Grateful vows and solemn praise.

The powers of darkness leagued in vain

To bind his soul in death ;
He shook their kingdom when he fell,

With his expiring breath.

Not long the toils of hell could keep

The hope of Judah's line ; Corruption never could take hold

On aught so much divine.

And now his conquering chariot wheels

Ascend the lofty skies; While broke beneath his powerful cross,

Death's iron sceptre lies.

Exalted high at God's right hand,

The Lord of all below, Through him is pardoning love dispensed,

And boundless blessings flow.

Yet should rising whirlwinds tear From its stem the ripening ear; Should the fig tree's blasted shoot Drop her green untimely fruit; Should the vine put forth no more, Nor the olive yield her store ;

And still for erring, guilty man,

A brother's pity flows ; And still his bleeding heart is touch'd

With memory of our woes.

Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines, the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat, the flocks shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls : Yet I wil rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. -HAB. iii. 17, 18.


To thee, my Saviour and my King,

Glad homage let me give; And stand prepared like thee to die, With thee that I may live.



PIOUS FRIENDSHIP How blest the sacred tie that binds In union sweet according minds! How swift the heavenly course they run, Whose hearts, whose faith, whose hopes are one!

To each, the soul of each how dear,
What jealous love, what holy fear!
How doth the generous flame within
Refine from earth and cleanse from sin!

BEHOLD, where breathing love divine,

Our dying Master stands !
His weeping followers gathering round,

Receive his last commands.
From that mild teacher's parting lips

What tender accents fell !
The gentle precept which he gave,

Became its author well.
“ Blest is the man whose softening heart

Feels all another's pain ;
To whom the supplicating eye

Was never raised in vain.
Whose breast expands with generous warmth

A stranger's woes to feel;
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound

He wants the power to heal.
“He spreads his kind supporting arms

To every child of grief;
His secret bounty largely flows,

And brings unask'd relief. “To gentle offices of love

His feet are never slow :
He views through mercy's melting eye

A brother in a foe.
“ Peace from the bosom of his God,

My peace to him I give;
And when he kneels before the throne,

His trembling soul shall live.
“To him protection shall be shown,

And mercy from above Descend on those who thus fulfil

The perfect law of love."

Their streaming tears together flow
For human guilt and mortal wo;
Their ardent prayers together rise,
Like mingling flames in sacrifice.
Together both they seek the place
Where God reveals his awful face;
How high, how strong, their raptures swell,
There's none but kindred souls can tell.

Nor shall the glowing flame expire When nature droops her sickening fire; Then shall they meet in realms above, A heaven of joy-because of love.


HYMN VII. "Come unto me all that are weary and heavy laden, and

I will give you rest."
COME, said Jesus' sacred voice,
Come and make my paths your choice ;
I will guide you to your home;
Weary pilgrim, hither come!
Thou, who houseless, sole, forlorn,
Long hast borne the proud world's scorn,
Long hast roam'd the barren waste,-
Weary pilgrim, hither haste!
Ye, who toss'd on beds of pain,
Seek for ease, but seek in vain,
Ye whose swoll'n and sleepless eyes
Watch to see the morning rise ;
Ye, by fiercer anguish torn,
In remorse for guilt who mourn;
Here repose your heavy care,
A wounded spirit who can bear!
Sinner, come! for here is found
Balm that flows for every wound:
Peace, that ever shall endure,
Rest eternal, sacred, sure.

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AWAKE, my soul! lift up thine eyes, See where thy foes against thee rise, In long array, a numerous host; Awake, my soul! or thou art lost. Here giant Danger threatening stands, Mustering his pale terrific bands ; There Pleasure's silken banners spread, And willing souls are captive led. See where rebellious passions rage, And fierce desires and lusts engage; The meanest foe of all the train Has thousands and ten thousands slain. Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground, Perils and snares beset thee round; Beware of all, guard every part, But most, the traitor in thy heart. “Come then, my soul, now learn to wield The weight of thine immortal shield ;” Put on the armour from above Of heavenly truth and heavenly love. The terror and the charm repel, And powers of earth, and powers of hell; The Man of Calvary triumph'd here; Why should his faithful followers fear?

HYMN VIII. “The world is not their friend, nur the world's law."

Lo where a crowd of pilgrims toil

Yon craggy steeps among ! Strange their attire, and strange their mien,

As wild they press along.

Their eyes with bitter streaming tears

Now bent towards the ground, Now rapt, to heaven their looks they raise, And bursts of

song resound.

And hark! a voice from 'midst the throng

Cries, “ Stranger, wouldst thou know Our name, our race, our destined home,

Our cause of joy or wo:

Stern and awful are its tones
When the patriot martyr groans,
And the throbbing pulse beats high
To rapture mix'd with agony.

A tenderer, softer form it wears, Dissolved in love, dissolved in tears, When humble souls a Saviour greet, And sinners clasp the mercy seat.

« Our country is Immanuel's land,

We seek that promised soil ;
The songs of Zion cheer our hearts,

While strangers here we toil.
“Oft do our eyes with joy o'erflow,

And oft are bathed in tears : Yet naught but heaven our hopes can raise,

And naught but sin our fears.

"Tis joy e'en here! a budding flower, Struggling with snows and storm and shower, And waits the moment to expand, Transplanted to its native land.


# The flowers that spring along the road,

We scarcely stoop to pluck; We walk o'er beds of shining ore

Nor waste one wishful look : “We tread the path our Master trod,

We bear the cross he bore; And every thorn that wounds our foet,

His temples pierced before :
“Our powers are oft dissolved away

In ecstasies of love;
And while our bodies wander here,

Our souls are fir'd above :
“We purge our mortal dross away,

Refining as we run;
But while we die to earth and sense,

Our heaven is begun."

A PASTORAL HYMN. GENTLE pilgrim, tell me why Dost thou fold thine arms and sigh, And wistful cast thine eyes around ?Whither, pilgrim, art thou bound ?" “The road to Zion's gates I seek; If thou canst inform me, speak.” Keep yon right-hand path with care, Though crags obstruct, and brambles tear; You just discern a narrow track,Enter there and turn not back." “Say where that pleasant pathway leads, Winding down yon flowery meads ? Songs and dance the way beguiles, Every face is drest in smiles.” “ Shun with care that flowery way; "Twill lead thee, pilgrim, far astray." “Guide or counsel do I need ?" Pilgrim, he who runs may read." Is the way that I must keep, Cross'd by waters wide and deep?" “ Did it lead through flood and fire, Thou must not stop—thou must not tire. “ Till I have my journey past, Tell me will the daylight last ? Will the sky be bright and clear Till the evening shades appear ?” “ Though the sun now rides so high, Clouds may veil the evening sky; Fast sinks the sun, fast wears the day, Thou must not stop, thou must not stay: God speed thee, pilgrim, on thy way!"

HYMN IX. Joy to the followers of the Lord ! Thus saith the sure, the eternal word; Not of earth the joy it brings, Temper'd in celestial springs : "Tis the joy of pardon'd sin, When conscience cries, 'Tis well within ; 'Tis the joy that fills the breast When the passions sink to rest : "Tis the joy that seated deep, Leaves not when we sigh and weep; It spreads itself in virtuous deeds, With sorrow sighs, in pity bleeds.

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