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Let not the fear or smart

Of his chastising rod,
Take off my fervent heart,
From praising my dear God.

Whate'er I feel,

Still let me bring

This offering,

And to him kneel.
Though I lose friends and wealth,

And bear reproach and shame;
Though I lose ease nd health,
Still let me praise God's name.

That fear, pain,

Which wiald destroy

My thanks and joy,
Do thou restrain.


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Though human help depart,

And flesh draw near to dust;
Let faith keep up my heart,
To love God true and just:

And all my days,

Let no discase

Cause me to cease

His joyful praise.
Though sin would make me doubt,

And fill my soul with fears;
Though God seems to shut out,
My daily cries and tears :

By no such frost
Of sad delays,

Let thy sweet praise
Be nipp'd and lost.

Away, distrustful care !

I have thy promise, Lord,
To banish all despair,
I have thy oath and word.

And therefore I

Shall see thy face,

And there thy grace
Shall magnify.

Though sin and death conspire,

To rob thee of thy praise, Still towards thee I'll aspire, And thou dull h arts canst raise.

Open t. 100r;

And wen grim death,

Shall stop this breath,
I'll praise thee more.

With thy triumphant flock,

Then I shall number'd be,
Built on th' eternal rock,
His glory we shall see.
The Heavens so high

With praise shall ring,

And all shall sing
In harmony.

The sun is but a spark,

From the eternal light:
Its brightest beams are dark,
To that most glorious sight :
There the whole choir,

With one accord,

Shall praise the Lord
For evermore,


[REV, H. CAUNTER.] But who shall scan the future? as we pace Along life's chequered route, we feel, we see, On this world's surface, grief's abiding place, All that there is of bliss or misery. In our brief passage, jocund though we be, Time soon may drug with pain our draught of joy: Dark is the prospect of futurity,

And who shall tell what crosses may annoy;
What cares in comfort's spring may mix their foul alloy!

No one can know to what his days may tend,
Whether or smooth or rough his course shall run,
Or how this mortal pilgrimage may end,
So darkly is the web of being spun.
But God's decrees are wise ; and if our sun
Of happiness grow dim, still wherefore fear?
That light which only in this world begun,

Will brighter shine in an eternal sphere,
Where bliss shallglad the more, the less our pleasure here.

Here oft, while joy's fresh flower is full in bloom,
Misfortune's sickle sweeps it to the dust;
Woe springs to vigorous growth on pleasure's tomb,
And gives her awful lesson of distrust.
Though peace may reign awhile, the insidious rust
Of latent sorrow oft will mar its ray;
But wisdom knows, in all her knowledge just,

This world's the transient temple of decay,
Here wretchedness and mirth must wear alike away.

Where now are Troy and mightier Babylon ?
On their proud site the earth is wild and bare,
O'er them stern time has a full victory won,
And they are mingled with the things that were.

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Thus works destruction; from his secret lair
He skulks abroad, to mar what man has made,
Decay, slow mining, meets us everywhere.

Earth's pageantries are fugitive-here fade
All things alike-the debts of nature must be paid.

Shall we then pine and fret because our lot
Is not a blest one here, when sin, hell-born,
O'er our fair destiny has cast her blot,
And to the rose of bliss attached a thorn ?
Nay, sinner, never tax thy God with scorn
Of his own works; if ills on earth assail,
'Tis thy guilt's penalty ; when thou art torn

By that fierce vulture, conscience,-pause, and hail
The chastening, and let virtue over vice prevail.

It was a wise decree, that man should bear
Affliction's burthen in this vale of tears :
Were all enjoyment, without grief or care,
How would he pass the current of his years ?
Seduced by pleasure, palled by vice's cheers,
Prurient desires would taint his easy heart.
Alas! what were our hopes without our fears !

There is a mercy in affliction's smart-
It heals those wounds of sin which mock all human art.



O LORD, my God, in mercy turn,
In mercy hear a sinner mourn !
To thee I call, to thee I cry,
O leave me, leave me not to die!

I strove against thee, Lord, I know,
I spurn'd thy grace, I mock'd thy law;
The hour is past-the day's gone by,
And I am left alone to die.

O pleasures past, what are ye now
But thorns about my bleeding brow !
Spectres that hover round my brain,
And aggravate and mock my pain.
For pleasure I have given my soul;
Now, Justice, let thy thunders roll!
Now Vengeance smile-and with a blow,
Lay the rebellious ingrate low.
Yet Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling,
I'll crowd beneath his sheltering wing;
I'll clasp the cross, and bolding there,
Even me, oh bliss! his wrath may spare.


(POLLOK.) ANOTHER leaf of finished time we turn, And read of Fame, terrestrial Fame, which died, And rose not at the Resurrection morn. Not that by virtue earned, the true renown, Begun on earth, and lasting in the skies, Worthy the lofty wish of Seraphim, The approbation of the Eye that sees The end from the beginning, sees from cause To most remote effect: of it we read In book of God's remembrance, in the book Of life, from which the quick and dead were judged; The book that lies upon the throne, and tells

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