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with teats, Impending clouds of darkness o'er me

, sprfad, And in the paths of Hell I seem to tread; My ways all strtw'd with thorns, while

black Despair Would rill the measure of ray days with

Oppress'd, cast down, and alinoft robb'd of

Tothe poor sinner's Friend I then look up;
Cast at his feet my burden and niv gritf,
And there, and there alone, I rind relief.

He says to each rude passion, " Peace,
be still;"
And straight it yields obedience to his


He orders light where darkness reiffn'd 1 c °


And bids me disbelieve his love no more.

At his command my hope once more ap


And ilWrs of Eden deck this vale of


ToZion bound, refresh'd.I speed my way,

And travel on by night, as well as day.

At times I sing, but oft my harp's unstrung, Or set to notes which captive Israel sung When they the Babylonian streams ex

plor'd, And Z'on's loss in plaintive strains deplor'd.

Yet if n:y anchor's cast within the vale, Tho' now oppos'd by many a boill'rou*

gaJ*.-, My. Jittle vessel shall the storm outride, Nor fear a wreck, for Jesus Is its guide. How oft has he been better than my tears, And with a promise check'd my riow>

ing tears, M>r my requeft, prevented tny desire, And tum'd to songs of praise my mournful lyre! But oh, what base returns my heart has

ra-de! How oft his love by coldnejs has been

paid! How oft I've slighted, turn'd away my

face Fans, ail the invitations of his grace!

strings, Or passing angclt touch thee with their

wings, Let thy best notes resound my Saviour's

praise I And all thy theme be his redeeming grace! That shall employ in Heav'n my better

pow'rs! That shall on earth solace my captive

hours! .

That shall my charter be-to worlds above! And then Bo Heav'n I'll ask' but Jesus.'

love! U. R.


Mark the resplendent orb of day,
Early diffuse his orient nv,

Euliv'ning all aruund!
The dew, soft trembling, then is seen
On ev'ry beauteous spire of green

That decorates the ground,
As.if the op'ning scene invile
To hail his mild returning lighr,

Each drop refulgence gams;
The prism's diverging colours too,
On cv'ry humid ball we view.

That cluthes the verdant plains.

But should the sun his gle ry shroud
In some opaque obtruding cloud,

Soon is their beauty lost:
So Christians, it their Lmd remove,
The sudden los* of comfoit prove,

Nor longer beauty boast.

Wain'd by the dew drop's transient show, All self-depcodencc I torege,

Nor trust my treach'rous heart. Jesus! to thee my soul would fly,' Thou Son of righteousness on high,

Thy quick'ning beams impart 1

The smallest drop throughout the field Will somewhat of sweet radiance yield,

Chcer'd by the rising day; So I, the mcanclt of thine own, Dear Lord! would dwell before thy '. throne,

And thuie with borrow'd ray.

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Lit tot At -uljter-jteodt ovtrjlvm me, mlltier Let thedctp s'Mallvu) m* up.

The Wku's a sea; my flesh av ship that's ma-nn'd

With Wring thoughts, and jtecr'd by Reason's hand:

My heart's the seaman's-chart, whereby she sails;

M» loose affections are the greater sails i

Tlit topsail is my fancy; and the gusts

That fill these wanton sheets are worldly lusts.

Prayer is the cable, at whose end appears

The anchor Hope, ne'er slipp'd but in our fears:

My will's th' unccnftlnt pilot, that commands

The sragg'ring keel [ my sins are like the samlb]

Repentance is the bucket, and mine rye

The pump, unus'd ^but in catremes) and dry.

My conscience is the plummet, that does press

The deeps, but seldom cries, O fathomless:

Smooth calm's security i the pulpb's despair;

My freight's corruption; and this life's my tare.

My soul's the passenger, confused, driv'n

From leaf to fright; her lauding port is Heav'n.

My seas are stormy, and my ship doth leak!. My sailors rudc'i my steets-man faint

and weak i My canvas lorn, it flaps- from side to side: My cable's cratk'd, uiy anchor's slightly

ty'd'; My r'lo1'5 craz'd; my shipwreck sands

are cloak'd; My bucket's broken, and my pump is

ch6ak°d; My calm's deceitful, and my gulph's-too

near; My wares are slubbcr'd, and my fare's too

dean My plummet's light, it cannot sink nor

sound i O, shall my rock-be-threaten'd soul pfe


Lord, still the seas, and shield my ship

frem. harm, Instruct niy sailors, guide my steers-man's'

arms Touch thou my compass, and renew my

sails | Send stiffcr courage, or send milder gales; Make strong my utile, b'md-iny anchor

faster; PireeiTrtypilnt;andbe thou his master. Object the sands to my m«re serious view; Make sound my bucket; bore my pump

aacw i

New-cast my plummet, rpake it tfpt toGp Where the rocks' lurk, and Where the

quicksands lie i Guard thou the gulph with lore; my

calms.with care; Cleanse thou my freight; accept my slender fare: Refresh the sea-sick passenger i cut short' His voyage; safe land him in his wish\i

for port. Thou, thou whom winds and stormy seat

obey, That through the deep gav'st murmuring

Israel way, Say lomy soul, be safe; and then my eye Shall scorn grim Death, although grim.

Death stand by. Oh! thou, whose strength reviving arm

did cherish Thy sinking Peter at the point to parish, Reach forth thy hand, or bid me trea*'"'

the wave; I'll come, I'll come: the voice that call*

will save.

Xotbtritbti T. J. N.

Written after reading tlit Accounts published by the Strangers' b'ricnJt Society, for the year iSoi.

What scenes of misery and woe \
Alas 1 What blasts of v>n<»w liluWg.

.Unheeded by the throng!
The busy, careless, and supine,
Such visits and such scenes decline;

Nor dwell they on their tongue t

Little ye rich and prosp'rous think
How mauiy fellow-creaturcssink,

Through poverty ai>d grief!
O from your treasure kindly spare;
A trifle let tht wretched share,

To bring them kind relief.

Their pains and woes, their wretched state,
Othit.k, it might have been your fate,

Unwonhy what you have i
Then let their miseries awake
Some gen'rous purpose, for bis sake

Wlio came the lost to save 1

Great God, with Mossing* e'er suf rourrj
Those who in works of love abound,

Who visit scenes of woe:
To' Deat h; nor to Disease a prey,
O keep and bless them in the way

In which they kindly go.

Crown their endeavours to reclaim
Poor guil'y sinners through thy name,

And bring them back to God. Wisdom, andiitrrnph<and Health affordy Whiile thuj they imitate their Lord 1

This Rath the Saviour trod.
O Sin, what mis'ry hast thou brought
On witetthed manrtsortongue nor thought:

Can tell or e'er conceive.
O awful view I—-but now we may
Escape elcrnal death,—in day,

If we on Chrft believe!

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Mr. Cowper's relapse occurred in 1773, in his fortysecond year. His derangement so completely subverted those doctrinal sentiments which had afforded him, for the last nine years, the most transcendent comfort, that he considered himself as cast off for ever from the hope of mercy, although he never disputed the divine change which had been wrought in his mind. Through the depths of his distress;, Mr. Newton attended him with unfailing tenderness of friendship, and once entertained him fourteen months at the vicarage; but he was deaf to consolation or encouragement, while he supposed the ear of his Creator to be shut against his complaints and requests. He ceased not only from attending public service, but likewise from joining in domestic worship, or attempting private devotion. His judgment was equally convinced as ever of the glory of Christ, and his desires for communion with God were as fervent; but apprehending his own perdition to be determined by an immutable decree, he regarded it as blasphemy in hiin to ask for mercy. His pious neighbours were struck with, terror, as well as with compassion, at so awful a change. He was inaccessible to all, except Mr. Newton; hut all, like him, longed to contribute to his relief. After the first dreadful paroxysm of his disorder, although his unhappy persuasion remained unalterable, he was induced to admit some diversion of his mind from melancholy. Estranged from human society, he was inclined to domesticate a young leveret; and his neighbours instantly supplied him with three. The choice of their rood, and the diversity of their dispositions, amused his mind; and their occasional diseases called forth his tenderness. Two of them died; but the third was his companion throughout, his abode at QJuey. 8e*en years elapsed before he sufficiently r«

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