What shall we call them? | Piles of crystal light', |
A glorious company of golden streams,

Lamps of celestial e'ther, | burning bright — |
Suns', lighting systems with their joyous beams? |
But thou to these, art as the noon to night. |

Yes, as a drop of water in the sea', |

All this magnificence in thee is lost, !|

What are ten thousand worlds' compar'd to thee? |
And what am I' then? | Heaven's unnumber'd host, |
Though multiplied by myr'iads, and array'd
In all the glory of sublimest thought, |

Is but an atoma in the balance, | weigh'd
Against thy greatness is a cypher brought
Against infinity! | What am I then? | Nought, ! |

Nought! But the effluence of thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reach'd my bo som too; |
Yes! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine, |
As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.
Nought! but I live, and on hope's pinions, fly,
Eager towards thy presence; for in thee

I live, and breathe', and dwell; | aspiring high', |
E'en to the throne of thy divinity. |

I am, O God! and surely thou must be! |

Thou art directing, guiding all, thou art'!|
Direct my understanding, then, to thee; |
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart: |
Though but an atoma midst immensity, |
Still I am something fashion'd by thy hand!
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven, and earth', [
On the last verge of mortal being stand',

Close to the realms where angels have their birth,!
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!

The chain of being is complete in me,
In me is matter's last gradation lost、 ; |

And the next step is spirit | Deity! |
I can command the light'ning, and am dust. !|
A mon'arch, and a slave; | a worm', a God!
Whence came I here? and how so marvellously
Constructed, and conceiv'd.? unknown.
Lives surely through some higher energy; |
For, from itself alone, it could not be!

This clod

Creator, yes, thy wisdom, and thy word
Created me! Thou source of life, and good! |
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord! |
Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude, |
Fill'd me with an immortal soul to spring
O'er the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight | beyond this little sphere,
E'en to its source I to thee

- its Author there. [

O thoughts ineffable! | O visions blest!
Though worthless, our conceptions all of thee'; |
Yet shall thy shadow'd image fill our breast, |
And waft its homage to thy Deity. |

God, thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; |
Thus seek thy presence, | Being wise, and good!
Midst thy vast works admire', Tobey', I adore; I
And, when the tongue is eloquent no more, |
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. |

WITHOUT GOD IN THE WORLD.

(REV. ROBERT HALL.)

The exclusion of a Supreme Being, and of a superintending providence, tends directly to the destruction of moral taste. It robs the universe of all finished, and consummate ex'cellence, | even in idea. | The admiration of perfect wisdom, and goodness for which we are formed, and which kindles such unspeakable

•Prov'è-dèns; not provurdunce.

rapture in the soul, finding in the regions of scepticism | nothing to which it corresponds, droops, and languishes. In a world which presents a fair spectaclea of order, and beauty, of a vast family, nourished, and supported by an Almighty Parent in a world which leads the devout mind, step by step, to the contemplation of the first fair, and the first good, the sceptic is encompassed with nothing but obscurity, meanness, and disorder. |

When we reflect on the manner in which the idea of Deity is formed, we must be convinced that such an idea intimately present to the mind, must have a most powerful effect in refining the moral taste. | Composed of the richest elements, it embraces in the character of a beneficent Parent, | and Almighty Ruler, 1 whatever is venerable in wis dom, whatever is awful in author'ity, whatever is touching in good.ness. |

So

Human excellence is blended with many imperfections, and seen under many limitations. It is beheld only in detached, and separate portions, nor ever appears in any one character, whole, and entire. that, when, in imitation of the Stoics, we wish to form out of these fragments, the notion of a perfectly wise, and good man, we know it is a mere fiction of the mind, without any real being in whom it is embodied, and realized. In the belief of a Deity, these conceptions are reduced to reality the scattered rays of an ideal excellence, are concentrated, and become the real attributes of that Being with whom we stand in the nearest relation I who sits supreme at the head of the universe, is armed with infinite power, and pervades all nature with his presence.

The efficacy of these sentiments, in producing, and augmenting a virtuous taste, will indeed be proportioned to the vividness with which they are formed, | and the frequency with which they recur; yet some

a

с

• Spêk'ta-kl. b El'è-ments; not elurmunts. Pa'rênt.

benefit will not fail to result from them even in their lowest degree. |

The idea of the Supreme Being, has this peculiar property that, as it admits of no substitute, so, from the first moment it is impressed, it is capable of continual growth, and enlargement. God himself, is immutable; but our conception of his character, | is continually receiving fresh accessions, is continually growing more extended and refulgent, | by having transferred upon it new perceptions of beauty, and good.ness; by attracting to itself, as a centre, | whatever bears the impress of dignity, or'der, or happiness. | It borrows splendour from all that is fair, subordinates to itself all that is great, and sits enthroned on the riches of the universe. |

THE THREE WARNINGS.

(MRS. THRALE.)

The tree of deepest root, is found, I
Least willing still to quit the ground: |
'T was therefore said by ancient sages, |
That love of life increas'd with years, |
So much, that, in our latter stages,
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, |
The greatest love of life appears. |
This great affection to believe,
Which all confess, but few perceive,
If old assertions can't prevail, |
Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale. I

When sports went round, and all were gay, |
On neighbour Dodson's wedding-day, |
Death call'd aside the jocund groom, I
With him, into another room' ;]

And looking grave "You must," says he, |
"Quit your sweet bride', and come with me."

"With you! and quit my Susan's side'! |
With you!" 'the hapless husband cried; |
Young as I am, 't is monstrous_hard! |
Beside, in truth, I'm not prepar'd: |
My thoughts on other matters go; |
This is my wed'ding-day, you know." |
What more he urg'd, I have not heard, |
His reasons could not well be stronger; |
So Death the poor delinquent spar'd, |
And left to live a little longer.

Yet, calling up a serious look

('His hour-glass trembled while he spoke) |
"Neighbour," he said, "farewell. No more, ¦
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour; |
And farther, to avoid all blame, I
Of cruelty upon my name, |

To give you time for preparation, |
And fit you for your future station, |
Three several war'nings you shall have, |
Before you're summon'd to the grave.|
Willing for once, I'll quit my prey', |
And grant a kind reprieve、, |

In hopes you'll have no more to say;!
But, when I call again this way, |

Well pleas'd the world will leave." |
To these conditions both consented,
And parted perfectly contented. |

What next the hero of our tale befell, |
How long he liv'd, how wise', I how well, |
How roundly he pursued his course, |

And smok'd his pipe', and strok'd his horse', |
The willing muse shall tell.:!

He chaffer'd then, he bought, he sold, |
Nor once perceiv'd his growing old', |
Nor thought of Death as near, ; |

His friends not false', his wife no shrew',
Many his gains', his children few, |