Proclaim the glories of your Lord,

Dispers'd through all the heavenly street, Whose boundless treasures can afford

So rich a pavement for his feet.

Thou Heav'n of heavens, supremely bright,
Fair palace of the court divine,
Where, with inimitable light,

The Godhead condescends to shine.

Praise thou thy great Inhabitant,

Who scatters lovely beams of grace

On every angel, every saint,

Nor veils the lustre of his face.

O God of glory, God of love,

Thou art the Sun that makes our days: With all thy shining works above,

Let earth and dust attempt thy praise.

THE WELCOME MESSENGER.

LORD, when we see a saint of thine
Lie gasping out his breath,
With longing eyes and looks divine,
Smiling and pleas'd in death:

How we could e'en contend to lay
Our limbs upon that bed!
We ask thine envoy to convey
Out spirits in his stead.

Our souls are rising on the wing,

To venture in his place;

For when grim death has lost his sting, He has an angel's face.

Jesus, then purge my crimes away,

'Tis guilt creates my fears,

'Tis guilt gives death its fierce array, And all the arms it bears.

Oh! if my threatening sins were gone,
And death had lost his sting,

I could invite the angel on,
And chide his lazy wing.

Away these interposing days,
And let the lovers meet;
The angel has a cold embrace,
But kind, and soft, and sweet.

I'd leap at once my seventy years,
I'd rush into his arms,

And lose my breath, and all my cares,
Amidst those heavenly charms.

Joyful I'd lay this body down,
And leave the lifeless clay,
Without a sigh, without a groan,
And stretch and soar away.

G2

SINCERE PRAISE.

ALMIGHTY Maker, God!

How wondrous is thy name! Thy glories how diffus'd abroad Through the creation's frame!

Nature in every dress

Her humble homage pays,

And finds a thousand ways to' express
Thine undissembled praise.

In native white and red

The rose and lily stand,

And free from pride their beauties spread,

To show thy skilful hand.

The lark mounts up the sky
With unambitious song,

And bears her Maker's praise on high

Upon her artless tongue.

My soul would rise and sing

To her Creator too,

Fain would my tongue adore my King,

And pay the worship due.

But pride, that busy sin,

Spoils all that I perform;

Curs'd pride, that creeps securely in,

And swells a haughty worm.

Thy glories I abate,

Or praise thee with design; Some of thy favours I forget, Or think the merit mine.

The very songs I frame,

Are faithless to thy cause,

And steal the honours of thy name
To build their own applause.

Create my soul anew,

Else all my worship's vain;

This wretched heart will ne'er be true,

Until 'tis form'd again.

Descend, celestial fire,

And seize me from above,

Melt me in flames of pure desire,

A sacrifice to love.

Let joy and worship spend

The remnant of my days,

And to my God, my soul, ascend,
In sweet perfumes of praise.

TRUE LEARNING.

PARTLY IMITATED FROM A FRENCH SONNET OF
M. POIRET.

HAPPY the feet that shining Truth has led
With her own hand to tread the path she please,
To see her native lustre round her spread,
Without a veil, without a shade,

All beauty, and all light, as in herself she is.

Our senses cheat us with the pressing crowds
Of painted shapes they thrust upon the mind:
The truth they show lies wrap'd in sevenfold shrouds,
Our senses cast a thousand clouds

On unenlighten'd souls, and leave them doubly blind.

I hate the dust that fierce disputers raise,
And lose the mind in a wild maze of thought:
What empty trifles, and what subtil ways,

[not.

To fence and guard by rule and rote ! Our God will never charge us, that we knew them

Touch, heavenly Word, O touch these curious souls; Since I have heard but one soft hint from thee, From all the vain opinions of the schools

(That pageantry of knowing fools)

I feel my powers releas'd, and stand divinely free.

'Twas this Almighty Word that all things made,
He grasps whole nature in his single hand;
All the eternal truths in him are laid,

The ground of all things, and their head, [stand. The circle where they move, and centre where they