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THE GARDEN.

SEE the fair and fragrant flowers
Peeping their green mantles thro',
Weeping 'neath the passing showers,
Smiling 'neath the sudden blue;
See their lovely colours blended,
Brought from many a varying clime,
And with careful nurture tended,
Till they reach their fullest prime.

So the Church, a water'd garden,
Bounded by the Almighty's power,
Feels his mercy's gracious pardon,
Feels his Spirit's gentle shower;
So from many a scatter'd nation
Are his chosen brought with care,
Given the life of his Salvation,
Rooted, grounded, 'stablished there!

O! may we indeed be taken

From the world's polluted waste,

By his presence ne'er forsaken,
All his vital spirit taste;

Where the streams of life are flowing,
Land by saints and prophets trod,

May we still be freshly growing

In the garden of our God!

THE HAPPY MAN.

He is the happy man, whose life e'en now
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come:
Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state,
Is pleased with it, and were he free to choose,
Would make his state his choice; whose peace the
fruit

Of virtue, and whose virtue, fruit of faith,
Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one
Content indeed to sojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home.
The world o'erlooks him in her busy search
Of objects, more illustrious in her view:
And occupied as earnestly as she,

Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world.
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
He seeks not her's for he has proved them vain.
He cannot skim the ground like summer birds
Pursuing gilded flies; and such he deems
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys.
Therefore, in contemplation is his bliss.

Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from earth,
She makes familiar with a heaven unseen,

And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd.

COWPER.

THE OCEAN.

Psalm cvii. 23, 24.

O GOD! thy name they well may praise,
Who to the deep go down,

And trace the wonders of thy ways,

Where rocks and billows frown.

If glorious be that awful deep,
No human power can bind,

What then art Thou, who bid'st it keep,
Within its bounds confined?

Let heaven and earth in praise unite,

Eternal praise to Thee,

Whose word can raise the tempest's might,

Or still the raging sea.

MRS. HEMANS.

"DOERS OF THE WORD."

James i. 22.

THE question is, not if our earthly race
Was once enlightened by a flash of grace;
If we, having a place on Zion's hill,

Called Jesus, "Lord," but if we did his will?
What if the stranger, sick, and captive, lie
Naked and hungry, and we pass them by;
Or do but some extorted pittance throw,
To save our credit, not to ease their woe?
Or strangers to the charity whence springs
The liberal heart, devising liberal things,
We, cumbered ever with our own pursuits,
To others leave the labour and its fruits;
Pleading excuses for the crumb we save,
For want of faith to cast it on the wave
Shall we go forth with joy to meet our Lord,
Enter his kingdom, reap his full reward?
Can such his good and faithful servants be,
Blessed of the Father?-Read his Word and see.
JANE TAYLOR.

THE WORLDLING.

THE fly around the candle wheels,
Enjoys the sport, and gaily sings,
Till nearer, nearer borne, he feels

The flame like lightning on his wings;
Then struggling in the gulf below he lies,
And limb by limb, scorched miserably, dies.

So thou: not swifter o'er the course,
The racer hastens to the goal,

Than thou, with blind and headlong force,
Art running on, to lose thy soul;

Then, though the world were won, how dear the

cost!

Can the whole world avail a spirit lost?

J. MONTGOMERY.

A REFLECTION AT SEA.

SEE how beneath the moonbeam's smile
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for awhile,
And murmuring, then subsides to rest.

Thus man, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on time's eventful sea,
And having swelled a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity.

MOORE.

A HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS-DAY.

AND art Thou come, dear Saviour? Hath thy love
Thus made Thee stoop, and leave thy throne above
The lofty heavens, and thus thyself to dress
In dust, to visit mortals? Could no less
A condescension serve ?—And after all,
The mean reception of a cratch*-a stall?

Dear Lord, I'll fetch Thee thence.-I have a room,
'Tis poor, but 'tis my best; if Thou wilt come
Within so poor a cell, where I would fain,
Mine, and the world's Redeemer entertain-
I mean my heart: 'tis filthy I confess ;
And will not mend thy lodging, Lord, unless
Thou send before thy messenger-I mean
Thy pure and purging grace, to make it clean,"
And sweep its inmost corners: then I'll try
To wash it also with a weeping eye.

And when 'tis swept and wash'd, I then will go,
And with thy leave, I'll fetch some flowers that grow
In thine own garden-Faith and Love to Thee.
With these I'll dress it up, and these shall be
My Rosemary and Bays: yet when my best
Is done, the room's not fit for such a Guest.
But here's the cure-thy presence, Lord, alone,
Will make the stall a court-the cratch a throne.
SIR MATTHEW HALE.

A Cratch is a frame out of which cattle are fed with hay

or straw.

F

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