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Nor one, nor all of these can move
The soul engross'd by heavenly love :
Peace from the man shall ne'er depart,
Who yields to God a perfect heart.

LAYING HOLD OF CHRIST.

Grant.

WHEN gath'ring clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean who not in vain
Experienced ev'ry human pain;

He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.

When aught shall tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,
To shun the precept's holy light,
Or quit my hold on Jesu's might,
May He who felt temptation's power,
Still guard me in that dangerous hour.

M

And oh! when I have safely pass'd
Through ev'ry conflict but the last,
Still, Lord, unchanging, watch beside
My dying bed, for Thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.

SONNET.

I SAW a happy Bride within a home

Of wedded bliss; she smiled on one who loved Her gentleness in manhood's opening bloom,

Whose heart for her its earliest passion proved, And she was bless'd.-The heaven that shone so bright,

Shone not so brightly as those soft dark eyes, Nor shed on all around a tenderer light.

Her passing griefs were breathed in happy sighs, For he was near to soothe her slightest pain,

And give to woe the semblance of a joy. A few short years, I pass'd that home again, 'Twas desolate, a father led his boy

To a lone grave-and mourn'd in deep despair For the once happy Bride, who slumber'd there.

PRAYER.

Edmeston.

ENTHRONED amidst the world of light,
Jehovah rules the realms of bliss ;
Yet bends to scenes of earthly night,
To such a house of pain as this!
The glories of the heavenly plains

Hide not one mourner from his eye,
Nor can the seraph's loudest strains
Drown, by their sound, the faintest sigh.

Oh Prayer! thou mine of things unknown, Who can be poor, possessing thee?

Thou wert a fount of joy alone,

Better than worlds of gold could be. Were I bereft of all beside,

That bears the form or name of bliss,

I yet were rich, what will betide,

If God, in mercy, leave me this.

THE EXILE.

Barton.

THE exile on a foreign strand,
Where'er his footsteps roam,
Remembers that his father's land
Is still his cherish'd home.

Though brighter skies may shine above,
And round him flowers more fair,
His heart's best hopes and fondest love
Find no firm footing there.

Still to the spot which gave him birth

His warmest wishes turn;

And elsewhere own, through all the earth, A stranger's brief sojourn.

Oh! thus should man's immortal soul

Its privilege revere;

And, mindful of its heavenly goal,

Seem but an exile here.

'Mid fleeting joys of sense and time,
Still free from earthly leaven,
Its purest hopes, its joys sublime,
Should own no home but heaven!

PRIDE.

Pollok.

PRIDE, self-adoring Pride, was primal cause
Of all sin past, all pain, all woe to come.
Unconquerable Pride! first, eldest Sin,

Great fountain-head of evil! highest source,
Whence flow'd rebellion 'gainst the Omnipotent,
Whence hate of man to man, and all else ill.
Pride at the bottom of the human heart
Lay, and gave root and nourishment to all
That grew above. Great ancestor of vice,
Hate, unbelief, and blasphemy of God;
Envy and slander, malice and revenge,
And murder, and deceit, and every birth
Of damned sort, was progeny of pride.

It was the ever-moving, acting force,
The constant aim, and the most thirsty wish
Of every sinner unrenew'd, to be

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