Ten thousand differing lips shall join
To hail this welcome morn,
Which scatters blessings from its wings,
To nations yet unborn.

Jesus, the friend of human kind

With strong compassion moved,

Descended, like a pitying God,

To save the souls He loved.

The powers of darkness leagued in vain
To bind his soul in death;
He shook their kingdom, when He fell,
With his expiring breath.

Not long the toils of hell could keep
The hope of Judah's line;
Corruption never could take hold
On aught so much divine.

And now his conquering chariot-wheels
Ascend the lofty skies;
While broke, beneath his powerful cross,
Death's iron sceptre lies.

Exalted high at God's right hand,
And Lord of all below;

Through Him is pardoning love dispensed,
And boundless blessings flow.

And still for erring, guilty man
A brother's pity flows;
And still his bleeding heart is touched
With memory of our woes.

To Thee, my Saviour and my King,
Glad homage let me give;

And stand prepared like Thee to die,
With Thee that I may live.

TIMOTHY DWIGHT.

TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D.D., LL.D., was born in Northampton, Massachusetts, on the 14th day of May, 1752. His father was a merchant, of excellent character and liberal education, and his mother, a daughter of the great Jonathan Edwards. When thirteen years old he entered Yale College. His previous unremitted attention to study had impaired his health, and he made little progress during the first two years of his residence at New Haven; but his subsequent intense and uninterrupted application enabled him to graduate in 1769, the first scholar in his class. He was licensed to preach in the Congregational church, and entered the army as a chaplain. In 1778 he established an academy at Northampton, which was continued for five years. In 1783 he was ordained pastor of a church in Greenfield, Connecticut, where he resided until elected to succeed Dr. Styles, as president of Yale College, in 1795. He died in New Haven on the 11th of January, 1817, in the sixty-fifth year of his age.

99.66

In 1771, Dwight commenced writing the "Conquest of Canaan," an "epic poem in eleven books," which he finished in 1774, before he was twenty-three years of age. It was followed by "Greenfield Hill," a descriptive, historical, and didactic poem, which was published in 1794. This work is divided into seven parts, entitled The Pros,” “The Flourishing Village,' pect," The Burning of Fairfield," "The Destruction of the Pequods," "The Clergyman's Advice to the Villagers," "The Farmer's Advice to the Villagers," and "The Vision, or Prospect of the Future Happiness of America." The "Triumph of Infidelity," a satire, was his next attempt in poetry; and he subsequently wrote several hymns and other short pieces, of which there is no collected edition.

THE

COUNTRY PASTOR.

AH! knew he but his happiness, of men
Not the least happy he, who, free from broils
And base ambition, vain and bustling pomp,
Amid a friendly cure, and competence,
Tastes the pure pleasures of parochial life.
What though no crowd of clients, at his gate,

To falsehood and injustice bribe his tongue,
And flatter into guilt?-what though no bright
And gilded prospects lure ambition on
To legislative pride, or chair of state?
What though no golden dreams entice his mind
To burrow, with the mole, in dirt and mire?
What though no splendid villa, Edened round
With gardens of enchantment, walks of state,
And all the grandeur of superfluous wealth,
Invite the passenger to stay his steed,

And ask the liveried footboy, "Who dwells here?”
What though no swarms, around his sumptuous board,
Of soothing flatterers, humming in the shine
Of opulence, and honey from its flowers
Devouring, till their time arrives to sting,
Inflate his mind; his virtues round the year
Repeating, and his faults, with microscope
Inverted, lessen, till they steal from sight ?—
Yet from the dire temptations these present
His state is free; temptations, few can stem;
Temptations, by whose sweeping torrent hurled
Down the dire steep of guilt, unceasing fall
Sad victims, thousands of the brightest minds
That time's dark reign adorn; minds, to whose grasp
Heaven seems most freely offered; to man's

Most hopeful candidates for angels' joys.

eye,

His lot, that wealth, and power, and pride forbids.

Forbids him to become the tool of fraud,

Injustice, misery, ruin: saves his soul

From all the needless labors, griefs, and cares,

That avarice and ambition agonize;

From those cold nerves of wealth, that, palsied, feel

No anguish but its own; and ceaseless lead

To thousand meannesses, as gain allures.

Though oft compelled to meet the gross attack Of shameless ridicule and towering pride, Sufficient good is his; good, real, pure,

With guilt unmingled. Rarely forced from home,

1

ope

Around his board his wife and children smile;
Communion sweetest, nature here can give,
Each fond endearment, office of delight,
With love and duty blending. Such the joy
My bosom oft has known. His, too, the task
To rear the infant plants that bud around ;
Το their little minds to truth's pure light;
To take them by the hand, and lead them on
In that straight, narrow road where virtue walks;
To guard them from a vain, deceiving world,
And point their course to realms of promised life.
His, too, the esteem of those who weekly hear
His words of truth divine; unnumbered acts
Of real love attesting to his eye
Their filial tenderness. Where'er he walks,
The friendly welcome and inviting smile
Wait on his steps, and breathe a kindred joy.
Oft too in friendliest association joined,
He greets his brethren, with a flowing heart,
Flowing with virtue; all rejoiced to meet,
And all reluctant parting; every aim,
Benevolent, aiding with purpose kind;

While, seasoned with unblemished cheerfulness,
Far distant from the tainted mirth of vice,
Their hearts disclose each contemplation sweet
Of things divine; and blend in friendship pure,
Friendship sublimed by piety and love.

All virtue's friends are his: the good, the just,
The pious, to his house their visits pay,
And converse high hold of the true, the fair,

The wonderful, the moral, the divine:

Of saints and prophets, patterns bright of truth,
Lent to a world of sin, to teach mankind

How virtue in that world can live and shine;

Of learning's varied realms; of Nature's works;

And that blessed book which gilds man's darksome way
With light from heaven; of blessed Messiah's throne
And kingdom; prophecies divine fulfilled,

And prophecies more glorious yet to come
In renovated days; of that bright world,
And all the happy trains which that bright world
Inhabit, whither virtue's sons are gone:
While God the whole inspires, adorns, exalts;
The source, the end, the substance, and the soul.
His too the task, the blessed, the useful task,
To invigor order, justice, law, and rule;
Peace to extend, and bid contention cease;
To teach the words of life; to lead mankind
Back from the wild of guilt and brink of wo
To virtue's house and family; faith, hope,
And joy to inspire; to warm the soul
With love to God and man; to cheer the sad,
To fix the doubting, rouse the languid heart;
The wandering to restore; to spread with down
The thorny bed of death; console the poor,
Departing mind, and aid its lingering wing.

To him her choicest pages Truth expands,
Unceasing, where the soul-entrancing scenes
Poetic fiction boasts are real all:

Where beauty, novelty, and grandeur wear
Superior charms, and moral worlds unfold
Sublimities transporting and divine.

Not all the scenes Philosophy can boast,
Though them with nobler truths he, ceaseless blends,
Compare with these. They, y found the mind,
Still leave it; more informed, but not more wise:
These wiser, nobler, better, make the man.

Thus every happy mean of solid good
His life, his studies, and profession yield.
With motives hourly new, each rolling day
Allures, through wisdom's path and truth's fair field,
His feet to yonder skies. Before him heaven
Shines bright, the scope sublime of all his prayers,
The meed of every sorrow, pain, and toil.