That for repose and darkness bound, he might
Rest from the fears i' the night;

So should we too. All things teach us to die,
And point us out the way;

While we passe by,

And mind it not; Play not away
Thy glimpse of light.

View thy forerunners, Creatures given to be
Thy youth's companions

Take their leave, and die; birds, beasts, each tree,
All that have growth or breath

Have one large language-DEATH!

O then play not! but strive to Him who can
Make these sad shades pure sun,

Turning their mists to beams, their damps to day;
Whose power doth so excell

As to make clay

A Spirit, and true glory dwell
In dust and stones.

Hark, how He doth invite thee! with what voice
Of love and sorrow

He begs and calls! O that in these thy days
Thou knew'st but thy own good!

Shall not the cries of blood,

Of God's own blood, awake thee? He bids beware Of drunk'ness, surfeits, care;

But thou sleepst on; where's now thy Protestation,

Thy Lines, thy Love? Away!
Redeem the day;

The day that gives no observation
Perhaps to-morrow.

And teach us who survive . . to see how frail and uncertainour own condition is ;

TH

G. Wither.

HE voice which I did more esteem
Than music in her sweetest key;
Those eyes which unto me did seem
More comfortable than the day;
Those now by me, as they have been,
Shall never more be heard or seen,
But what I once enjoyed in them
Shall seem hereafter as a dream.

All earthly comforts vanish thus;
So little hold of them have we,
That we from them, or they from us,
May in a moment ravished be.
Yet we are neither just nor wise
If present mercies we despise ;
Or mind not how there may be made
A thankful use of what we had.

And teach us who survive..to see how frail and uncertain

our own condition is;

(PART.)

Moultrie.

B

UT be this

Even as it may ;-from all that hath been
lost,

And all that yet remains, our hearts may learn
Some profitable lessons. Upon earth

Decay and renovation, in close track,

Follow each other; friendships wax and wane;
Old joys give place to new ones; and while thus
Provision is still made for life's support

And bountiful refreshment,-while the heart
Is cheered and strengthened for its daily task
Of duty, by accessions many and rich
Of ever-freshening solace,-still we learn
That all is here unstable; that, till death,
We must not hope to lay our weary heads
On the soft lap of permanent repose;
Nor find secure and never-failing rest

For our foot's sole. Such comfort as Heaven gives
Let us enjoy with thankfulness; but still-
Remembering that our home is not on earth,
Nor earthy the affections and the joys

Which must make glad that home,-with stedfast aim

Pursue our heavenward path, from time to time
Refreshed, in this world's wilderness, by springs
Of worldly joyance, but still looking on,

Beyond created things, to that full bliss.
Which the regenerate and triumphant soul,
After its weary conflicts, by God's power,
Through faith unto salvation safely kept,
Shall, in His presence, endlessly enjoy.

Teach us who survive, in this and other like daily spectacles of mortality, to see how frail and uncertain our own condition is;

PASSING THROUGH THE NEW FOREST.

AUTUMN SUNSET.

Church Poetry.

WH

HAT do they say-those forest trees?
Their leaves are shed;

Thousands and thousands by the breeze

Lie scattered-dead;

And yet there is a sunny hue,

A rich bright glow,

Their summer freshness never knew,

That now they show.

And the bright sun-he soon will sink,

His glories set,

But see, while hovering on the brink,

He's glowing yet;

And never in his noontide hour

In summer skies,

Beams forth such radiant, glorious power,

As when he dies.

They tell me those proud trees of earth—

That sun of Heaven

This is not death; another birth

Will yet be given.

'Tis therefore they exulting glow,
Exulting shine;

They tell me as I gaze, to know
Such fate is mine.

But O! how nobler, higher far,
Our hope in dying,
To rise where light and glory are,
And death defying.
Then never, never look upon

That earth and sky,

To sigh o'er dreams of pleasures gone,

Or hopes that die ;

But think of the eternal morrow,

That breaks upon the night of sorrow.

Apply our hearts to that holy and heavenly wisdom, whilst we live here, which may in the end bring us to life everlasting.

TO GOD.

IN HIS SICKNESS.

Herrick.

WH

HAT though my harp and viol be
Both hung upon the willow-tree?
What though my bed be now my grave,
And for my house I darkness have?