LIFE.

[COWLEY.]

We're ill by these grammarians us’d;
We are abus’d by words, grossly abus’d :

From the maternal tomb,

'To the grave's fruitful womb,
We call here Life; but Life's a name

That nothing here can truly claim:
This wretched inn, where we scarce stay to bait,

We call our dwelling-place;

We call one step a race: But angels, in their full enlighten'd state, Angels, who Live, and know what 'tis to Be; Who all the nonsense of our language see; Who speak things, and our words, their ill-drawn

pictures scorn; When we, by a foolish figure, say,

• Behold an old man dead!' then they Speak properly, and cry,' Behold a man-child born.'

My eyes are open’d, and I see
Through the transparent fallacy:

Because we seem wisely to talk
Like men of business; and for business walk

From place to place,
And mighty voyages we take,

And mighty journeys seem to make,
O'er sea and land, the little point that has no space :

Because we fight, and battles gain; Some captives call, and say,

the rest are slain :' Because we heap up yellow earth, and so Rich, valiant, wise, and virtuous, seem to grow :

Because we draw a long nobility
From hieroglyphic proofs of heraldry,
And impudently talk of a posterity;

And, like Egyptian chroniclers,
Who write of twenty thousand years,

With maravedies make the account,
That single time might to a sum amount.
We grow at last by custom to believe,

That really we Live : Whilst all these shadows, that for things we take, Are but the empty dreams which in Death's sleep we

make.

But these fantastic errors of our dream

Lead us to solid wrong; We

pray God our friends' torments to prolong, And wish uncharitably for them To be as long a-dying as Methusalem. The ripen'd soul longs from his prison to come; But we would seal, and sow up, if we could, the womb: We seek to close and plaster up by art The cracks and breaches of th' extended shell,

And in that narrow cell

Would rudely force to dwell
The noble vigorous bird already wing'd to part.

HYMN FOR NOON.

(PARNELL.]

The sun is swiftly mounted high,
It glitters in the southern sky!
Its beams with force and glory beat,
And fruitful earth is fill'd with heat.

Father! also with thy fire
Warm the cold, the dead desire,
And make the sacred love of thee,
Within my soul, a sun to me!
Let it shine so fairly bright,
That nothing else be took for light;
That worldly charms be seen to fade,
And in its lustre find a shade!

Let it strongly shine within,
To scatter all the clouds of sin,
That drive when gusts of passion rise,
And intercept it from our eyes !
Let its glory more than vie
With the sun that lights the sky!

Let it swiftly mount in air,
Mount with that, and leave it there!
And soar, with more aspiring flight,
To realms of everlasting light!

Thus while here I'm forced to be,
I daily wish to live with thee;
And feel that union, which thy love
Will, after death, complete above.

From my soul I send my prayer,
Great Creator, bow thine ear!
Thou, for whose propitious sway
The world was taught to see the day;
Who spake the word, and earth begun,
And shew'd its beauties in the sun;

With pleasure I thy creatures view,
And would with good affection too;
Good affection sweetly free,
Loose from them and move to thee:

O! teach me due returns to give,
And to thy glory let me live!
And then my days shall shine the more,
Or pass more blessed than before.

HYMN FOR EVENING.

(PARNELL.] The beam repelling mists arise, And Evening spreads obscurer skies. The twilight will the night forerun, And night itself be soon begun. Upon thy knees devoutly bow, And pray the God of Glory now To fill thy breast; or deadly sin May cause a blinder night within. And, whether pleasing vapours rise, Which gently dim the closing eyes; Which make the weary members blest, With sweet refreshment in their rest; Or whether spirits, in the brain, Dispel their soft embrace again; And on my watchful bed I stay, Forsook by sleep, and waiting day; Be God for ever in my view, And never he forsake me too! But still, as day concludes in night, To break again the new-born light, His wond'rous bounty let me find, With still a more enlighten'd mind; When grace and love in one agree,Grace from God, and love from me;

Grace that will from Heaven inspire,
Love that steals it in desire;
Grace and love that mingle beams,
And fill me with increasing flames.
Thou that hast thy palace far
Above the moon and every star;
Thou, that sittest on a throne
To which the night was never known ;
Regard my voice and make me blest,
By kindly granting its request!
If thoughts on thee my soul employ,
My darkness will afford me joy,
Till thou shalt call, and I shall soar,
And part with darkness evermore.

THE

GOOD MISSIONARY.

(PRINGLE.)

He left his Christian friends and native strand,
By pity for benighted men constrain'd;
His heart was fraught with charity unfeign’d,
His life was strict, his manners meek and bland :
Long dwelt he lonely in a heathen land,
In want and weariness—yet ne'er complain'd;
But labour'd that the lost sheep might be gain'd,
Not seeking recompense from human hand.
The credit of the arduous works he wrought
Was reap'd by other men who came behind :
The world gave him no honour-none he sought,
But cherish'd Christ's example in his mind :
To one great aim his heart and hopes were given-
To serve his God, and gather souls to heaven.