JEREMY TAYLOR.

JEREMY TAYLOR, the most eloquent of English preachers, was the author of many prose works of surpassing excellence, and, though little known as a poet, also of some hymns well deserving notice. It is true that they are not so remarkable as his prose, for felicity of diction, but they are replete with rich and noble thoughts, thoughts fitted to improve the heart of him who reads them. He was born

in 1613, and died bishop of Down and Connor in 1667.

THE WISE MEN COMING TO WORSHIP JESUS.

A COMET dangling in the air,

Presaged the ruin both of death and sin;
And told the wise men of a King,

The King of glory, and the Sun
Of righteousness, who then begun
To draw towards that blessed hemisphere.
They from the furthest east, this new
And unknown light pursue,

Till they appear

In this blest infant King's propitious eye,
And pay their homage to his royalty.
Persia might then the rising sun adore;

It was idolatry no more.

Great God! they gave to Thee

Myrrh, frankincense and gold;

But, Lord, with what shall we

Present ourselves before thy Majesty,

Whom Thou redeemest when we were sold?

We've nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither;
Vile dirt and clay;

Yet it is soft and may

Impression take.

Accept it, Lord, and say, this Thou hadst rather;
Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make
Thy holy image, and it shall outshine

The beauty of the golden mine. Amen.

IMMANUEL.

How good a God have we! who for our sake,

To save us from the burning lake,

Did change the order of creation :

At first He made

Man like Himself in his own image; now

In the more blessed reparation,

The heavens bow,

Eternity took the measure of a span;

And said,

"Let us make ourselves like man;

And not from man the woman take,

But from the woman, man."

Hallelujah, we adore

His name, whose goodness hath no store.

OF HEAVEN.

O BEAUTEOUS God, uncircumscribed treasure

Of an eternal pleasure,

Thy throne is seated far

Above the highest star,

Where Thou preparest a glorious place

Within the brightness of thy face,

For every spirit

To inherit,

That build his hopes upon thy merit,

Of 'ite ani Nissiness armi,

That we may prase Thee a erity

HENRY KING.

HENRY KING, author of miscellaneous poems, and a version of the Psalms, was born in 1591. He was successively Chaplain to James the First, Dean of Rochester, and Bishop of Chichester, and died in 1669. All the writings of King are religious, and there is a peculiar charm in his poetry, arising more from this circumstance than from its style.

THE DIRGE.

WHAT is the existence of man's life
But open war or slumbered strife,
Where sickness to his sense presents
The combat of the elements,

And never feels a perfect peace,

Till death's cold hand signs his release?

It is a storm, where the hot blood
Outvies in rage the boiling flood:
And each loose passion of the mind

Is like a furious gust of wind,

Which beats his bark with many a wave,
Till he casts anchor in the grave.

It is a flower, which buds and grows,
And withers as the leaves disclose,
Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep,
Like fits of waking before sleep;
Then shrinks into that fatal mould,

Where its first being was enrolled.

It is a dream, whose seeming truth

Is moralized in age and youth;
Where all the comforts he can share,

As wandering as his fancies are;
Till in a mist of dark decay

The dreamer vanished quite away.

And loves Thee with a holy charity.

What ravished heart, seraphic tongue or eyes,

Clear as the morning rise,

Can speak, or think, or see

That bright eternity?

Where the great King's transparent throne

Is of an entire jasper stone;

There the eye

O' th' chrysolite,

And a sky

Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase,

And above all, thy holy face,

Makes an eternal charity.

When Thou thy jewels up dost bind-that day

Remember us we pray,

That where the beryl lies,

And the crystal 'bove the skies,

There Thou mayest appoint us place

Within the brightness of thy face,

And our soul,

In the scroll

Of life and blissfulness enrol,

That we may praise Thee to eternity. Allelujah.