THE SINNER.

(JOB, XX. 22.)

Он, think not, thou sinner, to fly from the wrath
Of him who has given thee thy being and breath!
Could'st thou bury thy guilt by the green ocean waves,
Where leviathan dwells in his fathomless caves;
Could'st thou speed thee away on the wings of the morn,
To the verge of creation, unknown and forlorn ;
Could'st thou rush into chaos where sun's never glow'd-
Thou would'st not escape from the vengeance of God.

Oh, think not, thou sinner, to fly from the wrath
Of him who can break up the barriers of death!
For though thou should'st couch on the bed of the tomb,
To sleep in forgetfulness, silence, and gloom,
Till ages on ages had passed from the earth,

And the living should know not thou ever hadst birth,
Yet thou shalt be called from thy pillow, the clod,

To the fearful, the final tribunal of God.*

NEHEMIAH TO ARTAXERXES.

(NEHEMIAH, ii. 3-5.)

'Tis sorrow, O King! of the heart,

Not anguish of body or limb,

That causes the hue from my cheek to depart,
And mine eye to grow rayless and dim.

* Written for Mr Pettet.

'Tis the memory of Salem afar,

Of Salem, the city of God,

In darkness now wrapt, like the moon and the star When the tempests of night are abroad.

The walls of the city are razed,

The gates of the city are burned;

And the temple of God, where my fathers have praised,

To the ashes of ruin is turned.

The palace of kings is consumed,

Where the timbrels were wont to resound; And the sepulchre domes, like the bones they entombed, Are mouldering away in the ground.

And the fugitive remnant, that breathe

In the land that their fathers have trod,
Sit in sorrow and gloom, for a shadow like death
O'erhangs every wretched abode.

I have wept, I have fasted, and prayed
To the great and the terrible God,
For this city of mine that in ruin is laid,
And my brethren who smart by his rod.

And now I beseech thee, O King!

If favour I find in thy sight,

That I may revisit my home, where the wing
Of destruction is spread like the night.

And when I to Shushan return,

From rebuilding my forefather's tomb,

No more shall the heart of thy cup-bearer burn
With those sorrows that melt and consume.

THE HOLY MAN.

(PSALM Xci. 11, &c.)

How happy is the holy man

To walk abroad at summer's dawn!-
When comes the sun, in regal state,
Like bridegroom, from the eastern gate,
To brighten Zion's temple-towers,
And cherish Hermon's dewy flowers—
He pauses on his lonely road,
To lift his grateful heart to God.

How happy is the holy man

To see the shades of evening drawn!
When o'er him falls the rest of peace
Like dews into a woolly fleece;
When angels keep their stated guard,

By Heaven's command, o'er Heaven's own ward;
And no dark fiend dare come abroad
To take him from the arms of God.

How happy is the holy man

To see the veil of time withdrawn!
To look across the gloom of death

Where shines the heavenly star of faith;
To stand upon that giddy brink

Where sinners 'mid their terrors shrink
To shake away this mortal clod,

;

And spring on high to meet his God!

ELEGY OF JONATHAN.

(2 SAMUEL, i. 25.)

AND Jonathan's gone to the land of the sleeper,
That land where he'll hear not the voice of the weeper.
That land where his bosom shall quietly slumber
For seasons, perhaps, that no mortal can number.

The wife of his love shall lament o'er his story
And weep that he fell at the noon of his glory,

And shrink from the clouds round his household that gather,

For a stranger shall sit on the throne of his father.

The trumpet of war shall to battle be sounding,
The maidens be wailing, the chargers be bounding ;
But sorrow or fame can no longer restore him
Than the tempests that howl or the dews that weep
o'er him.

The trophies of war shall be winning and losing,
The roses of beauty be opening and closing;

But still he will sleep his dark canopy under,
Till the earth pass away with a noise like the thunder.

"THEY DIED."

(PSALM 1xxxix. 48.)

Go read of all that yet have trod

The paths that mortal creatures roam―

The monarch from his high abode,

The herdsman from his tented home;

The seer that future times could hail,

The bard that o'er the harp-strings sighed― Go read thou of their closing tale,

And it shall be they died.

Go read of Moses, he who freed

The Hebrews from the Egyptian yoke,
And led them long, as Heaven decreed,
In Sinai's desert like a flock;
He who received the tablet-stone

Writ by his God, his heavenly guide-
Go read thou of his acts each one,
And learn at last-he died.

Go read of Deborah, who sung

The triumph-song o'er Jabin's fall;
Of her who taught the Hebrew tongue
Upon the God of gods to call;
Of her who judged with righteousness,
By heavenly wisdom eagle-eyed-
Go read of that high prophetess,

And learn at last-she died.

Go look on all that now exist

In manhood's prime, in beauty's bloom,
The mournful heart, the bosom blest-
They all are destined to the tomb :
Go think on all that yet shall sail

The waves of Time's tumultuous tide-
Their hearts and flesh shall faint and fail,
And tongues shall say "They died."

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