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From small beginnings, sure, but slow,
The trees of righteousness thus grow;
While false professors quickly shoot,
And quickly die for want of root.

This tree, without a prop, securd,
Has many a winter's storm endar'd;
Because the roots, though out of sight,
Are well proportion'd to its height.

Believers thus still thrive and grow,
Midst all the storms that round them blow;
The world expects to see them fall,
But Christ, their root, supports them all.

Pleasing, tho" solemn, is the gloom
With wbieh the shade o'erspreads her room ;
In sommer's overwhelming heat,
Here she enjoys a cool retreat.

So may her spirit shelter'd be,
By dwelling, Saviour, near to thee;
And find affliction's heat allay'd
Beneath thy love's refreshing shade.

But as the tree conceals the sky,
And hides the landscape from the eye,
Another lesson it imparts
*To our depray'd, deceitful hearts.

Thus every gift the Lord bestows,
To cheer us in this world of woes,
Is apt to prove ensnaring too,
And hide the Giver from our view.

This tree, though now array'd in green,
Will soon without a leaf be seen;
Yet will again, we trust, in spring,
Invite the birds to build and sing.

So we, by Time's unsparing hand
Bereav'd, like leafless trunks, must stand;
But when our earthly joys are deady
We hope for better in their stead.

Yes, we shall quit this scene of strifes
To dwell beneath the tree of life;
To praise and worship near the throne,
Where loss or change are never known.

TO MISS *****

WHY should


wish a name like mine Within


book to stand; With those who shone, or those who shine,

As worthies of our land?

What will the future


have gain'd When my poor name is seen ; From knowing I was entertain'd

By you, at Cowslip green?

Rather let me record a name

That shall adorn your page;
Which, like the sun, is still the same,

And shines from age to age.

JESUS, who found me while I stray'd

In Afric's dreary wild,
Who for my soul a ransom paid,

And made his foe a child.

He taught my wild blaspheming tongue

To aim at prayer and praise ;
To make his gracę my theme and song,

And guided all my ways.

A pattern now of mercy's pow'r

Where'er I stand is seen, Such as I think was ne'er before

Beheld at Cowslip Green!


I THANK you, dear, as I am able,
For such a cover to my table ;
In colours purple, white, and green,
I read with pleasure all you mean.
The canvas, once a barren spot,
Till by your cultivation wrought,
Appears now beautiful and gay,
As meadows dress’d in flowers in May.
May grace from Him, whose precious blood
Was shed for us, a purple flood,
Keep your profession always green
As fruitful trees in spring are seen ;
Till callid to join the saints in light
You stand before him cloth'd in white.

So prays your affectionate and obliged J. N. January 22, 1795.




THE Lord, who sends thee hence, will be

thine aid ; In vain at thee the lion danger roars; Hisarm and love shall keep thee, undismay'd,

On tempest-tossed seas, and savage shores.

Go-bear the Saviour's name to lands unknown

Tell to the southern world his wondrousgrace An energy divine thy words shall own, And draw their untaught hearts to seek his


Many in quest of gold, or empty fame,
Would compass earth, or venture near the.

But how much nobler thy reward and aim,

To spread his praise, and win immortal souls!

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