MARRIAGE! thou most endeared tie,

Where hearts with hands are join'd! Who can conceive, until they try,

Thy influence on the mind ?

At length arrives the important day,

Commission'd with a pow'r; Some pain or pleasure to convey

To every future hour.

Numbers who rush into the state

Thoughtless and unconcern’d, Would shudder, could the ills that wait

Around them be discern'd.

Thus flatter'd by a gentle breeze,

The heedless landsman sails; Too late he trembles when the seas Are vex'd by stormy gales.

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But they who trust the Lord, and pray,

Have no just cause to fear; Their pilot winds and seas obey,

And he is always near.

Believers may be toss'd about

On life's uncertain main,
But shall at length, beyond a doubt,

Their promis'd haven gain.

When landed on yon peaceful shore,

Past dangers they review;
The love and wisdom they'll adore

That brought them safely through.

There, my dear friends, may you and I,

And yours' and mine, appear ; The joys and songs above to join

Through an eternal year.

HENRY,

THE SON OF HAND DS

TELL ASLEEP IN JESUS

APRIL 1791,

AGED TWELVE YEARS.

SAY not his sun went down at noon;
Early he died, but not too soon :
Not till his heart by grace was chang'd,
And from the world and sin estrang'd :
Not till the Lord, whose love he knew,
Taught him to smile with death in view.
Life's noblest ends thus gain'd betimes,
He's gone to live in happier climes,

HARVEST HOME.

GOD gives the seed we sow,
His blessing makes it grow;
His sunshine and his rain
Produce the ripen'd grain.
To him then let us raise
A song of grateful praise.

Thus may his grace impart Salvation to each heart; Then tho' you sow in tears, Beset with foes and fears, Expect when he shall come A joyful harvest home.

FRUIT

GATHERED FROM A CHESNUT-TREE,

AT PRIESTLANDS.

NO Hero's praise shall stain my pert,
For burning towns, or slaught'ring men ;
A gentle theme best pleases me ;
I sing Miss Gordon's favorite tree.

How tall it rears its stately head!
How wide its num'rous branches spread !
Yet all that now appears in view
At first from a small chesnut grew.

Jonah admir'd his transient gourd,
But soon its sudden loss deplor'd;
One night produc'd it fully grown,
It wither'd ere the sun went down.