That spirit the Father approveth.

And many that prophecy's truth can declare, Whose bosoms have livingly known it; Whom God hath instructed to worship him there,

And convinc'd that his mercy will own it.

The temple that Solomon built to his name, Now lives but in history's story; Extinguish'd long since is its altar's bright flame,

And vanish'd each glimpse of its glory.

But the Christian, made wise by a wisdom divine,

Though all human fabrics may falter, Still finds in his heart a far holier shrine, Where the fire burns unquench'd on the altar!

VERSES,

With hands uplifted, but with hearts unmov'd, Proffer'd their supplications unapprov'd? Nay, they might even, when the storm was o'er,

Shortsightedly this damsel's fate deplore;
And blindly deprecate her dreadful doom,
Thus early crown'd with glorious martyr-
dom.

Not so, sweet girl, would I, a nameless bard,
Thy happy, holy destiny regard;
To me thou seemst like one, who, early fit
For heaven, and heaven alone, wert call'd
to it;

By piety and purity prepar'd,
And by thy sacred destiny declar'd
In God's all-seeing and unerring eyes,
A spotless Lamb, most meet for sacrifice;
And, like Elijah's lot in olden time,

I own thy end was sudden, but sublime;
The car of glory, and the steeds of fire,
Bore from Elisa's view his sainted sire:
And unto thee, by hallow'd fire from heaven,
The boon of immortality was given!

The Epitaph which suggested the preceding is as follows: Here lies interred the body of Mary Singleton, a young Maiden of this Parish, aged nine years, born of Roman Catholic Parents, and

IN BURY-CHURCH-YARD.

WHEN Siloam's tower in fragments strew'd the ground, And by its fall spread awe and terror round; Think ye that they on whom the ruin fell Were worse than those who liv'd their fate to tell?

I say unto ye, nay! That righteous God, Who rules the nations with his awful nod, Without whose knowledge not a sparrow dies, Looks not on such events with human eyes; The bolt he hurls, by boundless mercy sped, Oft strikes the saint's, but spares the sinner's head;

And while frail mortals scan effect and cause, His love pursues its own unerring laws; Gives the glad saint his final recompense, The sinner spares, perchance for penitence. What though the storm might rise, the clouds might lower, And muttering thunders mark the vesperhour;

What though the little suppliant might be taught

A form of faith, with numerous errors fraught; Yet HE, whose eye is on the heart alone, The guileless homage of this child might own: And, 'mid the terrors of a stormy even, Call, with approving smile,her soul to heaven!

While simple Mary, innocently bold, With virtuous diligence her vespers told;

prayer, repeating her Vespers, was instantaneously killed by a flash of lightning August 16th, 1785.

STANZAS

ADDRESSED TO SOME FRIENDS GOING TO THE

SEA-SIDE.

SINCE Summer invites you to visit once more The haunts she most loves on the ocean's cool shore,

Where billows are foaming, and breezes are free,

Accept at our parting one farewell from me.

My fancy can picture the pleasures in view, Because before now I have shar'd them with you:

But unable this season to taste them again, I must feast on such pleasures as flow from

my pen.

Let Fancy then give me what Fate has denied,

And grant me at seasons to roam by your side; Nor will I repine while remembrance can be Still blest with the moments I've spent by the sea.

fulfil

gleam,

In which a moment's bliss it sought to find, Despair has almost tempted me to deem Joy an unreal shade-delight an empty dream.

Yet is there left us an alternative

In chasten'd cheerfulness, deriving birth From other sources than the world can give, Far, far superior to its heartless mirth: And though at times, while we remain on earth,

Clouds may obscure this "sunshine of the breast,"

Those who have truly known and priz'd its worth

Will own with gratitude, in hours deprest, | Its memory boasts that charm left by a blameless guest.

Something of this, dear friend, have we not tasted

In hours gone by? Then, since those hours

to me

Have still a living charm, by time unwasted, Proving that they were never born to be Enjoy'd, and then forgotten: unto thee

O may they seem, as in my heart they are When fond imagination wanders free,

Like a bright beacon, or a cloudless star Flinging o'er ocean's waves its lovely light afar.

This is thy birth-day! and for Friendship's sake,

Even in this gloomiest season of the year, Feelings as warm as Spring could ever wake Have chronicled and bid me hold it dear. The heart has in itself a hemisphere

That knows not change of season, day or night; For still when thoughts of those we love are

near, Their cherish'd forms arise before our sight, And o'er the spirit shed fresh sunshine and delight.

Nature, who wore when few months since we met

Her summer-garb, a different dress displays; Your garden-walks may now be moss'd and wet;

The jasmine's starlike bloom, which, in

the rays Of the bright moon seem'd lovely to my gaze, Has faded now; and the green leaves, that grew

So lightly on the acacia's topmost sprays, Have lost, ere this, their glossy verdant hue,

Unto the spot my memory loves to trace? Should I now find, were I to come and spend A day with you, no beauty left to grace What seem'd of quiet joy the dwelling-place? Oh, yes! believe me, much as I admir'd Those charms which change of seasons can efface,

It was not such alone, when home retir'd, That memory cherish'd most, or most the muse inspir'd.

When Nature sheds her leafy loveliness,
She does not die: her vital principle
But seeks awhile its innermost recess,
And there securely finds a citadel
Which even winter owns inpregnable;
The sap, retreating downward to the root,
Is still alive, as spring shall shortly tell,
By swelling buds, whence blossoms soon
will shoot,
Dispensing fragrance round, and pledge of
future fruit.

And thus our best affections, those which bind

Heart unto heart by friendship's purest tie, Have an internal life, and are enshrin'd Too deeply in our bosoms soon to die. Spring's opening bloom and summer's azure sky

Might borrow from them beauties not their

own; But when November-winds are loud and high, And nature's dirge assumes its deepest tone, The joy of social hours in its full charm is known.

For as the sap, whose quickening influence Shall be in spring the birth of future flowers, Confin'd and concentrated, is from thence More full of life, than in those brighter hours When birds sang sweetly in their shady bowers,

And all unclouded was heaven's vaulted dome: Thus is it with the mind's electric powers, Forbid by winter's frowning skies to roam, Their radiance is condens'd, their focus found at HOME!

Then stir the cheerful fire! and let its light The rallying point of home-born pleasures be; Where spirit-sparkling eyes, and smiles as bright,

Their own fit emblem may delighted see: And let the overflow of innocent glee

Be like the exub'rance of the Nile, and bless The seeds of future joy's fertility; That days, in years to come, may bear th' impress