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Intent on schemes of worldly pleasure,
Ambition's dreams, or earth-born treasure,-

Till rous’d, I start with sudden fear,
As conscience whispers in mine ear,

•Can God approve,—what thou dost here?'
O Lord !-henceforward let it be
My whole desire to follow thee-
To glory in my Saviour's cross,
And all beside to count as dross.
Elijah-like each sin I'll slay-
Like him each high command obey-
Press forward on the narrow road,
Deriving strength and hope from God.

Then Death's dread voice I need not fear;
Jesus shall whisper in mine ear,
. My servant, thou hast well done here !'

MEDITATIONS IN THE NIGHT.

[MADAME GUION, TRANSLATED BY COW PER.] SEASON of my purest pleasure,

Sealer of observing eyes! When, in larger, freer measure,

I can commune with the skies; While, beneath thy shade extended,

Weary man forgets his woes; I, my daily trouble ended,

Find, in watching, my repose. Silence all around prevailing,

Nature hush'd in slumber sweet, No rude noise mine ears assailing,

Now my God and I can meet:

Universal nature slumbers,

And my soul partakes the calm, Breathes her ardour out in numbers,

Plaintive song or lofty psalm.

Now my passion, pure and holy,

Shines and burns, without restraint; Which the day's fatigue and folly

Cause to languish, dim and faint: Charming hours of relaxation!

How I dread the ascending sun! Surely, idle conversation

Is an evil, match'd by none.

Worldly prate and babble hurt me;

Unintelligible prove;
Neither teach me nor divert me;

I have ears for none but love.
Me, they rude esteem, and foolish,

Hearing my absurd replies ; I have neither art's fine polishi,

Nor the knowledge of the wise.

Simple souls, and unpolluted,

By conversing with the great,
Have a mind and taste, ill suited

To their dignity and state;
All their talking, reading, writing,

Are but talents misapplied;
Infants' prattle I delight in,

Nothing human choose beside.

"Tis the secret fear of sinning Checks

my tongue, or I should say, When I see the night beginning,

I am glad of parting day:

Love this gentle admonition

Whispers soft within my breast;
• Choice befits not thy condition,

Acquiescence suits thee best.'
Henceforth, the repose and pleasure

Night affords me, I resign;
And thy will shall be the measure,

Wisdom infinite! of mine :
Wishing is but inclination

Quarrelling with thy decrees;
Wayward nature finds th’occasion-

'Tis her folly and disease.
Night, with its sublime enjoyments,

Now no longer will I choose;
Nor the day, with its employments,

Irksome as they seem, refuse;
Lessons of a God's inspiring,

Neither time nor place impedes ;
From our wishing and desiring,

Our unhappiness proceeds.

MATERNAL TENDERNESS.

[CAMPBELL.] Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumb’ring child with pensive eyes, And weaves a song of melancholy joy• Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy: No ling’ring hour of sorrow shall be thine; No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine;

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Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be
In form and soul; but ah! more blest than he!
Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last,
Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past,
With many a smile my solitude repay,
And chase the world's ungen'rous scorn away.
And say, when summon'd from the world and thee,
I lay my head beneath the willow tree,
Wilt thou, sweet mourner! at my stone appear,
And soothe my parting spirit ling’ring near ?
Oh, wilt thou come, at ev’ning hour, to shed
The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed;
With aching temples on thy hand reclin’d,
Muse on the last farewell I leave behind,
Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low,
And think on all my love and all my woe?

TO A MOTHER AND HER CHILD.

( The Child asleep on the Mother's bosom.)

[REV, HOBART CAU'NTER.]
FOND Mother! how those mild and mellow'd orbs
Of love and beauty, ting'd with the pure

blue
Of heaven, beam sweetly on thy babe! How calm
Its sleep! how lovely in its slumbers ! hush'd
By a soft voice, whose witching minstrelsy
Steals o’er the heart like gentle summer airs
Breathing upon the waters tenderly,
To ruffle not, but sweetly agitate
Its still clear bosom. Cherub! thou art lull'd
To slumber with the gentlest lullaby
That ever fell upon the wearied sense,
And pillow'd where an angel's cheek migh est,

Nor feel a taint through his pure essence spreadSo perfectly has virtue hallow'd thee.

God's blessing be upon thy babe, fond mother! See how it smiles, as if that earnest pray’r Stole o'er its sleeping sense—as if that smile Gave forth the sweet Amen.

Calm is thy rest Pure innocent! an anxious mother's eye Watches thy slumbers—thy young dreams have now Nought to disturb them ? Like the twilight dawn, Where all is redolent, one gen’ral hue Pervading nature, looking smilingly Thro’the thin veil of morning, to thine eye Is the fair view of life. There's harmony In all that breathes around thee. To thy young And ardent ken, the world seems one vast sphere Of living beauty, and a storehouse fraught With ev'ry thing for joy; but shortly, child, The film shall drop from thy delighted eye, And shew thee all its hideousness : anon Stern time shall ripen thy perceptions, now So dull and immature; when thou shalt look Down its dark vista with an eager glance, And there behold the lucid orb of bliss Peering behind the murky fogs of woe, Lighting their gloomy track-like the bright sun Riding amid his fires, through flashing clouds, To shew the gath’ring storm.

But there's a God Above, who shall direct thee through the clash Of angry elements, to that pure rest Where angels wait to welcome thee. When years Shall have unlock'd thy reason's stores, may vice Find no asylum in thy heart! In Him Who perish'd for thee, may thine ardent soul Repose its trust; and from this chequer'd worldWhen thou hast pluck'd its roses with their thorns

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