LXV.

THE LAST DAY.

HIS world I deem

But a beautiful dream

Of fhadows that are not what they

feem; Where vifions rife,

Giving dim furmise

Of the things which shall meet our waking eyes.

Arm of the Lord,

Creating Word,

Whofe glory the filent skies record,-
Where ftands Thy name

In fcrolls of flame,

On the Firmament's high fhadowing frame,

I gaze o'erhead,

Where Thy hand hath spread

For the waters of Heaven their crystal bed;

And stored the dew

In its deep of blue,

Which the fires of the fun come tempered through.

Soft they shine

Through that pure fhrine,

As beneath the veil of Thy flesh divine

Beams forth the light,

Which were elfe too bright

For the feeblenefs of a finner's fight.

And fuch I deem

This world fhall feem,

When we waken from Life's mysterious dream; And burst the shell

Where our spirits dwell,

In their wondrous ante-natal cell.

Where time and space are the warp and woof; Which the King of kings

As a curtain flings

O'er the dreadfulness of eternal things.

A tapestried tent,

To fhade us meant,

From the bare everlasting Firmament ;

Whence the blaze of the skies

Comes foft to our eyes,

Through a veil of myftical imageries.

But could I fee,

As in truth they be,

The glories of Heaven that encompass me,
I should lightly hold

The tiffued fold

Of that marvellous curtain of blue and gold.

Soon the whole,

Like a parched scroll,

Shall before my amazed fight uproll;

And without a screen,

At one burst be seen,

The Prefence wherein I have ever been.

Ah! who fhall bear

The blinding glare

Of the Majefty that shall meet us there?

What eyes may gaze

On the unveiled blaze

Of the light-girdled Throne of the Ancient of

Days?

Chrift us aid!

Himself be our shade,

That in that dread day we be not difmayed!

HO hath this book, and reads it not,
Doth God Himself despise;
Who reads, but understandeth not,
His foul in darkness lies.

Who understands, but favours not,
He finds no reft in trouble;
Who favours, but obeys it not,

He hath his judgment double.

But he who reads, doth understand,
Doth favour and obey;

His foul fhall ftand at God's right hand
In the great judgment day.

Holy Scripture.-The Temple.

207

II.

HOLY SCRIPTURE.

ITHIN this awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries; Happieft they of human race To whom their God has given grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, to force the way; And better had they ne'er been born, Than read to doubt, or read to fcorn.

WALTER SCOTT.

III.

THE TEMPLE ON EARTH.

HEN tower'd the palace, then, in awful ftate,

The Temple rear'd its everlafting gate: No workman's fteel, no ponderous axes rung!

Like fome tall palm the noiseless fabric sprung.

Majestic filence!

BISHOP HEBER.