Milton.-George Whitfield.

243

LXV.

MILTON.

OR fecond He that rode fublime,
Upon the feraph-wings of ecftafy,
The fecrets of the abyss to spy;

He paffed the flaming bounds of place
and time:

The living throne, the fapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He faw; but, blafted with excess of light,

Clofed his

eyes in endless night.

GRAY.

LXVI.

GEORGE WHITFIELD,

E loved the world that hated him- the tear

That dropped upon his Bible was fin

cere ;

Affailed by fcandal and the tongue of ftrife,

His only answer was a blameless life;

And he that forged, and he that threw the dart,
Had each a brother's intereft in his heart.

COWPER.

LXVII.

SCHWARTZ.

IRM wast thou, humble and wife,

Honeft, pure, free from disguise;
Father of orphans, the widow's fup-

port;

Comfort in forrow of every fort.

To the benighted, difpenfer of light;
Doing and pointing to that which is right;
Bleffing to princes, to people, to me :

May I, my Father, be worthy of thee,
Wishes and prayeth thy Sarabojee.

SARABOJEE.

LXVIII.

HENRY MARTYN.

ERE Martyn lies! In manhood's early
bloom,

The Chriftian hero found a Pagan tomb.
Religion, forrowing o'er her fav'rite fon,
Points to the glorious trophies which he

won.

Immortal trophies! Not with flaughter red,
Nor stained with tears, by hapless orphans fhed;
But trophies of the Crofs! In that dear name,
Through every scene of danger, toil, and fhame,
Onward he journeyed to that peaceful fhore,

Where danger, toil, and fhame, are known no more.
MACAULAY.

LXIX.

GOD'S WORKS.

HESE are thy glorious works, Thou
Source of Good!

How dimly feen, how faintly under-
ftood!

LXX.

LIFE.

IVE while you live, the Epicure will
fay,

And give to pleasure each returning day;
Live while you live, the Sacred Preacher

cries,

And give to God each moment as it flies:
Lord, in my view let both united be!
I live to pleasure while I live to Thee.

DODDRIDGE.

LXXI.

LIFE.

UR birth is but a fleep and a forgetting:
The foul that rifes with us, our

life's ftar,

Hath had elsewhere its fetting,

And cometh from afar

Not in entire forgetfulness,

And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home-
Heaven lies around us in our infancy;
Shades of the prifon-house begin to clofe
Upon the growing boy-

Yet he beholds the light, and whence it flows;

He fees it in his joy.

WORDSWORTH.

LXXII.

DEATH.

O me the thought of death is terrible,
Having fuch a hold on life. To thee
it is not

So much even as the lifting of a latch;
Only a step into the open air

Out of a tent already luminous

With light that shines through its tranfparent walls.

Death.-The Three Graces.

247

LXXIII.

DEATH.

WHAT is death? "Tis life's laft fhore,
Where vanities are vain no more;
Where all pursuits their goal obtain,
And life is all retouched again.

LXXIV.

THE THREE GRACES.

H! give me Faith!

The fweet affurance that a Saviour

That, for my fins, His flesh was crufied

Lafting till death!

Hope give me, too!

The glorious hope that Thou, O God! art mine; This beacon light in me for ever shine,

Joyful and true.

And give me Love!

Love for my neighbour and Jehovah's name;
Unfailing, boundless love my heart inflame,
Sprung from above.