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Of this tempestuous state of human things
Is merely as the working of a sea

Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest:

For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds
The dust that waits upon His sultry march,
When sin hath moved Him, and His wrath is hot,
Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend,
Propitious, in His chariot paved with love;
And what His storms have blasted and defaced
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair.

O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the earth,

And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach
Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field

Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean,
Or fertile only in its own disgrace,
Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd.
The various seasons woven into one,
And that one season an eternal spring,

The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence,
For there is none to covet, all are full.

The lion, and the libbard, and the bear

Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon
Together, or all gambol in the shade

Of the same grove, and drink one common stream.
Antipathies are none. No foe to man

Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees,
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand
Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm,
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue.
All creatures worship man, and all mankind
One Lord, one Father. Error has no place:
That creeping pestilence is driven away;
The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart
No passion touches a discordant string,

COWPER.

But all is harmony and love. Disease
Is not the pure and uncontaminate blood
Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age.
One song employs all nations; and all cry,
"Worthy the Lamb, for He was slain for us!"
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks
Shout to each other, and the mountain tops
From distant mountains catch the flying joy ;
Till, nation after nation taught the strain,
Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round.
Behold the measure of the promise fill'd;
See Salem built, the labour of a God!
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines;
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth
Flock to that light; the glory of all lands
Flows into her; unbounded is her joy,
And endless her increase. Thy rams are there,
Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there;
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind,
And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there;
Praise is in all her gates: upon her walls,
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts,
Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there
Kneels with the native of the furthest west;
And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand,
And worships. Her report has travell❜d forth
Into all lands. From every clime they come
To see thy beauty and to share thy joy,
O Sion! an assembly such as earth

Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see.

Come then, and, added to Thy many crowns, Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, Thou who alone art worthy! It was Thine

By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth;

And Thou hast made it Thine by purchase since,

And overpaid its value with Thy blood.

Thy saints proclaim Thee king; and in their hearts

Thy title is engraven with a pen

Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love.

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HYMNS.

THE eighteenth century gave England nearly all its hymns. If any popular collection were analysed, it would be found that the chronology of its chief contents ranges between 1709, when Watts published his "Spiritual Songs," and 1800, when Cowper died. The three favourite compositions of Bishop

Ken are a little older, and some delightful additions have been made to our sacred minstrelsy by writers of more recent date -by Heber and James Montgomery, by Keble and Canon Stowell, by Sir E. Denny and Horatius Bonar; but still the great staple of British hymnology is to be found in Watts and Doddridge, in Toplady, Cowper, and the Wesleys, and in those contemporaries of theirs who clothed ardent devotion in vivid words and melodious numbers. Consequently, readers who are familiar with this kind of literature will at once recognise nearly all our specimens. It has been our object to bring together a few of those Christian lyrics which have been crowned by general acclamation, rather than to move for a new trial in behalf of candidates who, however graceful or ingenious, lacked that kind of excellence which compels the popular favour.

BISHOP KEN.

Regarding the three following hymns, Mr Montgomery has said—" Had he endowed three hospitals he might have been less a benefactor to posterity. There is exemplary plainness of speech, manly vigour of thought, and consecration of heart in these pieces. The well-known doxology, Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,' &c., is a masterpiece at once of amplification and compression-amplification, on the burthen 'Praise God,' repeated in each line; compression, in exhibiting God

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as the object of praise in every view in which we can imagine praise due to Him; praise for all His blessings-yea, for all blessings, none coming from any other source; praise, by every creature specifically involved, 'here below,' and 'in heaven above ;' praise to Him in each of the characters wherein He has revealed Himself in His word-Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Yet this comprehensive verse is sufficiently simple, that by it 'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings praise might be perfected; and it appears so easy, that one is tempted to think hundreds of the sort might be made without trouble. The reader has only to try, and he will quickly be undeceived."*

This devout and conscientious prelate was born at Berkhampstead also the birthplace of Cowper-July 1637, and died at Longleat, March 19, 1711. For four years he held the bishopric of Bath and Wells, but, refusing the oath of allegiance to King William, he was deprived, and spent the rest of his life in peaceful retirement.

For Morning.

Awake, my soul, and with the sun
Thy daily stage of duty run;
Shake off dull sloth, and early rise,
To pay thy morning sacrifice.

Redeem thy misspent time that's past,
Live this day, as if 'twere thy last:
T'improve thy talent take due care;
'Gainst the great day thyself prepare.

Let all thy converse be sincere ;

Thy conscience as the noon-day clear;
Think how all-seeing God thy ways,
And all thy secret thoughts surveys.

Influenced by the light divine,

Let thy own light in good works shine:

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Reflect all Heaven's propitious ways,
In ardent love and cheerful praise.

Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart,
And with the angels bear thy part;
Who all night long, unwearied, sing
Glory to the Eternal King.

I wake, I wake, ye heavenly choir;
May your devotion me inspire,
That I, like you, my age may spend,
Like you, may on my God attend.

May I, like you, in God delight,
Have all day long my God in sight;
Perform, like you, my Maker's will:
O may I never more do ill!

Had I your wings, to heaven I'd fly,
But God shall that defect supply,
And my soul wing'd with warm desire,
Shall all day long to heaven aspire.

Glory to Thee who safe hast kept,
And hast refresh'd me whilst I slept.

Grant, Lord, when I from death shall wake,
I may of endless life partake.

I would not wake, nor rise again,
Even heaven itself I would disdain,
Wert not Thou there to be enjoy'd,
And I in hymns to be employ'd.

Heaven is, dear Lord, where'er Thou art,
O never then from me depart!

For to my soul 'tis hell to be

But for one moment without Thee.

Lord, I my vows to Thee renew;

Scatter my sins as morning dew;

Guard my first springs of thought and will, And with Thyself my spirit fill.

Direct, control, suggest, this day,

All I design, or do, or say;

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