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The tyranny, that doom'd them to the fire,
But gives the glorious suff'rers little praise.

COWPER.

THE CONTRITION OF PETER.

HITHER he came, and falling on his knees,
Like the' humble publican smote on his breast,
And this confession self-accusing made.
Here let me fall and in repentant tears
Weep out my soul upon these pit'less stones,
Made sacred by His steps, whose awful name
Thrice blasphem'd, thrice abjur'd, I dare not speak;
Though in my supplication. Can I say,
Spare me, O God of mercy? Can I ask
Pardon of God, unpardon'd of myself?
Oh! wretched recreant creature as I am,
What shall redeem me from this misery,
And reconcile my conscience to itself,

A perjur'd conscience? Never more can peace
Dwell in this bosom; never can my soul

Ascend out of the dust, or lift a thought

In hope towards heav'n. With JUDAS let me
Colleague in treason; with his sin my sin [dwell,
In th' execretion of all time be link'd.
Or shall I venture to look up and say,
O God, behold a wretch, who dares not sue
For mercy but for mitigated wrath,

For punishment proportion'd to my bearing,
Protracted, not too sudden, lest it take
My senses from me and with them all power
Of meditation, penance and atonement?
Spare me a little to abhor myself;

And if the arrow, which my conscience drives
Into this guilty heart, draws not enough
Of its vile blood to purify what's left,

Let the strong hand of justice force it home
And finish me at once. Was I not warn'd
Of my presumption, and a signal set
To number my denials, when I swore
Never to swerve, but follow him to death?
Mine, like ISCARIOT's, was predicted sin :
I spar'd not him, I call'd his wilful guilt,
Obstinate malice; and can I now urge
Necessity my plea? All things are known
TO CHRIST! the evil motions of my will
He saw, not over-rul'd: I might have pray'd
For grace, support, prevention; I pray'd not,
But heedless of the prophecy, and blind,
Rush'd into sin prepense, self-will'd, self-lost.
What fascination seiz'd me to draw forth
The sword in rash defence of Him, whose word
Legions of Angels could have call'd from heav'n?
And what prevaricating demon breath'd
The lie into my lips, when the same night,
Nay, the same hour, that saw me prompt t' oppose
My life to danger, saw me meanly shrink
From what I courted, and behind a lie,
Three times repeated like a coward, sculk?
And did I not know CHRIST whom I denied?
Did I not know the Master whom I serv'd,
Who call'd me to him, pour'd into my heart
His heav'nly doctrines, rais'd my lowly thoughts
From the mean drudgery of a fisher's trade,
And taught me in the energy of faith
To walk upon that sea, in which ere-while
dragg'd the net and toil'd for daily bread?
O memory, once my glory, now my curse,
To what sad purpose do I call thee home,
Absent in danger, present in despair?

Is there no wonder done of CHRIST on earth
I have not witness'd? Did I not behold

Dead Lazarus revive at his command?

What shall I say to him, whom I saw die,
When living he arraigns me face to face?

What answer make to those, whom I have serv'd
From one small wallet with the bread of thousands?
The very blind, ere they receiv'd their sight,
Saw more than I, and hail'd him LORD and CHRIST.
Who shall believe when I renounce belief?
The very dev'ls own Him whom I denied.
Can I call these accurst, whose impious cry
Dooms him to death; who smite him with their

palms

Blaspheming? Harder than their hands my heart. Wretch ! 'twas my false tongue train'd them on to On me, me only all their sin rebounds: [murder : I stand condemn'd, they free. Can I forget

How oft my lips confess'd him son of God?
Perish that tongue, which could revoke its faith,
Disown confession and belie my heart.

Denied of me on earth, when in the clouds
Of heav'n he comes at the right hand of Pow'r,
And sends his Angels with the trumpet's sound
To gather his elect from the four winds,
When, as a shepherd culling out his flock.
To separate all nations and divide

The good from evil he proceeds, Ah! then,
Then will he not retort the fatal words
First us'd of me, I know thee not! Depart,
Thou wicked servant, into utter darkness,
There weep and gnash thy teeth in fires prepar'd
For SATAN and his outcast crew accurst?

CUMBERLAND.

HUMAN FRAILTY.

WEAK and irresolute

man;

The purpose of to-day,

Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends away.

The bow well bent, and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain;

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But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;

Virtue engages his assent,

But Pleasure wins his heart.

'Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view;
And, while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true,

Bound on a voyage of awful length
And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength.
Man vainly trusts his own,

But oars alone can ne'er prevail,
To reach the distant coast!

The breath of Heav'n must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.

COWPER.

A RECEIPT FOR HAPPINESS.

TRAVERSE the world, go fly from pole to pole,
Go far as winds can blow or waters roll,
All, all is vanity, beneath the sun,

o certain death throgh diff'rent paths we run. e the pale miser poring o'er his gold;"

e there a galley-slave to misery sold! Ambitiou's vot'ries groan beneath its weight,

The splendid victim of the toils of state.
Lo! in the mantling bowl sweet poisons flow;
Love's softest pleasures terminate in woe:
Even learning ends her vast career in doubt,
And puzzling on makes nothing clearly out:
Where then is sov'reign bliss? Where doth it grow
Know, mortal! happiness ne'er dwelt below.
Look towards Heav'n, be Heav'n thy only care;
Spurn the vile earth-go seek thy treasure there;
A virtuous course, and Heav'n alone you'll find,
Can fill a boundless and immortal mind.

MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

HYMN.

Mutability of the Creation; immutability of God.
GREAT Former of this various frame!
Our souls adore thine awful name!
And bow and tremble, while they praise
The Ancient of eternal days.

Thon, Lord, with unsurpris'd survey,
Saw'st nature rising yesterday;
And, as to-morrow, shall thine eye
See earth aud stars in ruin lie.

Beyond an angel's vision bright,
Thou dwell'st in self-existent light,
Which shines, with undiminish'd ray,
While suns and worlds in smoke decay.

Our days a transient period run,
And change with ev'ry circling sun;
And, in the firmest state we boast,
A moth can crush us into dust.

But, let the creatures fall around,
Let death consign us to the ground,

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