We mourn, great GOD;-yet own thy fentence wife ;-
O'er thy lov'd child fome fullen cloud might low'r;
The fkilful gard'ner marks the stormy skies,

And hides his plants beneath the sheltering bower.
And you, ye gay, attend this awful found,

Which wakes reflection in the thoughtlefs breaft; Leave the glad dance, and view the facred ground, Where low and pale the weary flumberer refts. Can joys, like yours, the Chriftian's hopes impart ? Can all the charms that fmiling beauty grace, Soothe the grim king, or raise the finking heart, When death's chill damps o'erfpread the languid face? No brooding fears deprefs'd my much lov'd Friend; On Zion's Rock her strong foundation ftood;The tempefts howl, the fweeping rains defcend, Firm was the house amidst the fwelling flood.

What tho' the fterner virtues were deny'd,

The philofophic thought which steels the foul?
Yet was her mind to friendship's joys ally'd,
The milder graces fhone without controul,
Oft pity's tear illum'd her sparkling eye,

And heighten'd luftre to her beauty gave ;-
So fhines the ftar when temperate eve is high,
So the pale moon-beam trembles on the wave,
The humble ftation of domestic life,

She never fhunn'd for pleasures wild career;
The tender mother, daughter, fister, wife,
Fill'd the plain duties of her modest sphere,

When Spring, in livelieft green the meadows cloth'd,
Some pious theme the fleeting hours beguil'd;
Together thro' the fhady walks we rov'd,

Bright fhone the fun, and every object fiil'd.

Bereft of thee, thofe fcenes no longer pleafe;
Come Winter now in all thy horrors dreft,
Raife the loud ftorm and make the leaflefs trees,
A lively emblem of our troubled breast.

Nor foon, MY MARY,* fhall thy grief be stay'd;—
Bright in thy foul the flames of friendship burn'd,
Ardent the love her faithful breast repaid:
Oh, short liv'd blifs, which never must return!

The Author's Spouse.

Some

Some fecret griefs our beft delights alloy ;-
Swift as the light, our pleafures pafs away:
Oh! why feduc'd by hopes of earth-born joy,
To flight the glories which fhall ne'er decay!

'Tis calm religion's animating voice,

Which ftops the tears from mifery's ftreaming eye; Which foothes our fears, and bids our fouls rejoice, Prepar'd to live, nor unprepar'd to die.

Then ceafe our grief; no long eternal night

Holds her dim eyes, nor throuds her lifeless clay;
Behold from far the SAVIOUR's promis'd Light,
O'er death's dark empire sheds the' unclouded day.
I fee the world diffolve in ardent fires!

I see the dead in crowded ranks arise !
My willing foul to nobler joys aspires,

Spurns the dull earth, and meets thee in the skies. HULL, Nov. 8, 1799.

My dear Brother,

TO THE EDITOR.

WHEN I was in the North of Scotland, a friend put the following Lines into my hand: As they are remarkably defcriptive of the real character of Mr. KEIGHLEY, I prefent them to you, to be inferted in the Magazine; being perfuaded they will be very acceptable to his numerous friends, who highly refpected him when living, and who even at this day, cannot think of him, but with emotions of the most tender regard. I am, your's, &c.

Difs, Nov. 3, 1800.

JAMES ANDERSON.

An ELEGY on the DEATH of Mr. JOSHUA KEIGHLEY, Methodist Preacher, who died at Elgin, in the North of Scotland, a few years ago.

NOME penfive Mufe, with all thy mournful air,

COME

And lead me to thy lonely cypress fhade,

And fhew me how to weep, and humbly bear,
The painful wound that's in my bofom made!

But, ah, alas! what is thy feeble aid?

;

O thou ALMIGHTY POWER, affistance lend
And spread thy wings, my naked head to fhade!
For death has fix'd his aim upon my Friend.

I hear

I hear the mortal, groan!-'Tis KEIGHLEY dies!
'Tis KEIGHLEY yields beneath the monster's hand!
And ah! too foon a pale wan corpfe he lies;
Far from his home in Scotia's diftant land!
An angel-convoy met his foul,-and faid,-
"Hail KEIGHLEY! welcome to the heavenly car!"
He took his feat, and fwift as lightning fled,

To Realms of Light beyond the morning-star.
'Tis there he's enter'd !-everlasting reft!-
And join'd the happy fymphonies above;
And will for ever be fupremely bleft,

In fweetly chanting the REDEEMER'S Love.
'Tis thus the fudden trying ftroke doth prove
To him a bleffing, and eternal gain;
While we with grief lament his quick remove,
We're left to struggle in this world of pain.

O come then, every sympathetic heart,

And mourn the lofs the Church has here fuftain'd
In him, who truth fo wifely could impart,

To roufe the confcience, and the foul defend.

How oft we've fat, with pleafing wonder fill'd,
To hear him, in the fweetest manner tell,

How JESUS died,-the promifes fulfill'd,
To rescue finners from the jaws of hell.

Tho' never taught in academic halls,

He could with ease the deepest truths unfold;

With ftrongest eloquence enforce the calls

Of CHRIST, to those who've wander'd from his fold.

But now the Church no more his voice fhall hear,
Nor I again embrace my dearest Friend,-

How fweet the tafk?-but the fad lofs must bear ;-
Weep then, my friends, and every bofom rend!

Yet, let us not lament as without hope;

For fure the happy time will foon appear,
When we to ZION's height fhall be caught up,
To join our Friend, and dry up every tear.

'Tis there our happy fouls fhall dwell with joy,
Without a mixture of the fmallest pain ;

And thro' a blest eternity employ,

Our nobleft powers to praife EMMANUEL's Name.