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so that the brighter their discoveries of the Divine glory are, like Isaiah and Job, the more they deplore their uncleanness, and abhor themselves; but there, not the least taint of moral defilement shall remain ; their hearts, as well as their garments, shall be without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing. In our present worship, we assemble only with a few of God's people. Though the iron rod of persecution does not scatter us apart, as it did our forefathers, and limit our devotions to the private parlour, or the prison-house, yet the conveniences of our habitations, and the requirements of animal life, render the congregations of the saints but little flocks. Eras keep us asunder, we cannot walk with God in company with Enoch ; nor join with David in the procession to the tabernacle ; we cannot unite with the apostles in their prayers in the upper room in Jerusalem, or accompany the strains of the martyrs who sung their hosannas as they embraced the stake. Place divides us from each other. We know that divine worship is paid to the Lord by thousands in Europe, and that Asia and Africa are laying their tribute at his feet; but long intervening tracts of land and sea forbid us uniting with their assemblies. Variety of religious sentiment, too, gives rise to different congregations. We, as yet, see through a glass darkly, and know only in part, and prophesy only in part; but in heaven the assembly shall consist of a number that no man can number. All that have loved the Saviour shall form one glorious band. There, an Abraham and an Owen, a Watts and a David, a Pearce and a John, a Daniel and a Henry ; there, the Hindoo and the American, the European and the Negro, the Hottentot and the Greenlander—there the Methodist and the Episcopalian, the Presbyterian and the Baptist, shall, with hearts and with voices for ever united, sing, “Worthy is the Lamb that was, slain.”--Late Rev. Dr. Staughton, of Philadelphia.

CONNUBIAL FELICITY. If a happy marriage has given and ensures to man peace at home, let there be no dread of the caprices of chance ; his happiness is sheltered from the strokes of fortune. A wife, gentle and affectionate, sensible and virtuous, will fill his whole heart, and leave no room for sadness. What will he care for the loss of property when he possesses this treasure ? Is not his house sufficiently magnificent, as long as she commands respect to it-splendid enough, as long as her presence adorns it ?

A cottage where virtue dwells, is far superior to a palace; it becomes a temple.

If he were deprived of a highly valuable office, he would scarcely notice it; for he occupies the first and best place in the heart of her he loves. If he be not separated from her, banishment cannot become to him an entire exile ; for in her person he views the image of his country

Through her exertions order reigns in his household, as well as peace to the soul. If injustice or ingratitude irritate or grieve him, her caresses will appease, and her smiles console him.

Her commendation is his glory: she too resembles his conscience; he thinks himself good when he raises her affections, and great when she

or less

admires him. He sees in her reason personified, and wisdom in action, for she feels all that the philosophers of every age have only thought.

As modest as the violet, she shuns display, and diffuses in the shades around her the perfume of virtue and happiness.

Labours, pains, pleasures, opinions, sentiments, and thoughts, are in common between them; and if she never expresses more than what she feels, he reads at a glance her thoughts, her gestures ; and even in her eyes, he can apply to her what used to be said of Pompey, when young : “The thought was uttered before the voice had sounded.”

If he be ill, the double balm of love and friendship come to his aid : numberless delicate and affectionate attentions dispel uneasiness, and waken hope; pain itself smiles upon tenderness, and again knows pleasure.

If poverty should compel him to work for a livelihood, if the fatigues of war, or state affairs, should have exhausted his strength, or enfeebled his health, she alleviates the toil by sharing it.

How easy and short does the voyage of life appear with such a companion ! As in the fortunate isles, he always finds at the same time buds, flowers, and fruits! His summer has retained and preserved the charms of his spring; and old age has drawn near without his perceiving its approach.

SINGULAR SERMON.

[Often have we heard persons criticise

He was

a good husband, and she and find fault with the sermons they a good house-wife, and they two got hear, forgetting the high privilege they money; she brought a £1000 with her enjoy in being permitted to hear the for her portion. Gospel of Jesus Christ at all. The fol. But now, beloved, I shall make it lowing sermon, which has been fre- clear by demonstrative arguments. 1st, quently printed, is copied from the He was a good man, and that in several British Magazine for 1750 ; it will af- respects ; he was a loving man to his fectingly show the state of religion in neighbours, a charitable man to the poor, many of the English pulpits in former a favourable man in his tithes, and a times, and prove the necessity which good landlord to his tenants; there sits then existed for the production of the one Mr. Spurgeon, can tell what a great Homilies. We hope it will make our sum of money he forgave him upon his readers farther grateful for the bles- death-bed, it was four-score pounds. Now, sings they now enjoy, EDITOR.]

beloved, was not this a good man, and a “ Fight the good fight,”' &c. 1 Tim. man of God, and his wife a good woman? vi. 12.

and she came from Helsdon Hall, beyond Beloved, we are met together to Norwich. This is the first argument. solemnize the funeral of Mr. Proctor ; Secondly. To prove this man to his father's name was Mr. Thomas Proc- be a good man, and a man of God, in tor, of the second family, his brothers the time of his sickness, which was long name also was Mr. Thomas Proctor, he and tedious, he sent for Mr. Cole, Milived some time at Burston Hall, in Nor- nister of Shimpling, to pray for him. folk, and was High Constable of Diss He was not a self-ended man, to be Hundred ; this man's name was Mr. prayed for himself only; no, beloved, he Robert Proctor, and his wife's was Mrs. desired him to pray for all his relations Buxton, late wife of Mr. Matthew Bux- and acquaintances, for Mr. Buxton's ton; she came from Helsdon Hall, be- worship, and for all Mr. Buxton's chilyond Norwich.

dren, against it should please God to

send him any; and to Mr. Cole's prayers he devoutly said, Amen, amen, amen.

Was not this a good man and a man of God, think you, and his wife a good woman? and she came from Helsdon Hall, beyond Norwich.

Then he sent for Mr. Gibbs, to pray for him, when he came and prayed for him, for all his friends, relations, and acquaintances, for Mr. Buxton's worship, for Mrs. Buxton's worship, and for all Mr. Buxton's children, against it should please God to send him any, and to Mr. Gibbs' prayers he likewise devoutly said, Amen, amen, amen.

Was not this a good man and a man of God, think you, and his wife a good woman ? and she came from Helsdon Hall, beyond Norwich.

Then he sent for me, and I came and prayed for this good man Mr. Proctor, for all his friends, relations, and acquaintances, for Mr. Buxton's worship, for Mrs. Buxton's worship, and for Mr. Buxton's children, against it should please God to send him any, and to my prayers he devoutly said, Amen, amen,

amen.

there he sits; gave him a vast portioni with her, and the remainder of his estate he gave his two daughters.

Now, was not this a good man and a man of God, think you, and his wife a good woman ? and she came from Hels. don Hall, beyond Norwich.

Now, beloved, if you remember, a short time since, I preached at the funeral of Mrs. Proctor, all which time I troubled you with many of her transcendent virtues, but your memories perhaps may fail you, and therefore I shall now remind you of one or two of them.

The first is, she was a good knitter as any in the county of Norfolk. When her husband and family were in bed and asleep, she would get a cushion, clap herself down by the fire, and sit and knit; but, beloved, she was no prodigal woman, but a sparing woman, for to spare candle, she would stir up the coals with her knitting pins, and by that light she would sit and knit, and make as good work as many other women by daylight. Beloved, I have a pair of stockings upon my legs, that were knit in the same manner, and they are the best stockings that ever I wore in my

Secondly. She was the best maker of toast in drink, that ever I ate in my life ; and they were brown toasts too, for when I used to go in a morning, she would ask me to eat a toast, which I was very willing to do, because she had such an artificial way of toasting it, no ways slack, nor burning it; besides she had such a pretty way of grating nutmeg and dipping it in the beer, and such a piece of rare cheese, that I must needs say that they were the best toasts that ever I ate in my life.

Well, beloved, the days are short, and many of you have a great way to your habitations, and therefore I hasten to a conclusion.

I think I have sufficiently proved this man to be a good man, and his wife a good woman; but fearing your memories should fail you, I shall repeat the particulars ; viz. first, his love to his neighbour; second, his charity to the poor ; third, his favourableness in his tithes ; fourth, his goodness to his tenants ; fifth, his devotion in his prayers in saying Amen, amen, amen, to the prayers of Mr. Cole, Mr. Gibbs, and myself.

Was not this a good man and a man of God, think you, and his wife a good woman ? and she came from Helsdon Hall, beyond Norwich.

Thirdły and lastly, beloved, I come to a clear demonstrative argument, to prove this man to be a good man and a man of God, and that is this ; there was one Thomas Proctor, a very poor beggar boy; he came into this country upon the back of a dun cow; it was not a black cow, nor a brindled cow, nor a brown cow; no, beloved, it was a dun cow. Well, beloved, this poor boy came a begging to this good man's door ; he did not do as some would have done, give him a small alms and send him away, or chide him, and make him a pass, and send him into his own country; no, beloved, he took him into his own house, and bound him an apprentice to a gun-smith in Norwich ; after his time was out, he took him home again, and married him to a kinswoman of his wife's, one Mrs. Christian Robertson, here present, there she sits ; she was a very good fortune, and to her this good man gave a considerable jointure. By her he had three daughters; this good man took home the eldest, brought her up to a woman's estate, married her to a very honourable gentleman, Mr. Buxton, here present ;

life.

Poetry.

TIME. Time was—but I have spent the past In hopes that bloom'd to fade as fast, In idle dreams of happiness, In vanity, in nothingness. And Retrospection's eye, when cast O’er the drear ocean of the past, Sees, in perplex'd confusion tost, Weeks, days, and hours, and moments

lost, While Memory, on her height sublime, Sits brooding o'er the wreck of Time ! Time is the only gem we save, The single pearl from life's dark wave, Which they who wisely seize, shall cast No sad remembrance on the past. Oh, timely happy, timely wise, They who the present moment prize, Who gladly 'scape the troubled sea Of perilous uncertainty, And, spurning Folly's specious vow, Cling to the Rock of safety-now ! Time shall be-but the future lies Beyond the ken of mortal eyes. No seer attends its temple pale, And none may pierce or lift the veil. Ah ! woe is he, whose clouded eye, Fixed only on mortality, Sees not Time's dark and narrow sea Fast rolling to eternity, But haunts its solitary shore, And waits till-Time shall be no more.

W. REYNOLDS.

Where Fancy's reign is o'er,

Does sweet Religion's sway Mind's temper'd powers restore, And lead them now to soar

From earth, from sin away ?
When Feeling's thrill is past

On trifles light as air,
Is now its lustre cast
On hopes, sublime and vast,

To glow and kindle there?
Once wild excursive Thought

Aerial flights pursued,-
Are now its musings sought
On themes with glory fraught,

Calm, holy, and subdued ?
Oh! my oft-drooping soul !

From cares and woes of earth, Turn to that high control, Which makes the wounded whole,

Child of celestial birth !
On Him who changeth not,

Repose thy heart's fond trust;
Safe in His chosen spot,
To Him confide thy lot,

The Merciful ! the Just!
On uncreated might,

Let thy young spirit rest ; His grace shall guide its flight Through regions of delight,

Pure, passionless, and blest. On excellence divine

Let thy high gaze be riven; So glorious gleams shall shine, Of joys that may be thine,

When safely moor'd in heaven. Thus, from earth's faded flowers

Thine eyes may smiling rise ;
And fix on Eden's bowers,
On bliss of countless hours,

The treasure of the skies !
Wake, then, to life sublime !

Rise from th' entombing sod !
For hopes, unchanged by time,
Joys, ever in their prime,
Fruits, of perennial clime,
Turn to the throne of God!

A. W. M.

THE PAST AND THE PRESENT-
Fancy has had her day,

And gilds my path no more;
Yet, if her brilliant ray
Lent charms to Error's sway,

Adieu, ye days of yore !
I would not mourn your loss,

If better things ye leave ;
Your pathway spread with moss,
Scenes, rich in summer's gloss,

For these I would not grieve.
Yet, when I pause and view

These early beauties dead,
I ask, what fairer hue
Hath risen to renew

The blooming verdure shed ?
Where earthly flowers arose,

Luxuriant as the morn,
Do blossoms now unclose
Of heavenly growth, like those

Which Sharon's bowers adorn ?

ISRAEL'S COMPLAINT.

PSALM CXXXVII. By the rivers of Babylon we sat down

and wept, With our harps in loneliness lying, On the boughs of the willows that grace

fully waved O’er the waters—in peacefulness sigh

ing.

We wept—when we thought on the land

of our birth, And the visions of happier times ; Yea, we wept, far away from those whom

we loved, Doom'd to suffer in different climes. And they who had dragg’d us as captives

from thence, Loaded on us reproaches and wrongs ; In mirth and derision they scornfully

said, Sing to us now one of Zion's sweet

songs." But how could we sing that song to a

strangerHow could we sing in a country un

knownAnd how could we tune our lone silent

harps, Except in the land which we hail'd as

our own ? Oh Jerusalem ! we cannot forget thee, Though threatening dangers encompass

thee round, But fresh in our hearts, endearing as

ever, The name of our land engraved shall be found.

G. W. OSBORNE.

This world's deep shades of pain and

grief, With light, and effort, and relief. Ah! rouse to this inspiring tone

Thy slumb'ring, useless lyre ! While aught of power is yet thy own, Bid it for languor past atone ; Nor let thy little gift be thrown

Neglected, to expire Where torpor, with her blighting breath, The mildew sheds of mental death. Wake to the high and pure reward

Of effort-aim divine ! While wealthier hands rich gifts afford, Thy little all do thou accord, And to the treasury of thy Lord

Thy widow's mite consign: Nor will that mite be scorn’d by Him Who watches from the seraphim.

D. M.

IS IT WELL?

SELF INQUIRY FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE.

STIMULUS TO INTELLECTUAL

AND MORAL EFFORT. Retire, vain dreams of wild Romance !

No more I court your spell ; Come, Thought, and o’er thy pure ex

panse Let Mind's serene, benignant glance Excursive range, in loftier trance,

And to this bosom tell Of themes than Fancy's flights more

high, Themes form’d for immortality: Of hopes that reach the boundless heaven,

In their clear tranquil flight;
Of peace from life's pure fountain given,
Joys, that in sorrow's soil have thriven,
Faith, that with earth's deep woes have

striven,
And let their power unite,
To form a wreath around thy lyre,
Worthy of poet's loftiest fire ;-
Of bright Philanthropy's wide aims

To soften life's distress ;
Of Duty's holy, earnest claims,
Of Thought and Feeling's blending

flames, O'er all the schemes which Virtue frames,

To comfort and to bless

Another year has pass'd away,

And borne its record up on high ;
And ev'ry month, and week, and day,

Are witnesses beyond the sky.
And now, my soul, I'd have thee tell,

What has the past year done for thee; Say, with thy conscience Is it well ?

Thy heart from condemnation free? Say, has each month, that now has roll'd

Into the deep abyss of time, Told of thy thoughts and words controll'd

By precept and command divine ? Its weeks and days, for ever gone,

What have they done for Him above? Were they employ'd in making known

Thy Maker's praise, thy Saviour's love? When the bright morning sun arose,

Wast thou before the throne in prayer? Again at dewy ev’ning's close,

Didst thou perform thy homage there? And all its hallow'd Sabbath days,

Seasons of grace to mortals given, Shedding on earth their gentle rays,

To guide the weary soul to heaven : Say, have they been to thee indeed,

“ Times of refreshing from the Lord?” Didst thou delight to hear and read

The true, the everlasting word ? In thee did sorrow meet relief,

The poor and needy find a friend ? Was 't thine to dry the tear of grief,

Did love with all thy actions blend ?

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