Ye fair, by nature formed to move,
O praise the eternal source of love,
With youth's enlivening fire;
the solemn lay,

Let take up

age

Sing His blest Name, then soar away,
And ask an angel's lyre.

OGILVIE.

THE bell strikes one.

But from his loss.

Is wise in man.

TIME.

We take no note of time
To give it then a tongue
As if an angel spoke,

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
It is the signal that demands despatch.

How much is to be done! my hopes and fears
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down. On what?

A fathomless abyss !

A dread eternity! How surely mine!

And can eternity belong to me,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

YOUNG.

THE EMANCIPATION OF THE NEGROES.

HIE to the mountains afar,

All in the cool of the even,

Led by yon beautiful star,

First of the bright lights of heaven. Sweet to the slave is the season of rest: Something far sweeter he looks for to-night: His heart lies awake in the depth of his breast, And listens till GOD shall say, "Let there be light."

Climb we the mountain, and stand
High in mid-air to inhale

Fresh from our old father-land,

Balm in the ocean home gale.

Darkness yet covers the face of the deep,
Spirit of freedom! go forth in thy might,
To break up our bondage, like infancy's sleep,
The moment that GOD shall say, "Let there be light."

Gaze we awhile from this peak, Praying in thought while we gaze, Watch for the dawning's first streak ; Prayer then be turned into praise. Shout to the valleys, behold ye the morn, Long, long desired, but denied to our sight! Lo! myriads of slaves into men are new born; His word was omnipotent, "Let there be light.”

Hear it and hail it: the call

Island to island prolong:

Liberty, liberty! all

Join in that jubilee song.

Hark! 'tis the children's hosannahs that ring!
Hark! they are freemen, whose voices unite,
While England, the Indies, and Africa sing,
"Amen! hallelujah" to "Let there be light."

"MY HOME IS NOT HERE."

WHEN I gaze on the light of yon beautiful sky,
And the curtains of azure unfolded on high,
Their glory and splendour recalls to my thought
The blessed inheritance JESUS has bought:
I can fancy the portals of heaven appear,
And I feel at this moment, my home is not here.

When I see all around me those flowers so bright,
Which GOD has implanted to ravish my sight,
I hail them as pledges of heavenly love,
And think of the brighter ones blooming above.
Their fragrance reminds me of hopes that are dear,
And I love to remember, my home is not here.

When I list to the song of the lark as she flies,
Still warbling her notes as she mounts to the skies,
I muse on the time when my heavenly flight
Will, like her's, be directed to regions of light:
I shall sing as I leave every trouble and fear,
My home is in heaven, my home is not here!

O land of enjoyment! O home of my heart!
What blessed delights can thine image impart !
In the midst of affliction, and suffering, and grief,
One thought of thy glory brings instant relief;
And quickly the darkening clouds disappear,
As the feeling steals o'er me, my home is not here!

ON THE BIRTHDAY OF A DEPARTED FATHER.

AH! where is the harp that was strung to thy praise, So softly, so sweetly, in happier days?

When the tears that we shed were the tears of our joy, And the pleasures of home were unmixed with alloy. The harp is now mute; its last breathings are spoken, And the cord, though 'twas threefold, is now, alas! broken;

Yet why should we murmur, short sighted and vain, Since death to that loved one was undying gain?

Ah! fools, shall we grieve that he left this poor scene,
To dwell in the realms that are ever serene?
Though he sparkled the gem in our circle of love,
He is even more prized in the circles above.

And though sweetly he sung of his Father on earth,
When this day would inspire him with tenderest mirth;
Yet a holier tone to his harp is now given,

As he sings to his merciful Father in Heaven.

M' CHEYNE.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.

DEATHLESS principle, arise,
Soar, thou native of the skies;
Pearl of price, by JESUS bought,
To His glorious likeness wrought,
Go to shine before His Throne,
Deck His mediatorial crown;
Go, His triumphs to adorn ;
Born of GOD, to God return.

Lo! He beckons from on high,
Fearless to His presence fly :
Thine the merit of His Blood,
Thine the righteousness of GOD;