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not the house but the throne of God, in company, in order to join in the symphonies of heavenly voices, and lose ourselves amidst the splendours and fruitions of the beatific vision!

To that state, all the pious on earth are tending; and if there is a law, from whose operations none are exempt, which irresistibly conveys their bodies to darkness and to dust, there is another, not less certain or less powerful, which conducts their spirits to the abodes of bliss, to the bosom of their father and their God. The wheels of nature are not made to roll backward; every thing presses on towards eternity: from the birth of time an impetuous current has set in, which bears all the sons of men towards that interminable ocean.. Meanwhile heaven is attracting to itself whatever is congenial to its nature; is enriching itself by the spoils of earth, and collecting within its capacious bosom whatever is pure, permanent and divine, leaving nothing for the last fire to consume but the objects and the slaves of concupiscence: while every thing which grace has prepared and beautified, shall be gathered and selected from the ruins of the world, to adorn that eternal city which hath no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it, for the glory of God doth enlighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. Let us obey the voice that calls us thither; let us seek the things that are above, and no longer cleave to a world which must shortly perish, and which we must shortly quit, while we neglect to prepare for that in which we are invited to dwell, forever. Let us follow in the track of those holy men, who have taught us by their voice and encouraged us by their example, that laying aside every weight and the sin that most easily beset us, we may run with patience the race that is set before us! While every thing within us and around us, reminds us of the approach of death and concurs to teach us, that this is not our rest; let us hasten our preparations for another world, and earnestly implore that grace which alone can put an end to that fatal war, which our desires have too long waged with our destiny. When these move in the same direction, and that which the will of heaven renders unavoidable, shall become our choice, all things will be ours, life will be divested of its satiety and death of its terrors.

Extract from Rev. Dr. HARDIE's Sermon on the Resurrection. Edinburgh, 1785.

Twice had the sun gone down upon the earth, and all as yet, was silent at the sepulchre. Death, held his sceptre over the

Son of God. Still and silent, the hours passed on, the guards stood at their post, the rays of the midnight moon gleamed on their helmets and on their spears. The enemies of Christ exulted in their success, the hearts of his friends were sunk in despondency, the spirits of glory waited in anxious suspense to behold the event, and wondered at the depth of the ways of God. At length, the morning star, arising in the east, announced the approach of light. The third day began to dawn upon the world, when on a sudden, the earth trembled to its centre, and the powers of heaven were shaken, an angel of God descended, the guards shrunk back from the terror of his presence and fell prostrate on the ground. "His countenance was like lightning and his raiment white as snow." He rolled away the stone from the door of the sepulchre and sat upon it. But who is this that cometh forth from the tomb, with dyed garments from the bed of death? He that is glorious in his appearance, walking in the greatness of his strength? It is thy prince, O Zion! Christian, it is your Lord! He hath trodden the wine press alone, he hath stained his raiment with blood, but now, as the first born from the womb of nature, he meets the morning of his resurrection. He arises a conqueror from the grave, he returns with blessings from the world of spirits, he brings salvation to the son of men. Never did the returning sun usher in a day so glorious. It was the jubilee of the Universe. The morning stars sung together, and all the sons of God shouted aloud for joy. The Father of mercies looked down from his throne in the heavens, with complacency he beheld his world restored, he saw his work that it was good. Then did the desart rejoice, the face of nature was gladdened before him, when the blessings of the Eternal descended as the dews of heaven, for the refreshing of the nations.

The Spanish Lady's Farewell.-BETHAM.

Manuel, I do not shed a tear
Our parting to delay;
I dare not listen to my fear,
I dare not bid thee stay.

The heart may shrink, the spirit fail,
But Spaniards must be free,
And pride and duty shall prevail
O'er all my love for thee.

Then go, and round that gallant head
Like banners in the air,
Shall float full many a daring hope
And many a tender prayer.

Should freedom perish-at thy death,
Twere madness to repine,
And I should every feeling lose
Except the wish for mine.

But if the destiny of Spain,
Be once again to rise,
O! grant me, heaven! to read the tale
In Manuel's joyful eyes.


Tis sweet to behold, when the billows are sleeping,
Some gay coloured bark moving gracefully by;
No damp on her deck, but the even-tide weeping;
No breath in her sails, but the summer wind's sigh.

Yet who would not turn with fonder emotion,
gaze on the life-boat, though rugged and worn,
Which often hath wafted o'er hills of the ocean,
The last sigh of hope to the sailor forlorn.

Oh! grant that of those who in life's sunny slumber,
Around us, like summer barks, idly have play'd;
When storms are abroad, we may find, in the number,
One friend, like the life-boat, to fly to our aid.

THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.-Moore, There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; O! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yes, it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;

'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill, O! no-it was something more exquisite still.


"Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom were near, Who made each dear scene of enchantment more dear And who felt how the blest charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Ovoca! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best;
When the storms which we feel in this cold world shall


And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.


The scene was more beautiful far to my eye
Than if day in its pride had arrayed it;

The land breeze blew mild, and the azure-arch'd sky
Look'd pure as the spirit that made it.

The murmur rose soft as I silently gaz'd,

On the shadowy waves playful motion,
From the dim distant hill, till the Beacon-fire blaz❜d,
Like a star in the midst of the ocean.

No longer the joy of the sailor boy's breast
Was heard in his wildly breath'd numbers,
The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest,
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers.

One moment I look'd from the hill's gentle slope;
All hush'd was the billow's commotion,
And thought that the Beacon look'd lovely as hope,
That star on life's tremulous ocean.

The time is long past, and the scene is afar,
Yet when my head rests on its pillow,
Will memory sometimes rekindle the star

That blazed on the breast of the billow.
In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies,
And death stills the heart's last emotion;

O then may the seraph of mercy arise!
Like a star on eternity's ocean.

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For him, who sought his country's good
In plains of war and scenes of blood;
Who in the dubious battle's fray
Spent the warm noon of life's bright day,
That to the world he might secure
Rights that forever shall endure-

Rear the monument of Fame ;
Deathless is the hero's name.

For him, who when the war was done,
And victory sure and freedom won,
Left glory's theatre-the field,
The olive branch of peace to wield;
And prov❜d when at the helm of state

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