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THOU, GOD, SEEST ME!

Gen. xvi. 13.

WHEN, like Hagar, sad and lone,
O'er life's desert journeying on;
Thou canst 'ope mine eyes to see,
Streams of comfort spring for me;
And though none be there to cheer,
Thou my mournful pray'r wilt ear,
For-Thou seest me!

When the waves of sorrow rise,
Thou wilt catch the spirit's sighs;

And upon the stormy tide

With sweet tones of promise glide,
Stretch the aiding hand, and cry
Fear not, trembler, it is I!

For-Thou seest me!

Or, when sunbeams brightly smiling,
Soothe the soul, all grief beguiling;
When joy's flow'rets, sweet and fair,"
Bloom around the path of care;
Thou wilt purify each pleasure,
And endear the heav'n-kept treasure.
For-Thou seest me!

And, when dull and numbing pain
Racks the fast-dissolving frame,
Thou wilt whisper words of peace,
Bid all restless doubting cease;
And o'er the spirit's darkness throw
Thy covenant's unchanging bow,
For Thou seest me!

Thou, in death's tremendous hour
Wilt make known thy wondrous pow'r;
Teach the dying lip to sing,

"Where, O death! is now thy sting?"
Softly bid the tired one come

To the bright and blood-bought home,
For-Thou seest me!

Then, where seraphim adore,
And suffering can be felt no more ;
Where thy ransom'd people raise,
Songs triumphant to thy praise,
Those, thy watch'd and guarded band,
Ever safe at Christ's right hand,

Shall look on Thee!

I. B.

THE CURFEW BELL!

WHAT were my sensations when, for the first time, on a still October evening, I heard the slow and solemn Curfew Bell. The ringing of the Curfew is now, with many other of our ancient customs, almost fallen into disuse, whether altogether for our national benefit is not for me to decide; therefore, when its note first struck my ear, I naturally enquired what the Bell was for? and strange were my feelings, and many and various the thoughts which the answer I received of, "it is the Curfew," excited in my mind. I was then a visitor at the rectory of one of those pretty and retired villages, in which our beloved country abounds, close to the old grey church, from the tower of which the Bell was resounding not as of old, to remind the people, under severe penalties, that they were to extinguish their lights, and put out their fires, and instead of remaining round the domestic hearth, hasten to their beds, to avoid the severe cold of a winter night. Such is not its intention now, but each time we hear its solemn note, it reminds us of the blessings we now enjoy, blessings made more dear, by contrasting them with the privations our ancestors endured.

The sound of the Curfew also leads us to compare our present situation as a nation, with what it was when William the Conqueror introduced into our subdued country the dreaded Doom's-day book,

and the hated and tyrannous Curfew Bell, in order as it was said, to prevent seditious meetings among the poor Anglo-Saxons; but really to remind them that they were no longer a free, but a conquered people: it was a badge of their slavery. We may imagine that many would be the evasions of this hated law; some might be connived at when the evader was a friend of the conqueror's; but in general, severe were the penalties if they were discovered. Innumerable were the oppressions of every kind, to which the Saxon serfs were exposed from the proud Norman Barons; who, each shut up in his stronghold, had, according to Feudal law, the entire controul of those living under his jurisdiction. Nor was the treatment of the nobles less severe, it was the Conqueror's policy to humble them as much as possible, by giving all the places of influence to his own country-men, by changing the language, forbidding the Saxon to be used at Court, and commanding the laws to be written in Norman, and even judicial proceedings to be conducted, when possible, in the same language. Murder, rapine, and injustice of every kind stalked through the land. What is now our condition? Our mild and equitable laws, our glorious constitution, is the honor and boast of Englishmen, the praise and envy of foreigners : every man now sits in peace under his vine, and under his fig-tree.

If such was the political condition of our country, what must have been its religious state? it was far worse it might then be truly said, that gross darkness covered the earth, for not only England, but the whole of Europe was in a state of spiritual darkness. There were indeed some gleams of light shining through

the night, but until the glorious light of the reformation shone upon the world, the people were buried in the sloth of spiritual delusion and bigotted superstition, under the iron sceptre of the idolatrous church of Rome. Into the church itself, corruption of every kind had crept. The Popes were, with some few exceptions, notoriously bad men ; avarice, bigotry, and ignorance, were the characteristics of the priests; they were held in contempt even by their own soul-enslaved people. If such was the state of the clergy of the church, we may imagine what must have been the condition of the laity: they sinned without fear or remorse, knowing that by buying an indulgence, or paying to the church, they might obtain absolution of all their sins, however heinous they might be. There was one sin however, not quite so easily forgiven, and that was turning heretic or conniving at others doing so; as their cruelties to the poor Vaudois, and in latter times to the reformers, both on the continent and in our own country, clearly shew. This corruption of the true religion was confirmed in our country by William the Conqueror, it had previously been introduced by Augustine, a monk sent over by Gregory the great, but the native British church, planted probably by an apostle, perhaps the great apostle of the Gentiles himself, long resisted Augustine and his successors; but it was finally obliged to yield to the oppressive power of Lanfranc, Thomas a-Becket, and other Primates.

Religion continued in this state till the reign of Henry VIII, who from anger to the Pope, opposed him and favoured the reformed Religion. Then came the short reign of young Edward VI, one of

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