FOR THE CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.

"All thy works shall praise Thee."

Refulgent orb! and thou, pale lesser light,

That o'er the gloom of night in splendour shin'st!

Who taught you how to glow? Who fram'd yon spheres,

And, in exact proportion, bade you rise?

Ye glitt'ring stars, that in the firmament

With radiant glory move! Who form'd you thus?
Whose voice, omnipotent, call'd you away
From the dark womb of chaos into life?

Ye lofty mountains! flowery meads and plains!
Stupendous rocks! and roaring ocean! Speak.
Came ye by chance? Ye birds that soar on high!
Ye fish that swim! ye beasts! all living things!
Whence came you here? And Man! for whom was made
These meaner things: Man! last but noblest work;
Came he by chance? E'en nature shrinks aghast
And answers,-No. 'Twas God's own hand divine
Created him; bade all things here below
In order rise; and then pronounc'd it good.-E.

If any of our readers are among those who generally pass over every thing that they perceive to be in blank verse, we would inform them, that if they will read the following lines attentively, it will be their own fault if they do not receive both pleasure and profit.

From the Christian Observer for December, 1816.

SERIOUS RECOLLECTIONS ON A NEW YEAR'S DAY.

Monet Annus.-HOR,

Hark to that monitory sound, e'n now

By listening Contemplation audible,

The death-knell of the parted year!-A leaf
Is clos'd: another, in Time's awful book,
Is opening: the six-thousandth hastens on:
Like pages of the eventful Chronicler,
Each from its neighbour how diversified,
Follower or forerunner!-At every turn
New actors rise or fall upon the stage,
And all is mutability, all death.

What are we men, we lords of earth, but leaves
Or flowers, that spring, and blossom, and decay;
Some statelier, humbler some, all quick to fade?
Where now those human myriads, that, like bees
Or butterflies, for use or pleasure, wealth,
Art, science, fame, or fashion, through their day,
O'ercast or shiny, flutter'd to repose?

Ask'st thou? Ask where the leaves and flowers they trod
Or view'd: ask where the butterflies and bees

That pass'd them. One poor answer serves for all:
They have been-are no more: no more survive
E'en in their works; their cities, thrones, renown,
(Built with such length of labour) fall'n, forgot.

Oh, then, that after-world! which who, that thinks,
Can doubt! which, preach'd by Heaven's authentic Voice,
Yea, by its own light manifest, makes plain,
And wise, and comfortable, aught that else
Were mystery, were vanity, were grief:-
That after-world is all. There let me send
My heart, my treasure; deeply there forecast
My cares, my hopes, my happiness, my all.
I should have more and earlier look'd to this-
Reckless too long of being's pregnant end;
Too much enamour'd of each way-side charm;
Studious with man's vain lore to load a mind
Dead in its guilt, unvivified by grace

And godliness; to trick, as 'twere with flowers,
A corse, meet only for the worm or fire.
Yet what had I to do, in this brief state,
But work out my salvation for the next,
(That world interminable of weal or wo!)
With fear, with trembling; not by vexing cares
Cumber'd, or by dissatisfying joys,
But single-sighted, on my one great task
Fix'd, and athwart the obtrusive gauds of sense
Stretching to Faith's eternities my gaze?
Years have been lost; up, stir thee to redeem
All that of life may yet be thine--who knows
How little? Life is but a scanty ledge,

Where the poor traveller walks suspended o'er
A fathomless abyss !-

Oh! let him heed his footing, heed his side!
Chances play round him momently, and each
May sweep him to destruction.

Thou, then, who hail'st this opening of the year,
Mark down for heav'n its progress: ere its close,
A red-breast may be warbling on the stone
Where thou art cold and darkling underneath.
Still hast thou been permitted to behold
Yon sun, renewing o'er the genial year
His radiant round-mindless too oft of Him,
The great, the gracious Author of sweet light!
Still has thy heart its glad pulsations kept,
And kindly fires-unwarm'd, too oft unmov'd,
With love, with active gratitude, to Him,
Giver of all! Thou still hast mark'd, with eyes
Of joyous wonder, herbs, and leaves, and flowers,
At Spring's green resurrection reappear,
Yet hast not caught the lesson, from dead works,
A new life to put forth; prefiguring so,
By present resurrection of thy soul,
Thy body's future. Barren, heretofore,

Still art thou spar'd: yet, oh! presume not still.
The Master of the vineyard spares thee thus,
In such long-suffering goodness as may best
Win to amendment; but will soon return,
And, frowning on the hard and hopeless, charge
His pruner, Death, Lay to that root thine axe,
And hew it down: why cumbereth it the ground?”
Yes give thyself to Gop, the God of love;
The FATHER, by His own Son, reconcil'd
To rebel man, and offering to thy prayers
And labours His own SPIRIT. Oft with Him
Hold commune in his word; thy master care
To weed out nature, nurse implanted grace,
Impregnate with his will thy heart, thy life,
And in his image rise regenerate.

Do good, the little which thou canst, in this
Thy measur'd work-time: cheer, enlighten, aid,

The poor, the dark, the wretched, of thy kind;

Copy and love the holy; so to serve

Thy Lord, thy Father, in His family.

Strive while on earth a sojourner to dwell,

Whose home is heaven; not, like yon thoughtless world,

Nor like thyself erewhile, grovelling and chain'd

On dust, all unprovided for th' approach

Of death, of judgment, of eternity.

Oh! to be torn through ever-dragging ages,

From those thy heart-strings clasp'd; th' embosom'd wife;
The child who, like a second life, grew up,

A sun-shine to thine eyes; the parent, friend;
Since thou wouldst madly slight the day of grace
They patiently improv'd! Soul-harrowing thought!
Change it, while yet thou mayst, for that dear hope
Of sharing immortality in bliss

With all that here deserv'd thy lasting love,
All that made Gon their friend.-Oh! is he thine?
Time's clock, to-day, hath once more struck: it goes
Silently, swiftly, and for thee must soon

Cease striking. Catch its instant warning! Wake!
Rise from thy dreamy slumber! By the glass
Of heavenly Truth, by all the aids of faith
And practice, sedulously cleanse and clothe
A soul (how naked else and foul!) for heaven.
Thus, with what deep, what durable reward,
Above all festal joyance, shalt thou keep
The monitory birth-day of a year!

ON PSALMODY.

Miscellaneous.

(Continued from p. 493.)

Winnsboro', July 6th, 1825. Beloved brother in Jesus-The more we learn of the gospel of our Lord, the more the glorious perfections of God shine on our souls, and the more will our hearts glow with the love of Immanuel. Very little do they know of sublimity, who have not learned from the sacred scripture the character of Jehovah. But little do they know of love and mercy, who have not learned it from the gospel. But little do they know of liberty, who have not been made free by Christ. "Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free." Gal.

v. 1.

If I trace the minute parts of the paschal sacrifice, I find an immediate reference to Christ in every part. Alluding to this sacrifice, Christ is often in the New Testament called the "Lamb of God." It is said, "Christ our passover is sacrificed for us." Yet I do not think, that because Christ shines so clearly in the type, that we should continue to use the type, in order that we may see Christ in it. In all the temple service the Apostles, and we under their guidance, can see Christ set forth in a clear and impressive manner. But I do not think that I am therefore bound to maintain the temple service, for the purpose of seeing Christ through

that medium. The Psalms contain clear and evident prophecies of the Lord Jesus, but still in the neces

sary obscurity* of prophetic style.

• There is no contradiction here. For

as prophecy, it is plain. When the predicted facts are compared, it is evident. Yet still without a clear and very extensive knowledge of facts, the prophecy must retain a great degree of obscurity and uncertainty. The Jews still chant the Psalms and deny our Saviour.

The Apostle, and by his teaching we, can see him in almost every psalm, but not more clearly than we can see him in the types. I do not think therefore that I am bound to sing the Psalms and nothing else in publick worship. As I said in the preceding letter, I say again, the Psalms, as well as the books of Moses, contain the eternal truth of God, "written for our learning," &c., "profitable for doctrine," &c.; and it is our duty and our privilege to use them for these purposes. But the command to sing them always referred to the temple worship; and like the commands to circumciseto keep the passover to keep up all the types of Christ in lively view

ceased to be binding when the temple service ceased. You will keep in mind that there is as great

a difference between the Psalms themselves, and the ceremony of singing them, as there is between the record of the types of Christ, and the ceremony of exhibiting those types. If you ask why the record of the types would not do before the coming of Christ as well as after?-why they might not have been spared all the expense and trouble of sacrifice, &c.-I answer, Because, as all types and prophecies are necessarily dark and mysterious till after the fulfilment, it was necessary to have sacrifice actually performed, in order to keep up a distinct and lively view of the type itself on the mind, till the Antitype should come. With types it was necessary to connect prophecy; and no plan could be better devised than what the Lord did appoint. The prophecies contained in the Psalms were to be sung in close connexion with the typical rites, that when Christ should come they might see both the types and prophecy which were every day exhibited and uttered, fulfilled in him.

How strikingly the wisdom of