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Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear | him:

Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all!

Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping?

Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? "Set down the bier-he is not dead but sleeping! "Young man, arise!"-He spake, and was obeyed!

Change, then, oh sad one! grief to exultation, Worship and fall before Messiah's knee. Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong was the word of God to succour thee!


OH blest were the accents of early creation, When the word of Jehovah came down from above;

In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,

And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!

And mighty the tones which the firmament rended, When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind,

By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness attended,

He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.

And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven,

(Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form,)

Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven!"

"Be whole!" to the sick,-and "Be still!" to the storm.

Oh, Judge of the world! when, arrayed in thy glory,



THE Sound of war! In earth and air

The volleying thunders roll: Their fiery darts the fiends prepare, And dig the pit, and spread the snare, Against the Christian's soul The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame, The scorner's serpent tone, Of bitter doubt, the barbed aim, All, all conspire his heart to tame: Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail The rivets of his heavenly mail,

Amidst his foes alone.

Gods of the world! ye warrior host
Of darkness and of air,

In vain is all your impious boast,
In vain each missile lightning tost,
In vain the tempter's snare!
Though fast and far your arrows fly,
Though mortal nerve and bone
Shrink in convulsive agony,

The Christian can your rage defy;
Towers o'er his head salvation's crest,
Faith, like a buckler, guards his breast,
Undaunted, though alone.

"T is past! 't is o'er! in foul defeat
The demon host are fled!
Before the Saviour's mercy-seat,
(His live-long work of faith complete,)
Their conqueror bends his head.
"The spoils thyself hast gained, Lord!
I lay before thy throne:

Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword;
My trust was in thy name and word:

"T was in thy strength my heart was strong; Thy spirit went with mine along; How was I then alone?"


Thy summons again shall be heard from on OH high,


God! my sins are manifold, against my life they cry,

While nature stands trembling and naked before And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy temthee,

And waits on thy sentence to live or to die;

When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder,

And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale,

And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder,

In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail!

ple fly;

Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven?

"Forgive!" a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven!"

My foemen, Lord! are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride,

They render evil for my good, my patience they deride;

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FOR ST. JAMES'S DAY. THOUGH Sorrows rise and dangers roll In waves of darkness o'er my soul, Though friends are false and love decays, And few and evil are my days, Though conscience, fiercest of my foes, Swells with remembered guilt my woes, Yet ev'n in nature's utmost ill,

I love thee, Lord! I love thee still!

Though Sinai's curse, in thunder dread,
Peals o'er mine unprotected head,
And memory points, with busy pain,
To grace and mercy given in vain,
Till nature, shrieking in the strife,
Would fly to hell, to 'scape from life,
Though every thought has power to kill,
I love thee, Lord! I love thee still!

Oh, by the pangs thyself hast borne,
The ruffian's blow, the tyrant's scorn;
By Sinai's curse, whose dreadful doom
Was buried in thy guiltless tomb:

By these my pangs, whose healing smart
Thy grace hath planted in my heart;

I know, I feel thy bounteous will!
Thou lovest me, Lord! thou lovest me still!


Oн, captain of God's host, whose dreadful might Led forth to war the armed Seraphim, And from the starry height, Subdued in burning fight,

Cast down that ancient dragon, dark and grim!

Thine angels, Christ! we laud in solemn lays, Our elder brethren of the crystal sky,

Who, 'mid thy glory's blaze,
The ceaseless anthem raise,
And gird thy throne in faithful ministry!

We celebrate their love, whose viewless wing
Hath left for us so oft their mansion high,
The mercies of their king,

To mortal saints to bring,

Or guard the couch of slumbering infancy.

But thee, the first and last, we glorify, Who, when thy world was sunk in death and sin, Not with thine hierarchy,

The armies of the sky,

But didst with thine own arm the battle win,

Alone didst pass the dark and dismal shore Alone didst tread the wine-press, and alone, All glorious in thy gore,

Didst light and life restore,
To us who lay in darkness and undone!

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Waft, waft, ye winds, his story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole;
Till o'er our ransomed nature,
The lamb for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign!



Oн most merciful!

Oh most bountiful!
God the Father Almighty!
By the Redeemer's
Sweet intercession

Hear us, help us when we cry!

BEFORE THE SACRAMENT. BREAD of the world, in mercy broken!

Wine of the soul in mercy shed! By whom the words of life were spoken, And in whose death our sins are dead!

Look on the heart by sorrow broken,

Look on the tears by sinners shed, And be thy feast to us the token That by thy grace our souls are fed!


BENEATH our feet and o'er our head

Is equal warning given;
Beneath us lie the countless dead,
Above us is the heaven!

Their names are graven on the stone,
Their bones are in the clay;
And ere another day is done,
Ourselves may be as they.

Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril every hour!

Our eyes have seen the rosy light
Of youth's soft cheek decay,
And Fate descend in sudden night
On manhood's middle day.

Our eyes have seen the steps of age
Halt feebly towards the tomb,
And yet shall earth our hearts engage,
And dreams of days to come?

Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know;
Where'er thy foot can tread
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of her dead!

Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply
To truths divinely given;
The bones that underneath thee lie
Shall live for hell or heaven!



THOU art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb:

Thy Saviour has passed through its portal before thee,

And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom!

Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may die, for the SINLESS has died!

Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion forsaking,

Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long; But the mild rays of paradise beamed on thy waking,

And the sound which thou heardst was the seraphim’s song!

Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,

Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide;

He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee,

And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died!*

The following stanzas were written as an addition to the above hymn, by an English clergyman, on hearing of the de

cease of the author.


OH, Saviour of the faithful dead,

With whom thy servants dwell, Though cold and green the turf is spread Above their narrow cell,

No more we cling to mortal clay,
We doubt and fear no more,

Nor shrink to tread the darksome way
Which thou hast trod before!

'Twas hard from those I loved to go, Who knelt around my bed,

Whose tears bedewed my burning brow,

Whose arms upheld my head!

As fading from my dizzy view,

I sought their forms in vain,
The bitterness of death I knew,
And groaned to live again.

'Twas dreadful when th' accuser's power
Assailed my sinking heart,
Recounting every wasted hour,
And each unworthy part:

But, Jesus! in that mortal fray,

Thy blessed comfort stole,
Like sunshine in a stormy day,
Across my darkened soul!

When soon or late this feeble breath
No more to thee shall pray,
Support me through the vale of death,

And in the darksome way!

When clothed in fleshly weeds again I wait thy dread decree,

Judge of the world! bethink thee then That thou hast died for me.

Thou art gone to the grave! and whole nations bemoan thee,
Who caught from thy lips the glad tidings of peace:
Yet grateful, they still in their hearts shall enthrone thee,
And ne'er shall thy name from their memories cease.

Thou art gone to the grave! but thy work shall not perish,
That work which the spirit of wisdom hath blest;
His strength shall sustain it, his comforts shall cherish,
And make it to prosper, though thou art at rest.

Translations of Pindar.




CAN earth, or fire, or liquid air, With water's sacred stream compare? Can aught that wealthy tyrants hold Surpass the lordly blaze of gold?— Or lives there one, whose restless eye Would seek along the empty sky, Beneath the sun's meridian ray, A warmer star, a purer day?— O thou, my soul, whose choral song, Would tell of contests sharp and strong, Extol not other lists above The circus of Olympian Jove; Whence borne on many a tuneful tongue, So Saturn's seed the anthem sung, With harp, and flute, and trumpet's call, Hath sped to Hiero's festival.

Over sheep-clad Sicily

Who the righteous sceptre beareth, Every flower of virtue's tree

Wove in various wreath he weareth.

But the bud of poesy

Is the fairest flower of all; Which the bards, in social glee,

Strew round Hiero's wealthy hall.— The harp on yonder pin suspended,

Seize it, boy, for Pisa's sake;

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And that good steed's, whose thought will wake
A joy with anxious fondness blended:-
No sounding lash his sleek side rended ;-
By Alpheus' brink, with feet of flame,
Self-driven, to the goal he tended:

And earned the olive wreath of fame
For that dear lord, whose righteous name
The sons of Syracusa tell:—
Who loves the generous courser well:
Beloved himself by all who dwell
In Pelop's Lydian colony.—
-Of earth-embracing Neptune, he
The darling, when, in days of yore,
All lovely from the caldron red
By Clotho's spell delivered,
The youth an ivory shoulder bore.--

-Well!-these are tales of mystery!-
And many a darkly-woven lie
With men will easy credence gain;

While truth, calm truth, may speak in vain;
For eloquence, whose honeyed sway
Our frailer mortal wits obey,

Can honour give to actions ill,
And faith to deeds inoredible ;-
And bitter blame, and praises high,
Fall truest from posterity.-

But, if we dare the deeds rehearse
Of those that aye endure,

'T were meet that in such dangerous verse
Our every word were pure.—
Then, son of Tantalus, receive

A plain unvarnished lay!-
My song shall elder fables leave,
And of thy parent say,

That, when in heaven a favoured guest,
He called the gods in turns to feast
On Sipylus, his mountain home:—
The sovereign of the ocean foam,
-Can mortal from such favour prove?
Rapt thee on golden car above
To highest house of mighty Jove;

To which, in after day,
Came golden-haired Ganymede,
As bard in ancient story read,

The dark-winged eagle's prey.—

And when no earthly tongue could tell
The fate of thee, invisible;—
Nor friends, who sought thee wide in vain,
To soothe thy weeping mother's pain,
Could bring the wanderer home again;

Some envious neighbour's spleen,
In distant hints, and darkly, said,
That in the caldron hissing red,
And on the god's great table spread,

Thy mangled limbs were seen.-
But who shall tax, I dare not, I,
The blessed gods with gluttony?—
Full oft the sland'rous tongue has felt
By their high wrath the thunder dealt ;-
And sure, if ever mortal head
Heaven's holy watchers honoured,

That head was Lydia's lord.-
Yet, could not mortal heart digest
The wonders of that heavenly feast;
Elate with pride, a thought unblest
Above his nature soared.-
And now, condemned to endless dread,-
(Such is the righteous doom of fate,)
He eyes, above his guilty head,
The shadowy rocks' impending weight:-
The fourth, with that tormented three(1)
In horrible society!-

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