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A POETICAL LETTER.

He trembled and quak'd every word that he said,
And in earnest expected to tumble down dead.
Charles Tilworth, poor lad, tho' proposed was not there,
I hear he was kidnapp'd by Giant Despair :
But we hope that his heart will be better in tune,
To speak, with five more, the beginning of June.
May their tongues be untied that they boldly may tell
How the arm of Jehovah redeem'd them from hell!
How He sought them, and found them, far going astray,
And taught them to travel in Zion's right way.
O what a blest day is approaching, dear brother,
When I trust we in glory shall meet one another :
What singing, what shouting, what heavenly greeting,
Will be at that general triumphant church-meeting !
Where all the Lord's chosen together shall join
To tell of the wonders of mercy divine.
Not idleness, business, or length of the way,
Shall keep from that meeting one member away.
Temptations and trials no more shall be known,
Nor satan nor sin shall then make us to groan.
Doubts, fears, nor distress, shall our souls then invade,
Nor scoffs of the world longer make us afraid.
No parties, no quarrels, the saints then divide,
They'll be free from all shyness, and free from all pride.
Well-met shall be all, both the great and the small,
Poor I may shake hands with that blessed saint-Paul.
Each strange dispensation, now well understood,
We then shall see clearly all work'd for our good.
What merciful dealings we then shall be told,
What wisdom, what goodness, we then shall behold!
When each tale is ended, how will they all sing,
The loud sounding chorus will make heaven ring.
But O it seems long to that blessed day,
And I'm often discourag'd because of the way.
We must travel, you know, as we go to mount Zion,
O'er mountains of leopards by the den of the lion;
And though they're all chain'd, and Christ over them rules,
Yet their horrible roaring frights children and fools.
Such short-sighted creatures as you and I be,
Can often the lions but not the chain see;
And to see but their shadow, if Christ be not there,
Is enough to make any one tremble for fear :
However our Saviour has broken their head,
And promis'd that I on the dragon shall tread.
O that he would give me more courage and faith,
To believe, and rely on, whatever he saith.
In his strength to resist all the armies of hell,
With the sword of the Spirit their might to repel;

A POETICAL LETTER.

Like the brave sons of God, at my Saviour's command, To fight till my sword shall cleave fast to my hand. But the worst of all is, that from want of faith, I Am apt to take fright, like a coward, and fly; And none, but my captain, with shame I may say, But would long since have hang'd me, or turned me away; But His patience is boundless, and boundless His grace, And still doth He bear with a rebel so base! God grant that his goodness my soul may excite, With firmness and courage in order to fight; May the foresight of glory constrain you and me, To consider what persons we now ought to be. Sons of God !_heirs of heaven!—the purchase of blood! Forbid it, dear Lord! we should wallow in mud. Leave the earth to the moles, we are bound to the skies, There's nothing deserves our affection besides. Still to pray hard for me, my dear brother, cease not, Alas! you can't think what a heart I have got: So stubborn, so stupid, so carnal, so cold, The half of its wickedness cannot be told ! Above all things deceitful, and desperately badAlas! 'tis enough to make John Ryland mad ! Thou only canst know it, thou only canst mend it ! O search it, and wash it, and break it and cleanse it ! But I shall rhyme on, 'till you'll surely be tir'd, My paper is fill'd, and my time is expir'd. May God bless you all, and may you increase In love, and in holiness, knowledge, and peace ! To your aunt Mrs. Barnes, Mrs. Miles, Mrs. Pratt, The lady whose house we all breakfasted at; The good man whose name-sake, without food or lights, In the sea monster's belly lived three days and nights : To ev'ry one else, to Christ Jesus a friend, My christian respects I most cordially send. And pray God to prosper his GOSPEL, and bring, All his people to own the Lord Jesus as King ! Farewell! and believe me there's none in this Island, That wishes you better than I do—"John Ryland." These lines which the postman to you will convey, Were wrote at Northampton, the seventh of May, In one thousand seven hundred sixty and four; Since I left you at Sheepshead six days and no more. It is worthy of remark, that although this Epistle, as stated, is a Letter from Mr. Ryland, sen., to Mr. WILLIAM CHRISTIAN, yet it was his Son, young Ryland, (afterwards Dr. RYLAND, of Bristol) then quite a lad, not twelve years old, who put the Letter into i hyme, and whose ingenuity no doubt embellished it.

POETRY.

Poetry.

RUSSIAN EPIGRAM.
What is man's history ? Born-living-dying-

Leaving the still shore for the troubled wave-
Struggling with storm-winds, over shipwrecks flying,
And casting anchor in the silent grave.

REJOINDER,
Yes: such is man, without the Gospel, steering,

O'er doubtful seas his trembling fluttering sail-
But the believer eyes a Pole Star cheering,

And casts his anchor deep within the veil. [The following are from the same pen_which wrote that tale of “Troubles of the Poor” in our Penny Post last month, page 11.] THE SAINTS' DISMISSAL.

THE SAINTS INHERITANCE. To EB-, of N-, long an afflicted And there shall be no night there."

bu' patient follower of the Lamb. WHILE others sing of earthly things,
Go, sainted Spirit go,

My soul would soar on seraphs wings
To everlasting life;

To regions of unclouded day,
And leave this world below,

Where flowers bloom without decay;
With tribulation rife-

And sing of that eternal home, Go to thy long desired home,

Where gloomy night can never come. Where pain and grief can never come. Attune my heart Immortal Kirg,

While I such lofty wonders sing.
Thou long the cross hast borne-

Oh! happy, holy, purchased rest,
Go now the crown to wear;

Where no rude storm can e'er molest; No longer shalt thou mourn,

No change shall ever there be known; No longer suffer here

No tear of grief, no sigh, no groan, But now in realms of endless day,

No winter storm, no darksome night, Thy Lord shall wipe thy tears away. Can e'er disturb those realms of light.

No night of sore temptation there,
Thy warfare now shall end;

Can cause one gloomy doubt or fear;
Thy conflicts now shall cease;

For all who reach that blissful shore,
Thy never-failing Friend,

Shall never fear the tempter more.
Calls thee to endless peace-

There is no night of sorrow there--
And now that crown by Him prepared,

No heaving breast-no gushing tearShall be for ever thy reward.

No parting friends-no tolling bell-
Go then, dear sister, go,

No agonizing word farewell-
Nor at the river shrink :

No night of death with awful gloom,
Thy fears at once forego,

Can ever reach that glorious home;

And all who reach that blissful shore, 'Tis but thy flesh shall sink

Will never thirst or hunger more; Thy soul shall triumph through the blood of Him, who conquering, stem'u the flood.

But songs of ecstasy and joy,

Will all eternity employ. Yes, Jesus leads the way,

Oh, happy world ; how blest are they, He having gone before;

Who flee to Christ the only way; Sbeds forth a heavenly ray,

Whose suffering life, and dying groan, To shew the further shore

Hath made this glorious world our own. And none who trust in Him can sink,

O may we then, while here below, Though they may tremble on the brink.

At once each earth-born hope forego;

And seek by penitence and prayer,
Then, sister, fare thee well-

A welcome to this world so fair-
The river never fear,

That we may pass through death's dark Though high the waters swell,

night, Thy Saviour will be there

To regions of unclouded light; Thou then shalt drop thy mortal clod, And sing the Lamb who for us shed his blood, And rise triumphant to thy God!

And made us ever Kings and Priests to God. S. s.

S.S.

ANECDOTES, SELECTIONS, AND GEMS.

Anecdotes, Selections, and Gems.

Anecdotes. A Hindoo PARABLE.—I one day preached on the general corruption of mankind, and the impossibility of being saved by our own works. A person present expressed his surprise at my assertions, and thought it strange that I should enforce the necessity of our keeping the whole law, if we desired not to be saved by our own merits. It was unjust, he urged, to consider a man cursed who continueth not in all the words of the law to do them : and cried out “ How can this be true, that whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all ? How can this be? If I keep six of the commandments, and break four, have I not kept a majority? And is not God in justice bound to give me heaven, because I have kept more than I have broken ?" In explaining these results, we can easily make ourselves understood to cultivated minds, but I could never make the common people understand without a parable. Instead of entering into an argument, I have often replied by describing a scene on the Ganges : " The day was dismal, the wind roared, the thunder pealed, the lightning was vivid, the waves of the Ganges roared, the stream was swollen, and the current rapid, the infuriated elements threatened destruction to every vessel on its waters; no boat could outlive the storm for any length of time. But see, what is that? It is a boat in distress, filled with people, rapidly hurried along by the waves. Between the peals of thunder the shrieks of the people are heard; they fear the rocks on the shores to which the current is driving them. Could they but be drawn into this creek they would be safe. Those on shore look anxiously around, and discover a chain lying near them. A man instantly fastens a stone to the rope, binds the other end to the chain, and flings the stone into the boat. The rope is caught; the people eagerly lay hold on the chain, while those on shore begin to draw them, amid the raging elements, toward the creek. They already rejoice at the prospect of deliverance; but when they are within a few yards of the land, one link of the chain breaks; I do not say ten links, but one link, in the middle of the chain. What shall these distressed people do now? Shall they cling to the unbroken links? “No, no !" exclaimed one of my hearers; "overboard with the chain, cr it will sink them the sooner." “What then shall they do ?” themselves upon the mercy of God,” exclaimed another. “True," I replied, “if one commandment be broken, it as though all of them were broken; we cannot be saved by them; we must trust in the mercy of God, and lay hold on the almighty hand of Christ which is stretched out to save us.” I bave frequently used this parable, and always found it to answer. Rev. C. B. LEUPOLT.

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ANECDOTES, SELECTIONS, AND GEMS.

Selections, The BIBLE.—The Bible is the treasure of the poor, the solace of the sick, and the support of the dying; and while other books may amuse and instruct in a leisure hour, it is the peculiar triumph of that book to create light in the midst of darkness, and to alleviate sorrow; while guilt, despair, and death, vanish at the touch of its holy inspiration. There is something in the Bible which is peculiarly adapted to arrest the attention of the plainest and most uncultivated minds The simple structure of its sentences, combined with a lofty spirit of poetry-its familiar allusions to the scenes of nature and the transactions of common life—the delightful intermixture of narration with the doctrinal and preceptive parts—and the profusion of miraculous facts, which convert it into a sort of enchanted ground-its constant advertence to the Deity, whose perfections it renders almost visible and palpable—unite in bestowing upon it an interest which attaches to no other performance, and which, after assiduous and repeated perusal, invests it with much of the charm of novelty: like the great orb of day, at which we are wont to gaze with unabated astonishment from infancy to old age. What other book besides the Bible could be heard in public assemblies from year to year, with an attention that never dies, and an interest that never cloys ? With few exceptions, let a portion of the sacred volume he recited in a mixed multitude, and though it has been heard a thousand times, a universal stillness ensues, every eye is fixed, and every ear is awake and attentive. Select, if you can, any other composition, and let it be rendered equally familiar to the mind, and see whether it will produce such an effect.

ROBERT HALL. INFIDELITY AND THE Gospel.–As we turn from the mists of infidelity, how glorious is the light of the gospel, --revealing a balm for our woes, peace in trouble, a refuge in danger, forgiveness for our sins, a Mediator, and a mansion in heaven! How sweet is the revelation of the Lamb slain for our sins, the kind invitations of mercy, the privilege of prayer to a present God, the assurance of Christ's intercessions, and of an immortality of bliss !

We come back from the consideration of infidelity, as children that had wandered into a dark wilderness, to find again the light and warmth of a father's house, the food of a father's table, to be clasped again to a father's bosom. We feel that we have a corner-stone for our hopes and our faith, and life has charms again. We exclaim,

“ Hail, glorious Gospel, heavenly light, whereby

We live with comfort and with comfort die."

“ Should all the forms that men devise,

Assault my faith with treacherous art,
I'd call them vanity and lies,

And bind the Gospel to my heart."

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