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“ Where didst thou dwell at nature's early birth?
“ Who laid foundations for the spacious earth?
« Who on its surface did extend the line,
" Its form determine, and its bulk confine ?
" Who fix'd the corner-stone? What hand, de-

clare,
Hung it on nought, and fasten'd it on air?
" When the bright morning stars in concert sung,
" When heav'n's high arch with loud Hosannas

rung, “ When shouting sons of God the triumph crown'd, " And the wide concave thunder'd with the sound?

Who, stretching forth his sceptre o'er the deep, “ Can that wild world in due subjection keep? “ I broke the globe, I scoop'd its hollow'd side, “ And did a bason for the foods provide;

I chain’d them with my word ; the boiling sea, “ Work'd up in tempests, hears my great decree; «Thus far, thy floating tide shall be convey'd; “ And here, O main, be thy proud billows stay'd.' “ Who taught the rapid winds to fly so fast, “ Or shakes the centre with his eastern blast;

Who from the skies can a whole deluge pour ? “ Who strikes through nature with the solemn roar Of dreadful thunder, points it where to fall, “ And in fierce lightning wraps the flying ball ? “ Not he who trembles at the darted fires, “ Falls at the sound, and in the flash expires. “ Who did the soul with her rich pow'rs invest, “ And light up reason in the human breast? “ To shine with fresh increase of lustre bright; “ When stars and sun are set in endless night? “ To these my various questions make reply." Th’ALMIGHTY spoke; and, speaking, shook the sky. What then, Chaldæan Sire, was thy surprise! Thus thou, with trembling heart, and downcast

eyes : « Once and again, which I in groans deplore,

My tongue has err'd; but shall presume no more.

" Thou canst accomplish all things, LORD of

might: And every thought is naked to Thy sight. “ But oh! Thy ways are wonderful, and lie Beyond the deepest reach of mortal

eye. • Oft have I heard of Thine Almighty Pow'r, “ But never saw Thee till this dreadful hour. « O’erwhelm’d with shame, the LORD of Life I see, “ Abhor myself, and give my soul to Thee: « Nor shall

my
weakness tempt

Thine

anger more : “ Man is not made to question, but adore.

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THE SEVENTH CHAPTER OF PROVERBS.

Mr. Pope.

My son, th' instruction that my words impart • 'Grave on the living tablet of thy heart; And all the wholesome precepts that I give Observe with strictest reverence, and live. Let all thy homage be to Wisdom paid, Seek her protection, and implore her aid ; That she may keep thy soul from harm secure, And turn thy footsteps from the harlot's door; Who, with curs’d charms, lures the unwary in, And soothes with flattery their souls to sin. Once, from my window, as I cast mine eye On those that passed in giddy numbers by, A youth among the foolish youths I spy'd, Who took not sacred Wisdom for his guide. Just as the sun withdrew his cooler light, And ev'ning soft led on the shades of night, He stole in covert twilight to his fate, And pass'd the corner near the harlot's gate ; When lo, a woman comes ! Loose her attire, and such her glaring dress, As aptly did the harlot's mind express ; Subtle she is, and practis'd in the arts, By which the wanton conquer heedless hearts :

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Stubborn and loud she is; she hates her home,
Varying her place and form, she loves to roam ;
Now she's within, now in the street does stray,
Now at each corner stands, and waits her prey.
The youth she seiz'd; and laying now aside
All modesty, the female's justest pride,
She said, with an embrace, Here at my house
Peace-offerings are, this day I paid my vows.
I therefore came abroad to meet my

dear,
And, lo! in happy hour, I find thee here.
My chamber I've adorn'd, and o'er my bed
Are cov'rings of the richest tap’stry spread ;
With linen it is deck’d, from Egypt brought,
And carvings by the curious artist wrought :
It wants no glad perfume Arabia yields,
In all her citron groves, and spicy fields;
Here all her store of richest odours meets,
I'll lay thee in a wilderness of sweets ;
Whatever to the sense can grateful be,
I have collected there. I want but thee.
My husband's gone a journey far away,
Much gold he took abroad, and long will stay;
He nam'd for his return a distant day.
Upon her tongue did such smooth mischief dwell,
And from her lips such welcome flatt’ry fell,
Th' unguarded youth, in silken fetters tyd,
Resign'd his reason, and with ease comply'd.
Thus does the ox to his own slaughter go,
And thus is senseless of th' impending blow.
Thus flies the simple bird into the snare,
That skilful fowlers for his life prepare.
But let my sons attend. Attend may they,
Whom youthful vigour may to sin betray:
Let them false charmers fly, and guard their hearts
Against the wily wanton's pleasing arts ;
With care direct their steps, nor turn astray,
To tread the paths of her deceitful way ;
Lest they, too late, of her fell power complain,
And fall where many mightier have been slain,

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ISAIAH, CHAP. XL. VERSE VII. AND VIII..

Rev. S. Wesley.
The morning flowers display their sweets,

And gay their silken leaves unfold ;
As careless of the noon-day heats,

And fearless of the evening cold. Nipp'd by the wind's unkindly blast,

Parch'd by the sun's directer ray, The momentary glories waste,

The short liv'd beauties fade away. So blooms the human face divine,

When youth its pride of beauty shows ; Fairer than spring the colours shine,

And sweeter than the virgin rose.
Or worn by slowly rolling years,

Or broke by sickness in a day,
The fading glory disappears,

The short-liv'd beauties die away.
But these, new rising from the tomb,

With lustre brighter far shall shine,
Revive with ever-during bloom,

Safe from diseases and decline.
Let sickness blast, and death devour,

If Heaven will recompense our pains ;
Perish the grass, and fade the flow'r,

If firm the word of God remains !

THE BENEDICITE PARAPHRASED.

Merrick.
Ye works of GOD, on Him alone,
In earth His footstool, heaven His throne,

Be all your praise bestow'd !
Whose hand the beauteous fabric made,
Whose eye the finish'd work survey'd,

And saw that all was good.

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Ye angels that, with loud acclaim,
Admiring view'd the new-born frame.

And hail'd th’eternal King;
Again proclaim your Maker's praise,
Again your thankful voices raise,

And touch the tuneful string.
Praise Him, ye bless'd etherial plains,
Where, in full Majesty, he deigns

To fix his awful throne;
Ye waters, that around Him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,

Oh! make His praises known!
Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,
Join ye your joyful songs with ours,

With us your voices raise ;
From age to age extend the lay,
To heav'n's eternal Monarch pay.

Hymns of eternal praise. Celestial orb !--whose pow'rful ray Opes the glad eyelids of the day,

Whose influence all things own;
Praise Him, whose courts effulgent shine
With light, as far excelling thine,

As thine the paler moon.
Ye glittring planets of the sky,
Whose lamps the absent sun supply,

With him the song pursue;
And let himself submissive own,
He borrows from a brighter Sun

The light he lends to you.
Ye show'rs and dews, whose moisture shed
Calls into life the op’ning seed,

To Him your praises yield ;
Whose influence wakes the genial birth,
Drops fatness on the pregnant earth,

And crowns the laughing field.

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