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ON PREACHERS.-George Herbert. The worst speak something good-If all want


God takes the text and preacheth patience :
He that gets patience, and the blessing which
Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains.

Serene and master of yourself, prepare
For what may come, and leave the rest to Heaven.


TELL me, ye knowing and discerning few,
Where I


find a friend who's firm and true, Who dares stand by me when in deep distress, And then his love and friendship most express; Who, by a secret sympathy, can share My joy, my grief, my misery, my care; He must be prudent, faithful, just, and wise, Who can to such a pitch of friendship rise.



How blest the man, who, free from care and strife, Leads not with Lux’ry, but Content, his life; Who walks with Health, where Temp'rance points

the way,

And joins with Gratitude to praise or pray;
From Pleasure's cup, with just disdain who turns,
Nor yet for Honor's glitt'ring pageant burns;
Who looks with pity, where pale Ay'rice pines

gems and gold yet ripening in the mines;
To fretful Passion leaves each childish toy,
And aims, with glorious pride, at Reason's joy;
Who marks the wonders of creating pow'r,
From heaven's bright orb to earth's uncultur'd

flow'r; Sees Nature, taught of God, dispense her laws, And traces all things backward to their cause: To moral science higher still would rise, And asks of Sacred Wisdom to be wise;

Yet stops where awful Myst'ry draws the veil,
And trusts, where angels must of knowledge fail;
Whose eyes, turn'd inward, his own heart explore,
Try all its depths, and trace it o'er and o'er;
Who bounds the wand'ring wish and tow'ring

And strives to practise all that Jesus taught;
Yet humbly conscious that he toils in vain,
That nought can Innocence once lost regain,
Looks up for aid divine, and trusts alone,
That Heav'n's own off 'ring shall his faults atone!

He, sheath'd in heav'nly arms, shall still prevail,
When Sin and Satan and the World assail.
No fabled Ægis, Faith's immortal shield
He lifts, and knows the Spirit's sword to wield:
Salvation's helmet shall his brows defend,
And the fierce fight in more than conquest end.
In heav'n's high towers his triumph is decreed,
And peace eternal is the hero's meed.
How blest the mortal, who but falls to rise,
Who fights on earth, to triumph in the skies !


How foolish they who lengthen night,
And slumber in the morning light!
How sweet, at early morning's rise,
To view the glories of the skies,
And mark, with curious


the sun Prepare his radiant course to run !

Its fairest form then nature wears,
And clad in brightest green appears.
The sprightly lark, with artless lay,
Proclaims the entrance of the day.
How sweet to breathe the gale's perfume,
And feast the eye with Nature's bloom !
Along the dewy lawn to rove,
And hear the music of the grove !
Nor you, ye delicate and fair,
Neglect to taste the morning air;
This will your nerves with vigour brace,
Improve and heighten every grace;
Add to your breath a rich perfume,
And to your cheeks a fairer bloom;
With lustre teach your eyes to glow,
And health and cheerfulness bestow.


Mrs. H. More.

SINCE trifles make the sum of human things,
And half our mis’ry from our foibles springs;
Since life's best joys consist in peace

and ease,
And few can save, or serve, but all can please :
Oh! let th' ungentle spirit learn from hence
A small unkindness is a great offence :
Large bounties to bestow we wish in vain,
But all may shun the guilt of giving pain.
To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth,
With pow'r to grace them, or tocrown with health,


Our little lot denies; but Heaven decrees
To all the gift of minist'ring to ease ;
The gentle offices of patient love,
Beyond all fatt'ry, and all praise above;
The mild forbearance of another's fault;
The taunting word suppress’d as soon as thought:
On these Heaven bade the sweets of life depend,
And crush'd ill-fortune when she gave a friend.
Smallslights, contempt, neglect, unmix'd with hate,
Make up in number what they want in weight :
These, and a thousand griefs minute as these,
Corrode our comforts, and destroy our peace,



STRANGER, pause ; for thee the day
Smiling pours its cheerful ray,
Spreads the lawn and rears the bower,
Lights the stream and paints the flower.

Stranger, pause: with soften'd mind
Learn the sorrows of the blind :
Earth, and seas, and varying skies,
Visit not their cheerless eyes.

Not for them the joy to trace.
The chissel's animating grace ;,
Nor on the glowing canvas find
The poet's soul, the sage's mind.

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