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But pity will the vilest seek,
If punished guilt will not repine :-
And felt the sun of mercy shine :
And then was sealed among the few ;
And from me in an instant flew.
Come, hear how thus the charmers cry
To wandering sheep, the strays of sin; While some the wicket-gate pass by,
And some will knock and enter in : Full joyful 'tis a soul to win,
For he that winneth souls is wise ; Now hark! the holy strains begin,
And thus the sainted preacher cries :
“Pilgrim, burthened with thy sin,
Come the way to Zion's gate; There, till mercy let thee in,
Knock, and weep, and watch, and wait. Knock !-He knows the sinner's cry:
Weep!--He loves the mourner's tears : Watch !—for saving grace is nigh :
Wait-till heavenly light appears.
“ Hark! it is the Bridegroom's voice;
Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest; Now within the gate rejoice,
Safe, and sealed, and bought, and blest ! Safe—from all the lures of vice,
Sealed—by signs the chosen know, Bought-by love, and life the price,
Blest—the mighty debt to owe.
“Holy pilgrim! what for thee,
In a world like this, remain ?
From thy guarded breast shall flee
Fear, and shame, and doubt, and pain.
Shame—from glory's view retire,
Pain-in endless bliss expire."
Sabbath Morning.-JAMES GRAHAME.
How still the morning of the hallowed day! Mute is the voice of rural labor, hushed The ploughboy's whistle, and the milk-maid's song. The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, That yester-morn bloomed, waving in the breeze. Sounds the most faint attract the ear-the hum Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, The distant bleating midway up the hill. Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud. To him who wanders o'er the upland leas, The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale; And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark Warbles his heaven-tuned song ; the lulling brook Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen; While, from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke O’ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals, The voice of psalms—the simple song of praise.
With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village broods; The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din Hath ceased ; all, all around is quietness. Less fearful on this day, the limping hare Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ;
But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys.
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe The morning air, pure from the city's smoke; While, wandering slowly up the river side, He meditates on Him, whose power he marks In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom Around its roots; and, while he thus surveys, With elevated joy, each rural charm, He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, That heaven may be one Sabbath without end.
Anticipation of the Millennium.-CowPER.
of nature in this nether world,
The time of rest, the promised Sabbath comes.
Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet
sung To meaner music, and not suffer loss. But when a poet, or when one like me, Happy to rove among poetic flowers, Though poor in skill to rear them, lights, at last, On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, Such is the impulse and the spur he feels To give it praise proportioned to its worth, That not t attempt it, arduous as he deems The labor, were a task more arduous still.
O scenes surpassing fable, and yet trueScenes of accomplished bliss ! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the earth, And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean, Or fertile only in its own disgrace, Exults to see its thistly curse repealed. The various seasons woven into one,
And that one season an eternal spring,
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear,
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops, From distant mountains, catch the flying joy ; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. Behold the measure of the promise filled! See Salem built, the labor of a God ! Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; All kingdoms and all princes of the earth Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy, And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there: The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind,