But if on earth so calm, so blest, So sweet the assembly of the saints ;- Where, wrought with hands, no temples rise, Where the whole host are priests to God. The Sabbath of Eternity! THOMAS GRINFIELD. Religion. FAIREST of those that left the calm of heaven, And ventured down to man with words of peace, Daughter of Grace! known by whatever name, Religion, Virtue, Piety, or Love Of Holiness, the day of thy reward Was come. Ah! thou wast long despised, despised By those thou wooedst from death to endless life. To God's eternal throne; now humbly bent earth, Beseeching men, from age to age, to turn ROBERT POLLOK. L1 Reception of Grace. IVE ever in my heart, sweet awful hour, When prostrate in my sin and shame I lay, And heard the absolving accents fall with power, As soft, as keen, as lambent lightnings play. And sure with lightning glance they seem'd to thrill, (O may the dream prove true!) and search and burn Each foul dark corner of my lawless will. O fear, O joy to think!—and what if yet, The lore of evil I may quite forget, And with the pure in heart my portion be? Live in my heart, dread blissful hope, to tame The haughty brow, to curb the unchastened eye, And shape to deeds of good each wavering aim; O teach me some true penance ere I die! ANON. Regeneration. SOMETIMES indeed, when Wisdom in their ear Whispered, and with its disenchanting wand Where grew the food they sought, they turned surprised That they had missed so long what now they found. As one upon whose mind some new and rare Idea glances, and retires as quick, Ere memory has time to write it down': Stung with the loss, into a thoughtful cast He throws his face, and rubs his vexed brow; Searches each nook and corner of his soul With frequent care; reflects, and re-reflects, And tries to touch relations that may start Till something like a seeming chance, or flight Calls back the wandered thought, long sought in vain; Then does uncommon joy fill all his mind; ROBERT POLLOK. HAPPY Retrospection. APPY those early days, when I Before I understood this place, And, looking back at that short space, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity; Before I taught my tongue to wound But, oh! my soul, with too much stay, HENRY VAUGHAN. Right Method of Prayer. POOR heart, lament: For since thy God refuseth still, |