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I perceive increasingly that the comfort of a Christian's life depends on his living much upon God, and that this is the only way of his living to God.

I resolve, therefore, that I will keep in view the virtue and efficacy of the blood of Jesus to cleanse me from all sin.

I resolve to come continually to God for a fresh application of this blood, that I may thereby possess a sweet sense of pardon.

I resolve to guard against self-confidence, that I may not be betrayed by the warmth of my feelings, that I may not be seduced by the attractions of the world, that I may not be overcome by the force of temptation; but, that by maintaining a constant jealousy over my heart, I may watch against the first advances of my spiritual enemies.

I resolve to keep my spirit as well as my body in subjection to the commands of God, and while I feel that I have no strength or power to do any thing of myself, I will strive to recollect that all my sufficiency is of God, and through him I shall at last come off more than conqueror, and shout, "Victory through the blood of the Lamb."

I will more than ever regard the promises of Jehovah, as suited to every state and circumstance of my life—the staff on which I may lean with confidence-the tower of strength to which I may flee in the moment of danger, the word on which I may hope in the day of need, promises which are in Jesus, yea and amen, and given freely and abundantly to all that believe.

I resolve to press forward towards the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. May the Spirit of grace assist me in all things, that I may glorify Him on earth, and praise Him in the highest heavens,

Where saints receive his smiles, where converse sweet

Is held on themes that charm the soul, on themes
That fill e'en angels with delight, where praise,
Loud and harmonious as the streams combin'd,
Which form the swelling river, still ascends

To Him that lov'd, and liv'd, and died, and rose,
To rescue guilty man from endless pains.

A meo Studio,

1 Kal. Augustii, 1830.

Φιλόθεος..

A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE

LORD HASTINGS.

LORD HASTINGS was much beloved by the inhabitants of the island of Malta, where he was deposited, on the rampart belonging to the fortification; some of whom, before his grave was inclosed with an iron railing, placed two or three ornamental tributes on the slab. One of them is a cushion of stone, on which the following lines are engraved :

"Hastings defleto Melite dat Florea seda,

Nam grato assurgit pectore vividior."*

On various parts of the ramparts, are the tombs of Sir Ralph Abercrombie, Sir Alexander Ball, Sir Thomas Maitland, and Sir Thomas Freemantle. At present, only flat stones are placed over the remains of the Marquis of Hastings, and Sir Thomas Maitland.-Lushington's Narrative. C. E. B.

ANECDOTE.

Filial respect to a Father.

A peasant divided the little property he had between his four sons, and resided with each of them in turns, being asked on his return from one of his visits to his children, "what reception have you had? how have you been treated?" "they treated me," said he, "as their child."

An expressive reply

from the lips of a kind and an affectionate father.

B. V.

SELECTIONS.

"Ir will cost something to be religious, it will cost more not to be so."-MASON.

"PAINTERS lay first a good ground color before they flourish, but many will flourish in profession before there is any foundation of grace."- Barker.

RELIGION would have no enemies, if it were not an enemy to vice."-MASSILLON.

* I request some young readers to favor this Magazine with a translation of these lines into English verse.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF KING GEORGE IV.
THE king is dead! his mem'ry be rever'd,'
To ev'ry advocate of peace endear'd.
Peace was by him desir'd, by him obtain'd,
By him defended, and by him maintain❜d.
By him were art and science patroniz❜d,
By him his people's liberties were priz❜d,

And while his heart his country's woes could feel,
His hand was rais'd, his country's wounds to heal.
By his benignant, mild, paternal sway,

Great are the blessings we enjoy this day.

Thus far the muse with faithfulness can sing

In humble praise of our departed king.
And though unwont to raise a courtly note,
One grateful line to royal worth devote.
Nor would she dare ungraciously presume
To erect a throne of judgment on the tomb:
No, on that privileg'd and sacred spot
Be only good remember'd, ill forgot.
The Lord is Judge, 'tis His prerogative
Faith and repentance unto life to give.

And those who have through sov'reign grace believ'd,
Can boast of nothing they have not receiv'd.
The king is dead! all earthly kings must die,

And in sepulchral gloom neglected lie.

The wise, the impotent, the base, the good,
Destin'd alike of worms to be the food.

In life extoll'd as gods, death proves them men,
Of what avail their former grandeur then?
Wealth, pomp, dominion, dignity, and pow'r,
All lost for ever in one fatal hour.

The soul, th' immortal part's the grand concern,
A truth which kings, alas! too seldom learn:
The soul these empty vanities disdains,
And short of heav'n no satisfaction gains.
When her probationary course is run,
The soul's existence scarcely is begun.
Bursting the fetters of mortality,
Upwards she flies, and hears her destiny.

That very moment is the sentence pass'd,
For endless bliss or wo the die is cast!
But oh! what pen immortal can portray
Her hopeless anguish, dark and dire dismay,
When from the bar of judgment driv'n away,
She sinks to bottomless perdition down,
Beneath the terrors of her Maker's frown!
O! to be washed in that all cleansing flood,
The vital fountain of a Saviour's blood!
O! to be wrapped in that all glorious dress,
The mantle of a Saviour's righteousness!
Thus wash'd, thus rob'd, no penitent need fear
Before that dread tribunal to appear.

The king is dead! but Jesus never dies!
He lives, and universal life supplies.

He lives, the King of kings, and Lord of lords,
And all their delegated pow'r affords.

He lives, the Lord of Hosts, the mighty God,
His boundless empire, as creation broad.
He lives, th' Eternal Father, Prince of Peace,
And His dominion ever shall increase.
He lives, and fills the mediatorial throne,
Through Him the Triune Deity is known.
He lives, the Prince of Glory, and of Grace,
Cherub and seraph bow before his face.
He lives, the condescending King of saints,
Attends, and listens to their souls' complaints;
He lives, their faithful Advocate appears,
And all their names upon his breastplate wears.
He lives, their Husband, Brother, Lover, Friend,
Whose pure affection knows no change nor end.
He lives, their wants and difficulties knows,
And grace to help in time of need bestows.

He lives, their sorrows and their triumphs shares,
Their trials sanctifies, and soothes their cares.
He lives, their strength from day to day renews,
And all their potent enemies subdues.

He lives, and guards them till their latest breath,
Supports and cheers them in the shades of death;
Conducts them safely to the heav'nly shore
To live and reign with Him for evermore.

J. S. HARVEY.

"FOOLS MAKE A MOCK OF SIN."-PROV. xiv. 9.

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