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FAITH'S ESTIMATE OF LIFE.

What is your life? - James iv. 14.

SAY, venerable Sire, whose hoary head, White as the almond's bloom, bespeaks thee near that dreary mansion of the dead!

The grave,

How many are thy days, and what the joys of each revolving year?'
Thus to good Jacob Egypt's monarch spake ;

And thus the aged patriarch reply'd :-
'Great King, my days have few and evil been,
Clouded with sorrows, and defil'd by sin;
Nor have my feeble footsteps measur'd o'er
The paths my fellow-pilgrims trod before."
Ah! much-lov'd Israel, with thee I'll stand,
And trace the leadings of Jehovah's hand;
Bending beneath Affliction's heavy load,
I'll lean upon my staff and worship God:
Great Cov'nant Angel, who redeem'd my soul,
Who gave me life, and made my spirit whole,
Thy bounteous hand bath fed me all the way,
Thy pow'rful arm preserv'd me to this day!
Still, O my Saviour, to my heart be nigh;
Nor leave me when I bow my head and die!

Ye blooming youths who sport in Folly's train,
Attend the faithful monitory strain.

'Tis true, your health still blooms, your morning's bright; And hence you think not of th' approaching night:

But seize the pleasures of the passing hour,

Nor know the righteous Judge is at the door,'
Behold, your emblem in the prophet's gourd,
And hearken to the counsel of the Lord;

Turn ye at my reproof; so shall ye know
These joys which from the living fountain flow!
"Grace shall sustain you through Life's devious road,
'And Glory crown you with a smiling God !'

Sons of Ambition, who of empire boast,
Dealing destruction round from coast to coast,
Add crown to crown! See suppliant princes bead,
And fawning sycophants your train attend;
But know your transient glory soon shall end!
An arm divine will break your iros rod,
And the whole earth acknowledge He is God!
While you will lie forgotten with the dead,
And all your laurels wither on your head!

Poor sordid slaves of Earth, whose anxious sight,
Impatient waits the op'uing morning's light,
Who eat the bread of Care, and late take rest,
Not to diffuse your blessings, nor be blest;
But make your gad the idol of your trust, -
Regardless of your souls for glittring dust!
Your barns are fuil, heaps upon heaps are seen;
Yet still an aching void remaius within!
O seek those treasures that can ne'er decrease, -
Which yield a present and eternal peace!

Thrice happy man, whose heart and hopes arise Center'd on Christ and joys beyond the skies!

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Thine, though a toying and a thorny way,
Leads to the regions ofeternal day!

Kept by the pow'r of Jesus, strong to save
From sin, and death, and the devouring grave,
Thy L rd, the Lamb, shall be thy glorious light,
Nor sorrow grieve thine heart, nor veil thy sight;
With all the ransom`d hosts thy soul shall shine,
And one bright, holy, endless day be thine.

CHRISTIAN FORGIVENESS.

I WILL be even with my bitterest foe,'

Revenge exclaims, and then returns the blow. I'll be superior," should the Christian say; "And kind forgiveness readily display."

On seeing the Print of Samuel at Proyer, after a Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds.

WHEN I survey this holy child, With beaded knee and count'nance mild,

With eyes and hands uplift in pray'r,
Th'approving ray from fleav'n there;
What that implies, O could I be
Whene'er to God I bend the knee!
Thus fervent, reverent, and meek,
When 1 for heav'nly blessings seek!

But ah! I have a foe within,-
No print can shew the pow'r of sin!
This coods ray fervour and desires,-
This unbelief and dread inspires.

O for thy Holy Spirit, Lord!
This to my prayers shall life afford!
With Samvel's faith my soul supply,
Whene'er to thy throse draw nigh!
Westminster.

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PHILEMON,

J.J.

Then in the blissful realms of light, With saints redeem'd I'll join, To give the glory due to grace,

And be for ever thine!

H. W.

The wicked shall not live out half their days.- Psalm lv. 23. "TIS Mirth and Wine that feast the son!,'

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Cries Hellus; fill the jocund bowl,
And wreathes of roses twine;
To eat, to drink, to revel high,
Surpass the glories of the sky,

⚫ These pleasures still be mine!' He spake; and in the wily snare Revell'd a while devoid of care,

Of reason, and of grace: Decency, maid of modest mien, And Prudence fly the horrid scene, Where Wisdom finds no place! Now Riot opes her brazen lungs, Aud rants with Folly's clashing tongues,

While Vice sits lowring by. When lo! they wrangle: words for blows

Are soon exchang'd, and friends for foes:

The victims bleed and die! Ah! Hellus, had thy nobler mind Disdain'd these joys of haser kind,

And soar'd to those above! Long hadst thou liv'd to bless thy friends,

Possessing peace which never ends;

Given from the God of Love!
Angels had hail'd thy kindred soul,
And borne from Earth, without con-
trout,

The precious prize away!
Where dazzling glories beam around,
Where harps divme ecstatic sound
in everlasting day!
Greenwich Road.

G. AULD, Printer, Greville Street, London.

E. R.

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EVANGELICAL MAGAZINE.

SEPTEMBER, 1810.

BRIEF MEMOIR

OF

JONATHAN EDWARDS, D. D.

DR. JONATHAN EDWARDS, President of Union College, in Schenectady, was the second son of President Edwards, of New Jersey, and was born at Northampton, May 26, 1745. In his childhood he was a boy of great promise; but his early life was attended with very discouraging circumstances. He was afflicted with an inflammatory weakness in his eyes, which prevented his learning to read until a later period than is common. This complaint resisted many and longcontinued medical applications. At length, by the repeated shaving of his head for long continuance, the inflammation in some degree abated, so that he was able to apply, in a moderate degree, to the rudiments of learning, and to revive in his anxious parents a hope that he would not be entirely lost, even to the literary world. It was during his childhood also, that the unhappy contest at Northampton was at its height, between his father and the church there, which terminated in a final separation; whereby the assiduous attention of his affectionate parents was necessarily much diverted from him.

When Mr. Edwards and his family removed from Northampton to Stockbridge, his son Jonathan was but six years old. There was no school in the settlement but one, which was common to the Indians and the white children; and there were so few of the latter, either in the school or the town, that he was in danger of forgetting entirely the English tongue. However, whilst here, he learned the language of the Mohekancew, or Stockbridge Indians, so perfectly, that the natives frequently observed he spoke exactly like an Indian. This language he retained in a good degree through life; and some interesting remarks upon it were communi

XVIII.

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