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trench not on the Lord's day to use unlawfull sports: this were to spare thine own flock, and to sheere God's lambe.

Let thy recreations be ingenious, and bear proportion with thine age. If thou saist with St. Paul, "When I was a child, I did as a child," say also with him, "But when I was a man, I put away childish things." Wear also the child's coat, if thou usest his sports.

Refresh that part of thy body which is most wearied.-If thy life be sedentary, exercise thy body: if stirring and active, recreate thy mind. But take heed of cosening thy mind, in setting it to do a double task, under pretence of giving it a play-day, as in the labyrinth of chesse, and other studious games.

Choak not thy soul with immoderate pouring in of the cordiall of pleasure. The creation lasted but six dayes of the first week: prophane they, whose recreation lasts seven dayes every week :rather abridge thyself of thy lawfull liberty therein, and then recreations shall both strengthen labour, and sweeten rest; and we may expect God's blessing and protection on us in following them, as well as in doing our work.-As for those who will not take lawfull pleasure, it is to be feared they will take unlawfull pleasure, and by lacing themselves too hard, grow awry on one side.


CHARITY has been well expressed by the embleme of a naked child giving honey to a bee without wings: onely, I would have one thing added; namely, holding a whip in the other hand, to drive away the drones.

Those are ripe for charitie, which are withered by age or impotencie-especially if maimed in following their calling; for such are Industrie's martyrs, at least her confessours: adde to these, those, that with diligence, fight against poverty, though neither conquer, till death make it a drawn battel. Expect not, but prevent their craving of thee; for God forbid the heavens should never rain till the earth first opens her mouth, seeing some grounds will sooner burn than chap.



Dark is the hour. Upon his bed of death
The christian lies, his frail and feeble life

Already fluttering on the verge of fate,
While his immortal soul, for heaven designed,
Anxious to quit this fleshly tenement,
Looks up and hastens to its destined goal.
The world and all its joys are far removed,
And things of yesterday as past long since.
Vain now is all a long life's weary toil,
And, like a fevered dream, has only left
A faint and troubled image on the mind;
While dread futurity throws o'er the scene
Her dark and awful shades. What now
Can soothe the sufferer's soul, and whisper peace,
Can turn his couch of pain to bed of rest,
And tell his soul, that through the vale of death
Lies the short passage to a heavenly world,
O Faith! thou source of all a Christian's joy!
"Tis thine his suffering spirit to sustain,
And, in his last and dreadful agony,
Give peace; to lift his soul and bid it rest
Upon his Maker's love, through him who bade
The weary come to him and find repose.
'Tis thine to chase the darkness of the tomb,
Unveil the mercy seat of heaven, display

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The throne begirt with thousand ransomed souls,

Redeemed from earth and snatched from sin and death,
And show the glories of a world of love.

He sees the vision, longs to share the bliss,

And smiling, weeping, breathes his soul away.




O thou eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;

Unchanged through time's all devastating flight;

*This is the poem of which Golovnin says in his narrative, that it has been translated into Japanese by order of the emperor, and is hung up, embroidered with gold, in the temple of Jeddo, I learn from the periodicals, that an honour something similar has been done in China to the same poem. It has been translated into the Chinese and Tartar languages, written on a piece of rich silk, and suspended in the imperial palace at Pekin.

Thou only God! There is no God beside!
Being above all beings! Mighty One!

Whom none can comprehend and none explore;
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone:
Embracing all,-supporting, -ruling o'er,—
Being, whom we call God-and know no more!

In its sublime research, philosophy

May measure out the ocean-deep-may count
The sands or the sun's rays-but, God! for Thee
There is no weight nor measure :-none can mount
Up to hy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try
To trace hy counsels, infinite and dark :

And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Even like past moments in eternity.

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence;-Lord! on Thee
Eternity had its foundation :--all

Sprung forth from Thee:-of light, joy, harmony,
Sole origin-all life, all beauty Thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create;

Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine.

Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious! Great! Light-giving, life sustaining Potentate!

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround:
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!

As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee
And as the spangles in the sunny rays

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry

Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.

A million torches lighted by thy hand
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss:
They own Thy power, accomplish thy command
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light-
A glorious company of golden streams-
Lamps of celestial ether burning bright-
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
But Thou to these art as the noon to night.

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in Thee is lost :

What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?
And what am I then? Heaven's unnumber'd host,
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance weighed
Against Thy greatness, is a cypher brought
Against infinity! What am I then? Nought!

Nought! But the effluence of Thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reach'd my bosom too;
Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,
As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew.
Nought! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly
Eager towards Thy presence; for in Thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high,
Even to the throne of Thy divinity.

I am, O God! and surely Thou must be!

Thou art directing, guiding all, Thou art! :
Direct my understanding then to Thee;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:
Though but an atom, midst immensity,
Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand!
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,

Close to the realms where angels have their birth,
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!

The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is Spirit-Deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust!
A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a God!
Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously
Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy;
For from itself alone it could not be !

Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word
Created me! Thou source of life and good!
Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!
Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,
Even to its source to Thee-its Author there.

O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest!
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee,
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its image to Thy Deity:

God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar,
Thus seek Thy presence-- Being wise and good!
'Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore;
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.


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1. A Collection of Psalms and Hymns, for Social and Private Worship. "God is the King of all the earth: sing ye praises with understanding." Ps. xlvii. 7. New-York: 1820.

2. A Selection of Hymns and Psalms for Social and Private Worship. Andover: 1821. pp. 307.

THE New-York collection stands of right at the head of this article. It is the larger and more sightly book; we look at it with a peculiar interest and kindness on account of the church for the use of which it was prepared; and it has had already a long claim upon our notice. Nor do we know of a Hymn Book, which we think better adapted to serve the ends of worship. It contains a convenient number of pieces, selected very judiciously from a great variety of authors. It embraces a large circle of subjects, and thus seems to furnish something appropriate to all the feelings and topics which belong to religious service. The whole style of its poetry is pure and elevated. We are not disgusted with rhapsody, nor wearied with the spiritless prosing that so often assumes the form of sacred numbers. There is no tinsel and prettiness, asking to be looked at and examined amidst the solemn praises of God; but all is comely, dignified and devout. The tone that prevails throughout is a manly one, whether it expresses joy or grief, trust or fear, gratitude or contrition; equally so when it is subdued in acknowledgment or tremulous with affliction, as when it swells into the highest ascriptions which the exulting heart offers up to its Maker. Now this last is no small praise: of which we shall be

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