The souls of systems!-What behold I now ? EDWARD YOUNG. WHO Sin of the Thoughtless. HO laughs at sin, laughs at his Maker's frowns; Laughs at the sword of vengeance o'er his head; Laughs at the great Redeemer's tears and wounds, Who, but for sin, had never wept or bled. Who laughs at sin, laughs at the numerous woes Which have the guilty world so oft befel; Laughs at the whole creation's groans and throes, At all the spoils of death, and pains of hell. Who laughs at sin, laughs at his own disease; Welcomes approaching torments with his smiles; Dares at his soul's expense his fancy please, Who laughs at sin, sports at his guilt and shame; Expressive of a folly so refined. ANON. Song of Praise for Grace. GOD of grace, who hast restor❜d Which by my sins was quite defac'd, What shall I render thee? Thine image and inscription, Lord, heart I bear: Upon my Thine own I render unto thee, Myself I owe thee for myself, Whom thou didst make of earth; But thou hast made me o'er again, Thou gav'st a second birth. Twice born, and twice endu'd with life, I haste to come to thee, To pay my vows, my thanks, my heart, With all humility. O, was I born first from beneath, And then born from above? O rich and endless love! New tables thou didst hew; Earth is my mother, earth my nurse, Yet God, the God of heaven and earth, Hell enter'd me, and into hell I quickly should have run; But, O! kind heav'n laid hold on me: This spark will rise into a flame, This seed into a tree; My songs shall rise, my praises shall Loud hallelujahs be. JOHN MASON. Smiles and Tears. WHAT is this passing scene? A little sun,-a little rain,— And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away: Man (soon discussed) Yields up his trust; And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust! And what is beauty's power? It flourishes and dies; Will the cold earth its silence break, To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek Beneath its surface lies? Mute, mute is all O'er beauty's fall; Her praise resounds no more, when mantled in her pall. The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day; And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid! Then since this world is vain And volatile and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joys, Why fly from ill With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart lie still ? HENRY KIRKE WHITE. Song of Praise for the Gospel AIR are the feet which bring the news FAIR Of gladness unto me: What happy messengers are these Which my bless'd eyes do see! These are the stars which God appoints For guides unto my way, To lead me unto Bethlem-town, Where my dear Saviour lay. These are my God's ambassadors, By whom his mind I know; Thy servants speak; but thou, Lord, dost An hearing ear bestow: They smite the rock; but thou, my God, They shoot the arrow; but thy hand They call; but, Lord, thou dost compel, Angels that fly, and worms that creep, If thou mak'st worms thine angels, Lord, As sons of thunder first they come, And I the lightning fear; But then they bring me to my home, Lord, thou art in them of a truth, The clouds and pillars march before, |