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The souls of systems!-What behold I now ?
A wilderness of wonders burning round,
Where larger suns inhabit higher spheres.
Nor halt I here; my toil is but begun;
'Tis but the threshold of the Deity,
Or far beneath it I am grovelling still.

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,
Affronts his God, himself of bliss beguiles.

Who laughs at sin, sports at his guilt and shame;
Laughs at the errors of his senseless mind:
For so absurd a fool, there wants a name,

Expressive of a folly so refined.

ANON.

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Song of Praise for Grace.

GOD of grace, who hast restor❜d
Thine image unto me,

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,
O God, my God most dear.

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?
Am I a child of man and God?

O rich and endless love!
When I had broke the tables, Lord,

New tables thou didst hew;
And with thy finger didst engrave
Thy laws on them anew.

Earth is my mother, earth my nurse,
And earth must be my tomb:

Yet God, the God of heaven and earth,
My Father is become.

Hell enter'd me, and into hell

I quickly should have run;

But, O! kind heav'n laid hold on me:
Heav'n is in me begun.

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 peevish April-day!

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;
So music past is obsolete,

And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet,
But now 'tis gone away:

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,
Where rust corrupts and moth destroys,
And cares and sorrows eat?

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
Ministry.

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;
God's angels in his lower heav'n,
God's trumpeters below.
The trumpet sounds, the dead arise,
Which fell by Adam's hand:
Again the trumpet sounds, and they
Set forth for Canaan's land.

Thy servants speak; but thou, Lord, dost An hearing ear bestow:

They smite the rock; but thou, my God,
Dost make the waters flow.

They shoot the arrow; but thy hand
Doth drive the arrow home :

They call; but, Lord, thou dost compel,
And then thy guests are come.

Angels that fly, and worms that creep,
Are both alike to thee;

If thou mak'st worms thine angels, Lord,
They bring my God to me.

As sons of thunder first they come,

And I the lightning fear;

But then they bring me to my home,
And sons of comfort are.

Lord, thou art in them of a truth,
That I might never stray;

The clouds and pillars march before,
And show me Canaan's way:

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