That they their station could not keep,

But, scared with danger, ran like timorous scattered sheep?

But why do I demand a cause

Of your amazement, which deserves applause?

Yours was a just, becoming fear;

For when th' Almighty does appear,

Not only you, but the whole earth should quake,

And out of reverence should its place forsake.

For He is nature's sovereign Lord,

Who by his great commanding word

Can make the floods to solid crystal grow,

Or melt the rocks, and make their marble flow.

THE SINNERS FATE.

FROM A PARAPHRASE ON JOB.

WHAT if the sinner's magazines are stored
With the rich spoils that Ophir's mines afford?
What if he spends his happy days and nights
In softest joys and undisturbed delights?
Where is his hope at last, when God shall wrest
His trembling soul from his reluctant breast?
Must he not then heaven's vengeance undergo,
Condemned to chains and everlasting woe?
This is his fate; but often here below
Justice o'ertakes him, though it marches slow.
And when the day of vengeance does appear,
The wretch will cry, but will the Almighty hear?
If, bathed in tears, compassion he invokes,
The unrelenting Judge will multiply his strokes ;
His vain complaints and unregarded prayer,
Will drive the raving rebel to despair.
Or will he yet with confidence apply
Himself to God, and on his aid rely?
Will he not rather cease in his distress
His prayers to heaven hereafter to address?

ISAAC WATTS, D.D.

ISAAC WATTS was born at Southampton, in 1674, and became a Dissenting minister. As a poet he is known as the author of Hebrew Lyrics, Hymns, &c. &c., all of which display a peculiar energy of mind. They are not, it is true, of the most finished kind of poetical compositions; but there is a sweetness and purity of thought in them which charms the reader. Perhaps the most remarkable of his poetical attempts is his little Hymns for the Young; of these too much cannot be said in commendation, for they are admirably adapted for the class for which they were intended. He died in 1748.

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

AN ODE ATTEMPTED IN THE ENGLISH SAPPHIC.

WHEN the fierce north wind, with his airy forces,
Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury,

And the red lightning, with a storm of hail, comes
Rushing amain down,

How the poor sailors stand amazed and tremble,
While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet,
Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters,
Quick to devour them!

Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder,
(If things eternal may be like those earthly,)
Such the dire terror when the great archangel
Shakes the creation,

Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven,
Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes.
See the graves open, and the bones arising-
Flames all around them.

Hark! the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches;

Lively bright horror and amazing anguish

Stare through their eyelids, while the living worm lies Gnawing within them.

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings,
And the smart twinges when the eye beholds the
Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance
Rolling afore Him.

Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver,
While devils push them to the pit wide yawning,
Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong
Down to the centre!

Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid
Doleful ideas:) come, arise, to Jesus;

How He sits God-like! and the saints around Him,
Throned, yet adoring.

Oh! may I sit there when He comes triumphant,
Dooming the nations, then ascend to glory;
While our Hosannas all along the passage
Shout the Redeemer.

HOPE IN DARKNESS.

YET gracious God,

Yet will I seek thy smiling face:
What though a short eclipse his beauties shroud,
And bar the influence of his rays?

Tis but a morning vapour or a summer cloud;
He is my sun, though He refuse to shine.

Though for a moment He depart,

I dwell for ever on his heart,

For ever He on mine.

Early before the light arise,

I'll spring a thought away to God;

The passion of my heart and eyes

Shall shout a thousand groans and sighs,

A thousand glances strike the skies,

The floor of his abode.

Dear Sovereign, hear thy servant pray;

Bend the blue heavens, Eternal King,
Downward thy cheerful graces bring;

Or shall I breathe in vain, and pant my hours away?
Break, glorious Brightness, through the gloomy veil,
Look, how the armies of despair

Aloft their sooty banners rear

Round my poor captive soul, and dare

Pronounce me prisoner of hell.

But Thou, my Sun, and Thou, my Shield,

Wilt save me in the bloody field;

Break, glorious Brightness, shoot one glimmering ray; One glance of thine creates a day,

And drives the troops of hell away.

Happy the times, but ah! those times are gone,

When wondrous power, and radiant grace,

Round the tall arches of thy temple shone,

And mingled their victorious rays:

Sin, with all its ghastly train,

Fled to the depths of death again, And smiling triumph sat on every face: Our spirits, raptured with the sight, Were all devotion, all delight,

And loud Hosannas sounded the Redeemer's praise.

Here could I say,

(And paint the place whereon I stood,)

Here I enjoyed a visit half the day

From my descending God:

I was regaled with heavenly fare,

With fruit and manna from above;

Divinely sweet the blessings were,
While my Emmanuel was there;

And o'er my head

The Conqueror spread

The banner of his love.

Then why, my heart, sunk down so low?

Why do my eyes dissolve and flow,

And hopeless nature mourn?
Review, my soul, those pleasing days,
Read his unalterable grace

Through the displeasure of his face,
And wait a kind return.

A father's love may raise a frown,
To chide the child, or prove the son,
But love will ne'er destroy;

The hour of darkness is but short,

Faith be thy life, and patience thy support:

The morning brings the joy.

DIVINE JUDGMENTS.

NOT from the dust my sorrows spring, Nor drop my comforts from the lower skies; Let all the baneful planets shed

Their mingled curses on my head;

How vain their curses, if th' Eternal King

Look through the clouds, and bless me with his eyes! Creatures with all their boasted sway,

Are but his slaves, and must obey;

They wait their orders from above,

And execute his word, the vengeance, or the love.

'Tis by a warrant from his hand,

The gentler gales are bound to sleep;

The north-wind blusters, and assumes command
Over the desert and the deep;

Old Boreas, with his freezing powers,
Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glass,
Arrests the dancing riv'lets as they pass,

And chains them moveless to the shores;