10. ON TYNDALE, THE MARTYR.

TYNDALE! Blest martyr to the truth and right,
Who in thy zeal didst cause, with labor long,
God's word to shine out in thy native tongue,
In killing thee the men, who to the light
Darkness prefer, would shroud the world in night.
Vain hope! for on the day of this great wrong
The sun of truth arose on England's throng
With not a cloud t' obscure its splendor bright.
What though the men of Rome did strangle thee,
Then burn thy body at the stake? Thy name
Is honor'd in the earth, while infamy
Attends thy foes, and bigots blush with shame.
But more than this: in the last day God's Son
Will give the glorious crown, which thou hast won!

11. MISERABLE OLD AGE.

'Tis weary through the race of life to run,
Expos'd to noon-tide heat and chilly night,
Mid storms, that well the boldest may affright,
When clouds with lightnings arm'd obscure the sun.
Our cares are vain; the good is never won;

Sweet joys are fleeting as the meteor's light;
Unfix'd as shadows are our hopes most bright;
And toil of years is toil but just begun.
Backward from long ascent we turn the eye,
If haply the review may cheer the heart :
The graves of those we love heave through the way.
Forward we gaze: thick mists obstruct the sky,
But precipice is near, from which we start;
Yet naught remains but down to slide and die !

12. IDOLS. Psalm 135.

The heathen gods are gods of yellow gold,
Of shining silver, or perchance of wood,-
Moulded in various shapes, as moulder would,
And for large sums to godless sinners sold.
These gods have mouths, but speak not ;-that
were bold :-

Eyes have they, but they see not-as eyes should;-
Ears have they, but they hear not-yet are wooed;
They breathe not through their throat-may it
be told?

Nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought, nor sense have they,
Who to these idol-gods their homage give,
And pray for succor to a stubborn block.
We pity such strange folly-as we may ;—
But if we worship idols, though they live,
Do we not, too, the one Jehovah mock?

13.

TO 4 PRESIDENTS ALIVE. 1826.

Ye 've run a race of glory here below,
Such as no rolls of hist'ry can display ;-
Have held o'er Freedom's land a gentle sway,
Have seen its prosp'rous tide unceasing flow,
And now, retir'd, a welcome peace ye know.
Methinks ye calmly smile, as well ye may,-
At those, who mingle in the public fray,
O'erwhelm'd by cares, that no repose allow.
Ye 've run your race of honor, and full soon

The darkness of the grave will close the scene; And after death your Judge will weigh your ways. My heart desires for you the blessed boon,

That, ransom'd by the blood outpour'd for sin, Ye run th' immortal race of heav'nly praise!

If we with conscious guilt and humble shame
Our sins confess to God and deep deplore,
Resolv'd his holy laws to break no more,

For pardon trusting in his Son's great name,
Whose wondrous love brought him to bear our blame;
Then let a rush of troubles whelm us o'er,
As stormful billows dash upon the shore,-
E'n dying, we in peace may each exclaim,—
"My spirit into life doth die away,

And my poor body shall now rest in hope, Awaiting with the sav'd the rising day, When at the trumpet's blast each grave shall ope, And in the likeness of Christ's body I Shall share in glory endless in the sky!"

15. THE OVERTHROW OF POPERY.

An angel rais'd a stone as millstone great,
And cast it in the sea, and loudly cried-
"Thus shall great Bab'lon perish in her pride,
No fragment left of her once glorious state!"
Down sank the stone beneath the wave; when straight
The earth, by guilt o'erburden'd, heav'd her side,
And down the city fell in ruin wide,

66

And naught was seen of walls, that tower'd so late.

Alas, that city great!" Cry mighty kings,

Whose sceptres had sustain'd her bigot sway, While she by sorc'ries propp'd their tyrant throne. While swells her smoke, as of burnt-offerings, Standing afar, through fear, they mournful say"Alas! that mighty city, BABYLON!"

16. THE FALL OF BABYLON.

Her shorn, and cowl'd, and mitred merchants weep,
Since perishes with her their gainful trade
Of long indulgencies, for silver weigh'd,
Pledg'd from sad purgatory souls to keep,—
Of holy water, oil, and relics cheap,

As blood, tears, rags, and bones in grave-yard laid,
Of crosses, roods, and forms for Mary made,
Of beads and bulls, and various wares a heap;
Of idols, masses, pray'rs, and souls of men,
By sale of which they liv'd in indolence,

And laugh'd while their poor cred❜lous dupes did

groan.

Seeing her smoke afar, they cry again,

"Alas for all her lost magnificence!
Fall'n is that proud, great city, BABYLON!"

17. THE SCOFFERS AT THE BIBLE.

If God is holy Governor supreme,

And star-born, earth-born subjects must obey, Or bear the Judge's sentence as they may ;If they, endow'd with intellect's bright gleam, Free-will, and conscience, see God's Truth outstream, Yet scoff, instead of trembling with dismay, And infidels defiant prove; the day

Is nigh, when Christ will say-(it is no dream, They'll hear the trumpet's blast, no soothing lyre—) Unto the devil's proud, poor dupes ensnar'd, No longer bold against God's Son t' conspire, Their sin and all its damage unrepair'd,"Depart, ye cursed, into endless fire,

For Satan and his angel-hosts prepar'd!"

The humble peasant on the mountain's side
May feel th' oppressor's gripe, and seem his prey;
But in compacted state, of just array,

His country's arm will be to his allied.
Though trampled on, and justice be denied,
Yet let him in his Sov'reign's ear display

His wrongs, and quick a just and mighty sway Shall lift him up, and check the spoiler's pride.— The ear of God is open to our cry:

Though high his throne, beyond our feeble sight, He hears from this far world each humble sigh; And swift to do his will, in squadrons bright, From heav'n to earth his mighty angels fly, Outstripping in their course the speed of light.

19. CHRIST'S TABLE.

The monarch's table, grac'd with golden plate, With viands loaded, brought from ev'ry clime, Garnish'd with beauty, cheer'd with minstrel's chime,

Is poor, compar'd with that, at which I sate. The humble feast outvied all royal state;

The bread from far beyond where sun doth climb, The wine more ancient than the birth of time,Present the King of Kings o'er worlds elate;

The guests in purity of heart array'd,

Their songs the glad emotions of the soul,
Their faces beaming with celestial love.—

Like this no table e'er shall be display'd

Till o'er the earth the car of fate shall roll,
And bear the worthy to the feast above.