10. ON TYNDALE, THE MARTYR. TYNDALE! Blest martyr to the truth and right, 11. MISERABLE OLD AGE. 'Tis weary through the race of life to run, Sweet joys are fleeting as the meteor's light; 12. IDOLS. Psalm 135. The heathen gods are gods of yellow gold, Eyes have they, but they see not-as eyes should;- Nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought, nor sense have they, 13. TO 4 PRESIDENTS ALIVE. 1826. Ye 've run a race of glory here below, 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 For pardon trusting in his Son's great name, 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, 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, As blood, tears, rags, and bones in grave-yard laid, And laugh'd while their poor cred❜lous dupes did groan. Seeing her smoke afar, they cry again, "Alas for all her lost magnificence! 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 His country's arm will be to his allied. 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, Like this no table e'er shall be display'd Till o'er the earth the car of fate shall roll, |