A god; in purple or in rags, to have
Himself adored. Whatever shape or form
His actions took, whatever phrase he threw
About his thoughts, or mantled o'er his life,
To be the highest was the inward cause

Of all; the purpose of the heart to be

Set

up, admired, obey'd. But who would bow The knee to one who served, and was dependent? Hence man's perpetual struggle, night and day, To prove he was his own proprietor,

And independent of his God, that what

He had might be esteem'd his own, and praised
As such. He labour'd still, and tried to stand
Alone, unpropp'd, to be obliged to none;
And in the madness of his pride, he bade
His God farewell, and turn'd away to be
A god himself; resolving to rely,
Whatever came, upon his own right hand.

O desperate frenzy! madness of the will! And drunkenness of the heart! that nought could quench

But floods of wo, poured from the sea of wrath,
Behind which, mercy sat! to think to turn

The back on life original, and live!
The Creature to set up a rival throne

In the Creator's realm! to deify

A woman! and in the sight of God be proud!
To lift an arm of flesh against the shafts
Of the Omnipotent, and, 'midst his wrath,
To seek for happiness!-insanity

[worlds Most mad! guilt most complete! seest thou those That roll at various distance round the throne Of God, innumerous, and fill the calm

Of heaven with sweetest harmony, when saints And angels sleep ?-As one of these, from love Centripetal withdrawing, and from light,

And heat, and nourishment cut off, should rush
Abandon'd o'er the line that runs between
Create and increate, from ruin driven

To ruin still, through the abortive waste;
So Pride from God drew off the bad; and so,
Forsaken of him, he lets them ever try

Their single arm against the second death;
Amidst vindictive thunders lets them try
The stoutness of their heart, and lets them try
To quench their thirst amidst the unfading fire,
And to reap joy where he has sown despair;
To walk alone, unguided, unbemoan'd,
Where evil dwells, and death, and moral night
In utter emptiness, to find enough;

In utter dark find light; and find repose
Where God with tempest plagues for evermore :
For so they wished it, so did Pride desire.

HYMN TO THE CREATOR.

Lord Brougham.

"THERE is a God," all nature cries;
A thousand tongues proclaim
His arm almighty, mind all-wise,

And bid each voice in chorus rise
To magnify his name.

Thy name, great Nature's Sire divine,

Assiduous we adore,

Rejecting godheads at whose shrine

Benighted nations blood and wine
In vain libations pour.

Yon countless worlds, in boundless space,
Myriads of miles each hour

Their mighty orbs as curious trace

As the blue circlet studs the face

Of that enamell'd flower.

But thou too mad'st that floweret gay
To glitter in the dawn;

The hand that fired the lamp of day,
The blazing comet launch'd away,

"

Painted the velvet lawn.

'As falls a sparrow to the ground,

Obedient to thy will,"

By the same law those globes wheel round,
Each drawing each, yet all still found
In one eternal system bound,

.

One order to fulfil.

ANTICIPATION OF FUTURE HAPPINESS.

Taylor.

AH! why this disconsolate frame?
Though earthly enjoyments decay,
My Jesus is ever the same,

A sun in the gloomiest day. Though molten a while in the fire, 'Tis only the gold to refine;

And be it my simple desire,

Though suffering, not to repine.

What can be the pleasure to me,

Which earth in its fulness can boast? Delusive its vanities flee,

A flash of enjoyment at most! And if the Redeemer could part,

For me, with his throne in the skies, Ah! why is so dear to my heart What he in his wisdom denies ?

Though riches to others be given,
Their corn and their vintage abound;
Yet if I have treasure in heaven,

Where should my affections be found? Why stoop for the glittering sands, Which they are so eager to share,

Forgetting those wealthier lands
That form my inheritance there!

Dear Jesus, my feelings refine,
My truant affections recall :
Then, be there no fruit in the vine,
Deserted and empty the stall,
The long-laboured olive may die,
The field may no harvest afford;
But, under the gloomiest sky,

My soul shall rejoice in the Lord!