If thou of murmuring would'st be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine;

Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.

'Tis I appoint thy daily lot,

And I do all things well;

Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.

In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;

At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away."

Thus I, who once my wretched days

In vain repining spent,

Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,

Have learn'd to be content.

ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S

NATIVITY.

THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King,

Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring ;
For so the holy sages once did sing,

That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.

That glorious form, that light unsufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
Wherewith he wont at heaven's high council-
table,

To sit, the midst of Trinal Unity,

He laid aside; and here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day,

And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein

Afford a present to the Infant-God?

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, To welcome him to this his new abode ;

Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?

See, how from far, upon the eastern road,

The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet: O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet;

Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet,

And join thy voice unto the angel-quire,

From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.

A RECEIPT FOR HAPPINESS.

Anonymous.

TRAVERSE the world, go fly from pole to pole,
Go far as winds can blow or waters roll,
All, all is vanity, beneath the sun,

To certain death through different paths we run.
See the pale miser poring o'er his gold;

See there a galley-slave to misery sold!
Ambition's votaries groan beneath its weight,
The splendid victim of the toils of state.
Lo! in the mantling bowl sweet poisons flow;
Love's softest pleasures terminate in wo;
Even Learning ends her vast career in doubt,
And puzzling on makes nothing clearly out.
Where then is sovereign bliss? Where doth it
grow?

Know, mortal! happiness ne'er dwelt below.
Look towards heaven, be heaven thy only care;
Spurn the vile earth-go seek thy treasure there.

REDEMPTION.

Young.

AND what is this? Survey the wondrous cure,
And at each step let higher wonder rise!
Pardon for infinite offence, and pardon

Through means which speak its value infinite,
A pardon bought with blood, with blood divine,
With blood divine of Him I made my foe,
Persisted to provoke, though woo'd and awed,
Bless'd and chastised, a flagrant rebel still-
A rebel 'midst the thunders of His throne !
Nor I alone-a rebel universe!

My species up in arms! not one exempt!
Yet for the foulest of the foul He dies,-
Most joy'd for the redeem'd from deepest guilt!
As if our race were held of highest rank,
And Godhead dearer as more kind to man!
Bound every heart, and every bosom, burn.
O, what a scale of miracles is here!

Its lowest round high planted on the skies,

Its towering summit lost beyond the thought
Of man or angel! Oh that I could climb
The wonderful ascent, with equal praise !
Praise! flow for ever (" if astonishment

Will give thee leave,") my praise for ever flow;
Praise ardent, cordial, constant, to high Heaven,
More fragrant than Arabia sacrificed,
And all her spicy mountains in a flame.

MY MOTHER.

William Thomson.

WITHIN a court, whose gloomy walls display'd Traces of old magnificence decay'd,

Whose low-brow'd batter'd archway seem'd to

sneer

At th' impoverish'd groups whose homes were near,
In one small room, reach'd by the public stair,
Poor and unfriended, lived an humble pair.
The house was old, erected when the best
Dwelt in the lanes, nor hurried to the west;
But now it shelters a promiscuous crowd,

Who throng its rooms, and lift their voices loud;