PROSPECT OF THE HEAVENLY JERUSALEM. PARAPHRASE OF CXXII. PSALM. WH [MERRICK.] ́HAT joy, while thus I view the day, That warns my thirsting soul away; What transports fill my breast! For lo! my great Redeemer's power And leads me to his rest. The festal morn, my God, is come, My feet the summons shall attend, Ev'n now to my expecting eyes I view her mansions, that contain * Translated from Buchanan. Hither from earth's remotest end, Their tribute hither bring: In hymns of praise their tongues employ, Mother of cities! o'er thy head See Peace, with healing wings outspread, Delighted fix her stay! How blest who calls himself thy friend! Success his labours shall attend, And safety guard his way. Thy walls remote from hostile fear, Let me, blest seat! my name behold, Among thy citizens enroll'd, In thee for ever dwell: My sole companion and my friend, DECLINING AGE AND DEATH. YES, [ROGERS.] ES, there are moments which he calls his own. Then, never less alone than when alone, Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves-not dead-but gone before, He gathers round him, and revives at will Scenes in his life-that breathe enchantment stillThat come not now at dreary intervalsBut where a light as from the Blessed falls, A light such guests bring ever-pure and holyLapping the soul in sweetest melancholy! -Ah then less willing (nor the choice condemn) To live with others than to think on them! And now behold him up the hill ascending, By deeds of virtue done or to be done. 'Tis past! That hand we grasp'd, alas, in vain! Nor shall we look upon his face again! But to his closing eyes, for all were there, Nothing was wanting; and, through many a year We shall remember with a fond delight The words so precious which we heard to-night; Then was the drama ended. Not till then, -When by a good man's grave I muse alone, Says, pointing upward," Know, he is not here, THE DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN. THOU [BISHOP HEBER.] HOU art gone to the grave,-but we will not Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb; gloom, Thou art gone to the grave,- —we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope since the Sinless hath died. Thou art gone to the grave,—but 'twere wrong to deplore thee, When God was thy father, thy guardian, thy guide : He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee, Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died. THE DEATH OF THE YOUNG MOTHER. [POLLOK.] T was an April day; and blithely all IT The youth of nature leap'd beneath the sun, And promis'd glorious manhood; and our hearts Were glad, and round them danced the lightsome blood, |