Saying, subjects! here's a measure
Suited to your actual state;
You obey it, and a treasure

Shall on your compliance wait.
But, suppose the law rejected
Or observ'd in other form,

Think you, in offence detected,

They would 'scape its vengeful storm?

APOSTROPHE TO ENGLAND.

March, 1821.

ENGLAND! favour'd land of Goshen!

Whose right arm has roll'd away

War's red rage and rude commotion?-
Israel's God! who rules the day.
Think on Sidon, Tyre and Carthage;
Cities, once in commerce free—

Hist'ry now devotes a dark page,
Just to say, "they've ceas'd to be."

H 2

Vainly! from the guarded tower,
Warders mark the city's gate;

Else from whence the gath'ring power,
Titus drew on Salem's state?

"Twas not his, the vengeful thunder,
Hurl'd upon her impious pride;

She was doom'd to be a wonder,

And her nation scatter'd wide.

That decree was fix'd and certain
As the rising beam of light;
Or the black and star-gemm'd curtain,
Drawn across the realms of Night.
Men and Brethren! list the warning!—
Darkly low'rs each coming day;
Think of those who, madly scorning,
In the deluge sunk away.

Turn! oh! turn from sin's disorder,

Bringing vengeance, fierce and strong:

HE whose ATTribute is order,

COMES, tho' he may tarry long.

REFLECTIONS

OVER

MONTGOMERY'S GRAVE.

"The sun is but a spark of fire,

A transient meteor in the sky;

The SOUL immortal as its SIRE

SHALL NEVER DIE."-Montgomery.

THERE is no calm, for him who weeps,

Within the limits of the tomb;

The boundless spirit never sleeps
In silent gloom.

The body, from the raging storm,
That sweeps along the wintry sky,
May yield its cold and lifeless form,
Enshrined to lie;

But, at the destined, parting hour,

As steel veers, ever, to the pole,

So, yielding to attractive pow'r,

Up flies the SOUL.

I love to feel the summer's sigh,

Fresh wafted o'er the dew-fraught rose,

When Evening, in the purple sky,

Her eyes doth close:

And love to lay my aching head,
Where all is silent calm repose;
But not among the dreamless dead
The Graves enclose.

I've found but one safe place of rest,

While wand'ring thro' this vale of tears; And on my Saviour's bleeding breast,

That place appears.

Happy! the man, who finds his name

Indelible, upon a page

Whose characters, remain the same,
In every age.

One wand'ring sheep, cannot be lost,
For whom Immanuel came to bleed;
Else, vain! the high uplifted cross
And sinner's creed.

More dear! to me, the peasant's lot,
If such had been God's wise decree,
His bright shechinah o'er my cot,
Than sov'reignty!

But he has will'd that I should stray,

Along Life's path, thro' rosy bowers; HIMSELF Companion of a way,

All strew'd with flowers.