When from Eden's closing gate,
Hand in hand, they weeping went,
Spikenard groves no more to dress,
But a thorn-set wilderness.

Then remember Him who laid

Uncreated splendour by, Lower than the angels made,

Fallen man to glorify,

And from death beyond the grave

Unto life immortal save.

Think of Him-your souls He sought,
Wandering, never to return;

Hath He found you?-At the thought

Your glad hearts within

you burn; Then your love like His extend,

Be like Him the sinner's friend.

O'er Jerusalem He wept,

Doom'd to perish ;—can't you weep

O'er a world, by Satan kept

Dreaming in delirious sleep,

Till the twinkle of an eye
Wakes them in eternity?

Ye, who smile in rosy youth,

Glow with manhood, fade through years,

Send the life, the light, the truth,

To dead hearts, blind eyes, deaf ears,

1829.

And your very pleasures make
Charities for Jesus' sake.

So shall gospel-glory run

Round the globe, to every clime, Brighter than the circling sun, Hastening that millennial time, When the earth shall be restored As the garden of the LORD.

TO MR. AND MRS. T.

OF YORK.

WITH THE FOREGOING STANZAS.

YE who own this quiet place,

Here, like Enoch, walk with GOD; And, till summon'd hence, through grace, Tread the path your Saviour trod ;

Then to paradise on high,

With the wings of angels fly.

THE FIELD OF THE WORLD.

Sow in the morn thy seed,

At eve hold not thine hand;

To doubt and fear give thou no heed

Broad-cast it o'er the land.

Beside all waters sow,

The highway furrows stock,

Drop it where thorns and thistles grow, Scatter it on the rock.

The good, the fruitful ground,
Expect not here nor there:

O'er hill and dale, by plots, 'tis found;
Go forth, then, every where.

Thou know'st not which may thrive,
The late or early sown;

Grace keeps the precious germs alive,

When and wherever strown.

And duly shall appear,

In verdure, beauty, strength;
The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,

And the full corn at length.

Thou canst not toil in vain ;

Cold, heat, and moist, and dry,
Shall foster and mature the grain
For garners in the sky.

Thence, when the glorious end,
The day of GOD is come,
The angel-reapers shall descend,
And Heaven cry-"Harvest-home!

1832.