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LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.

GOD moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill

He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sov'reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain ;
God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON.

PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.
Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein;
Seems it to say-" Health here has long to reign"?
Hast thou the vigour of thy youth ?—an eye
That beams delight ?-a heart untaught to sigh?
Yet fear. Youth ofttimes, healthful and at ease,
Anticipates a day it never sees;

And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud

Exclaims, "Prepare thee for an early shroud!"

TO THE SPANISH ADMIRAL, COUNT GRAVINA, On his Translating the Author's Song on the Rose into

Italian Verse. 1793.

My rose, Gravina, blooms anew,
And steep'd not now in rain,
But in Castalian streams by you,
Will never fade again!

TO MARY. 1793.

THE twentieth year is well-nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah, would that this might be the last!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow;

I see thee daily weaker grow

My Mary!

'T was my distress that brought thee low,

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But well thou play'dst the housewife's part;
And all thy threads, with magic art,

Have wound themselves about this heart,

My Mary!

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And still to love, though press'd with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,

With me is to be lovely still,

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ON THE LOSS OF THE "ROYAL GEORGE."

Written when the news arrived, 1782.

TOLL for the brave!

The brave that are no more!
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset;

Down went the "Royal George,"
With all her crew complete.
Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle;
No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down,
With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes!

And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,

And she may float again,
Full-charged with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main.

And he and his eight hundred
Shall plough the wave no more.

But Kempenfelt is gone,
His victories are o'er ;

BUTLER'S ANALOGY.

Ir men will indulge in vain and idle speculations, and form imaginary models of a universe, and lay down plans for ruling the world in a way which they suppose better than it is at present, there can be no arguing with them.-Wilson. Introductory Essay.

THERE are very few things indeed for which we have, or can have, demonstrative evidence. For such feeble creatures as we are, probability is the guide of life. Everything turns upon it. Even a single slight presumption may not be without its weight; but presumptions, however slight in themselves, if frequently repeated, often amount to a moral certainty. Thus, if we accidentally observe for one day the ebb and flow of the tide, the observation affords only some sort of presumption, and that perhaps the lowest imaginable, that the same may happen again to-morrow; but the observation of this event for so many days, and months, and ages together, as it has been observed by men in all places and countries, gives us a full assurance that it will happen to-morrow. No man in his senses thinks otherwise. In like manner, when we observe in human affairs generally that anything does regularly come to pass, we infer that other things which are like to it, or have an analogy with it, will also come to pass. Human concerns are all carried on by this natural process of reasoning. And yet we have no demonstrative evidence in any such cases. It is thus men go on continually. They judge and act by what is probable, and never dream of asking for further evidence.

FAIR and manly discussion in the temper which Christianity inspires, is far from being unfriendly to the interests of truth. A calm and unmeaning acquiesence is much more so. Torpor precedes death. To attain uniformity of opinion on all sub. ordinate points is a hopeless pursuit. The education of different men, their prejudices, their various talents and advantages, the party spirit, the unfavourable habits, and the defective measures of religious attainments which are found amongst them, the mere ambiguity of language, will constantly occasion a diversity, a great diversity, of judgments. The only healing measures in the midst of these disorders is the spirit of love love which rejoices to hope the best of others, which interprets favourably doubtful matters, which seeks the real welfare and happiness of all; love which bears and forbears, which reconciles and softens, which unites and binds together, which consoles and blesses, the hearts where it reigns. It is by this

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