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Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him:

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER Hide his pale features with the sable pall:

TRINITY. Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him:

THE sound of war! In earth and air Widowed and childless, she has lost her all!

The volleying thunders roll:

Their fiery darts the fiends prepare, Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our

And dig the pit, and spread the snare, weeping ?

Against the Christian's soul Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed ?

The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame, "Set down the bier—he is not dead but sleeping! The scorner's serpent tone, “Young man, arise !"-He spake, and was

Of bitter doubt, the barbed aim, obeyed!

All, all conspire his heart to tame:

Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail Change, then, oh sad one! grief to exultation,

The rivets of his heavenly mail,
Worship and fall before Messiah's knee.

Amidst his foes alone.
Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation,
Strong was the word of God to succour thee! Gods of the world! ye warrior host

Of darkness and of air,
In vain is all your impio boast,

In vain each missile lightning tost,
NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRI-

In vain the tempter's snare!
NITY

Though fast and far your arrows fly,
Oh blest were the accents of early creation,

Though mortal nerve and bone

Shrink in convulsive agony, When the word of Jehovah came down from

The Christian can your rage defy;
above;

Towers o'er his head salvation's crest,
In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,
And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!

Faith, like a buckler, guards his breast,

Undaunted, though alone. And mighty the tones which the firmament rended,

'T is past ! 't is o'er! in foul defeat When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of

The demon host are fled! the wind,

Before the Saviour's mercy-seat, By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness at

(His live-long work of faith complete,) tended,

Their conqueror bends his head. He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.

The spoils thyself hast gained, Lord! And sweet was the voice of the First-born of

I lay before thy throne:

Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword; heaven, (Though poor his apparel, though earthly his

My trust was in thy name and word:

'T was in thy strength my heart was strong; form,) Who said to the mourner, “Thy sins are for

Thy spirit went with mine along;

How was I then alone ?" given!" “Be whole!" to the sick,—and "Be still!” to the storm.

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER Oh, Judge of the world! when, arrayed in thy

TRINITY. glory, Thy summons again shall be heard from on On God! my sins are manifold, against my life high,

they cry, While nature stands trembling and naked before And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy temthee,

ple fly; And waits on thy sentence to live or to die; Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to de

spair is driven? When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound of "Forgive!" a blessed voice replied, “and thou thy thunder,

shalt be forgiven!" And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale,

My foemen, Lord! are fierce and fell, they spurn And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave me in their pride, asunder,

They render evil for my good, my patience they In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail ! deride;

Arise, oh King! and be the proud to righteous ruin driven!

FOR ST. JAMES'S DAY. "Forgive !" an awful answer came, “as thou Thorgu sorrows rise and dangers roll would'st be forgiven !"

In waves of darkness o'er my soul,

Though friends are false and love decays, Seven times, Oh Lord! I pardoned them, seven And few and evil are my days, times they sinned again;

Though conscience, fiercest of my foes, They practice still to work me wo, they triumph Swells with remembered guilt my woes, in my pain;

Yet ev’n in nature's utmost ill, But let them dread my vengeance now, to just re

I love thee, Lord! I love thee still!
sentment driven!
"Forgive!” the voice of thunder spake, “or never Though Sinai's curse, in thunder dread,
be forgiven!"

Peals o'er mine unprotected head,
And memory points, with busy pain,
To grace and mercy given in vain,

Till nature, shrieking in the strife,
TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER

Would fly to hell, to 'scape from life,
TRINITY

Though every thought has power to kill,

I love thee, Lord! I love thee still!
FROM foes that would the land devour;
From guilty pride, and lust of power;

Oh, by the pangs thyself hast borne,
From wild sedition's lawless hour;

The ruffian's blow, the tyrant's scorn;
From yoke of slavery;

By Sinai's curse, whose dreadful doom
From blinded zeal by faction led;

Was buried in thy guiltless tomb: From giddy change by fancy bred;

By these my pangs, whose healing smart
From poisonous error's serpent head,

Thy grace hath planted in my heart;
Good Lord, preserve us free!

I know, I feel thy bounteous will!

Thou lovest me, Lord! thou lovest me still !
Defend, oh God! with guardian hand,
The laws and ruler of our land,
And grant our church thy grace to stand

MICHAELMAS DAY.
In faith and unity!

Oh, captain of God's host, whose dreadful might The spirit's help of thee we crave,

Led forth to war the armed Seraphim, That thou whose blood was shed to save,

And from the starry height,
May'st, at thy second coming, have

Subdued in burning fight,
A flock to welcome thee!

Cast down that ancient dragon, dark and grim!

Thine angels, Christ! we laud in solemn lays,

Our elder brethren of the crystal sky, TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER Who, ʼmid thy glory's blaze, TRINITY

The ceaseless anthem raise,

And gird thy throne in faithful ministry!
To conquer and to save, the Son of God
Came to his own in great humility,

We celebrate their love, whose viewless wing
Who wont to ride on cherub wings abroad, Hath left for us so oft their mansion high,
And round him wrap the mantle of the sky. The mercies of their king,
The mountains bent their necks to form his road; To mortal saints to bring,
The clouds dropt down their fatness from on high; Or guard the couch of slumbering infancy.
Beneath his feet the wild waves softly flowed,
And the winds kissed his garment tremblingly!

But thee, the first and last, we glorify,
Who, when thy world was sunk in death and sin,

Not with thine hierarchy,
The grave unbolted half his grisly door,

The armies of the sky, (For darkness and the deep had heard his fame, But didst with thine own arm the battle win, Nor longer might their ancient rule endure;) The mightiest of mankind stood hushed and tame: Alone didst pass the dark and dismal shore And, trooping on strong wing, his angels came Alone didst tread the wine-press, and alone, To work his will, and kingrom to secure: All glorious in thy gore, No strength he needed save his Father's name ; Didst light and life restore, Babes were his heralds, and his friends the poor! To us who lay in darkness and undone !

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FROM Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river,

From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain !

AT A FUNERAL. BENEATH our feet and o'er our head

Is equal warning given; Beneath us lie the countless dead,

Above us is the heaven!

What though the spicy breezes

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile:
In vain with lavish kindness

The gifts of God are strown,
The heathen, in his blindness,

Bows down to wood and stone!

Their names are graven on the stone,

Their bones are in the clay;
And ere another day is done,

Ourselves may be as they.
Death rides on every passing breeze,

He lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,

Its peril every hour!
Our eyes have seen the rosy light

Of youth's soft cheek decay,
And Fate descend in sudden night

On manhood's middle day.
Our eyes have seen the steps of age

Halt feebly towards the tomb,
And yet shall earth our hearts engage,

And dreams of days to come?

Can we, whose souls are lighted

With wisdom from on high, Can we to men benighted

The lamp of life deny ? Salvation ! oh salvation !

The joyful sound proclaim, Till each remotest nation

Has learned Messiah's name!

ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.

Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know;
Where'er thy foot can tread

ON RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS.
The earth rings hollow from below,

OH, Saviour of the faithful dead,
And warns thee of her dead!

With whom thy servants dwell,
Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply Though cold and green the turf is spread
To truths divinely given;

Above their narrow cell,
The bones that underneath thee lie

No more we cling to mortal clay,
Shall live for hell or heaven!

We doubt and fear no more,
Nor shrink to tread the darksome way

Which thou hast trod before !
STANZAS

'Twas hard from those I loved to go,

Who knelt around my bed,

Whose tears bedewed my burning brow, Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not de

Whose arms upheld my head! plore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the As fading from my dizzy view, tomb:

I sought their forms in vain, Thy Saviour has passed through its portal before The bitterness of death I knew, thee,

And groaned to live again. And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the

'Twas dreadful when th' accuser's power gloom!

Assailed my sinking heart, Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold Recounting every wasted hour, thee,

And each unworthy part:
Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side;
But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold But, Jesus! in that mortal fray,
thee,

Thy blessed comfort stole,
And sinners may die, for the sinless has died !

Like sunshine in a stormy day,

Across my darkened soul! Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion forsaking,

When soon or late this feeble breath Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long;

No more to thee shall pray, But the mild rays of paradise beamed on thy Support me through the vale of death, waking,

And in the darksome way! And the sound which thou heardst was the sera

When clothed in fleshly weeds again phim’s Song!

I wait thy dread decree, Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not de- Judge of the world ! bethink thee then plore thee,

That thou hast died for me, Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide;

Thou art gone to the grave! and whole nations bemoan thee, He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore Who caught from thy lips the glad tidings of peace: thee,

Yet grateful, they still in their hearts shall enthrone thee, And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died !*

And ne'er shall thy name from their memories cease.

Thou art gone to the grave! but thy work shall not perish, The following stanzas were written as an addition to the That work which the spirit of wisdom hath blest ; above hymn, by an English clergyman, on hearing of the de. His strength shall sustain it

, his comforts shall cherish, Cease of the author.

And make it to prosper, though thou art at rest.

Translations of Pindar.

RACE.

THE FIRST OLYMPIC ODE. Can honour give to actions ill,

And faith to deeds inoredible;TO HIERO OF SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN THE HORSE

And bitter blame, and praises high,

Fall truest from posterity.-
Can earth, or fire, or liquid air,
With water's sacred stream compare ?
Can aught that wealthy tyrants hold

But, if we dare the deeds rehearse
Surpass the lordly blaze of gold ?-

Of those that aye endure, Or lives there one, whose restless eye

'T were meet that in such dangerous verse Would seek along the empty sky,

Our every word were pure.Beneath the sun's meridian ray,

Then, son of Tantalus, receive A warmer star, a purer day?

A plain unvarnished lay! O thou, my soul, whose choral song,

My song shall elder fables leave, Would tell of contests sharp and strong,

And of thy parent say, Extol not other lists above

That, when in heaven a favoured guest, The circus of Olympian Jove;

He called the gods in turns to feast Whence borne on many a tuneful tongue,

On Sipylus, his mountain home :So Saturn's seed the anthem sung,

The sovereign of the ocean foam, With harp, and fute, and trumpet's call,

-Can mortal from such favour prove? Hath sped to Hiero's festival.

Rapt thee on golden car above

To highest house of mighty Jove ; Over sheep-clad Sicily

To which, in after day, Who the righteous sceptre beareth, Came golden-haired Ganymede, Every flower of virtue's tree

As bard in ancient story read, Wove in various wreath he weareth.

The dark-winged eagle's prey.But the bud of poesy

Is the fairest flower of all; Which the bards, in social glee,

And when no earthly tongue could tell

The fate of thee, invisible;-
Strew round Hiero's wealthy hall.-
The harp on yonder pin suspended,

Nor friends, who sought thee wide in vain,

| To soothe thy weeping mother's pain, Seize it, boy, for Pisa's sake;

Could bring the wanderer home again; And that good steed's, whose thought will wake

Some envious neighbour's spleen, A joy with anxious fondness blended :

In distant hints, and darkly, said, No sounding lash his sleek side rended ;

That in the caldron hissing red, By Alpheus' brink, with feet of flame,

And on the god's great table spread, Self-driven, to the goal he tended :

Thy mangled limbs were seen.And earned the olive wreath of fame

But who shall tax, I dare not, I, For that dear lord, whose righteous name

The blessed gods with gluttony?-
The sons of Syracusa tell :-

Full oft the sland'rous tongue has felt
Who loves the generous courser well:
Beloved himself by all who dwell

By their high wrath the thunder dealt;

And sure, if ever mortal head In Pelop's Lydian colony.

Heaven's holy watchers honoured, -Of earth-embracing Neptune, he

That head was Lydia's lord.— The darling, when, in days of yore,

Yet, could not mortal heart digest All lovely from the caldron red

The wonders of that heavenly feast; By Clotho's spell delivered,

Elate with pride, a thought unblest The youth an ivory shoulder bore.

Above his nature soared. -Well!—these are tales of mystery!

And now, condemned to endless dread, And many a darkly-woven lie

(Such is the righteous doom of fate,) With men will easy credence gain;

He eyes, above his guilty head, While truth, calm truth, may speak in vain; The shadowy rocks' impending weight:For eloquence, whose honeyed sway

The fourth, with that tormented three(1) Our frailer mortal wits obey,

In horrible society!

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