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That were a grief I could not bear, Didst thou not hear and answer pray'r; But a pray'r-hearing, answ'ring God, Supports me under ev' ry load.

Fair is the lot that's cast for me;
I have an advocate with thee;
They whom the world caresses most,
Have no such privilege to boast.

Poor tho' I am, despis'd, forgot,
Yet God, my God, forgets me not;
And he is safe, and must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.

RETIREMENT.

FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With pray'r and praise agree;
And seem by thy sweet bounty made,
For those who follow thee.

There if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

There like the nightingale she pours

Her solitary lays;

Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and Guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine,
And (all harmonious names in one)
My Saviour, thou art mine!

What thanks I owe thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store,
Shall echo thro' the realms above
When time shall be no more.

PROVIDENCE.

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 ev'ry hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow'r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain ;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

RICHARD CUMBERLAND.

BORN 1732-DIED 1811.

CUMBERLAND is chiefly celebrated as a dramatic writer. His poem of "Calvary" has been esteemed probably be. yond its merits.

FROM CALVARY.

"ON us and on our children be his blood!"
Such was your imprecation, O ye Jews,
When in your sight the world's Redeemer stood
Gash'd o'er with wounds, and emptying ev'ry vein
For man's redemption; and, behold!~it flows,
It whelms upon you in a flood-gate tide;
Steep'd to the lips ye are in all the blood

Of all the righteous shed upon the earth,
From blood of righteous Abel to the blood
Of Zechariah, whom your fathers ston'd
Betwixt the altar and the house of God.
Ye have enough; the mark is on your race;
Ye have drawn down the judgment ye provok'd;
It rests upon you: yet for you no rest,
No station, no abiding-place is found;
Strangers and weary wand'rers upon earth,
If in the dust of your Jerusalem

With foot proscrib'd ye dare to tread, ye die ;
A savage race usurps your sacred mount,
And Jordan echoes an unhallow'd name;
Should ye but stop to shed a filial tear
Upon the soil where your forefathers sleep,
Wo to the circumcis'd that so is found!
Oh! slow of heart, when will ye understand,
That thus afflicted, scatter'd and dispers'd
Through every clime and kingdom of the world
Ye are sent forth to publish, as ye pass,
How truly CHRIST predicted of your fate;
And though your lips deny, your sufferings prove
That prophet JESUS, whom your fathers slew,
Was Saviour, Christ, Messias, Son of God.

JAMES BEATTIE.
BORN 1735-DIED 1803.

JAMES BEATTIE, the author of the Minstrel, and the strenuous advocate of Christianity, was born at Laurencekirk, Kincardineshire. He lost his father, who was a small farmer, at a very early age; but struggled manfully

through all the evils of poverty, and procured for himself a learned education. He was chosen one of the masters of the grammar school of Aberdeen, and afterwards appointed professor of moral philosophy in Marischal College. Beattie obtained a pension from his late majesty, as a gracious acknowledgment of the utility of his writings to religion and public morals. The mental illness of his wife, and the death of his two sons, both young men of high promise, threw Dr Beattie into a state of despondency which overclouded the evening of his life. He was a prudent, pious, and highly estimable person,one whose life reflected lustre on his genius.

THE HERMIT.

AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove; When nought, but the torrent, is heard on the hill, And nought, but the nightingale's song in the

grove :

'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began:
No more with himself, or with nature, at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

"Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and wo, Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;

O sooth him, whose pleasures like thine pass away: Full quickly they pass-but they never return.

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