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Jesus, blessed Mediator!

Thou the airy path hast trod :
Thou the Judge, the Consummator!
Shepherd of the fold of God!

Blessed fold! no foe can enter,
And no friend departeth thence.
Jesus is their sun, their centre;
And their shield, Omnipotence.
Blessed! for the Lamb shall feed them,
All their tears shall wipe away;
To the living fountains lead them,
Till fruition's perfect day.

Lo! it comes, that day of wonder!
Louder chorals shake the skies.
Hades' gates are burst asunder:

See! the new-clothed myriads rise!
Thought! repress thy weak endeavour :
Here must reason prostrate fall.

Oh! the ineffable For Ever,

And the Eternal All in All!

CONDER.

LET SINNERS TREMBLE.

OH! ye who strive to make this beauteous earth,
That in the vernal season, and the sweet
Succession of bright sunshine, and the bloom
Of odorous boughs, and melody of birds,
And clustering of fruits and flowers, doth seem
An echo of the heavens-a very hell!
Who throw your burning passions reckless on
The soft kind air, and your dark savage deeds

Upon the tender moonlight, and sweet gaze
Of the pure vestal stars; who love to fill
Her vales with pools of reeking blood, her cities
With carnage, and her solitudes with deeds
Of evil, rapine, tumult, rage, and death;
Until, at last, Omnipotence, though long
Enduring, shall let loose his kindled wrath
Upon her like a torrent!-Ye that are
The lords of the creation, and to whom
Omnipotence hath delegated power,

Which power ye have abused most impiously,
Turn'd it against the energies of man,

And with it crush'd the sweet and smiling brow
Of Liberty, and struck transcendant Truth
Dead in the face of the high noon,

in spite

Of nature struggling in you, and the voice
Of the Eternal, crying loudly from
The universe of the immortal soul,

Forbear!- -Oh! tremble at that coming day
Of reckoning, that terrible Assize,

When all shall be arraign'd before the throne
Of the Most High. And ye false cheats, that make
A shameful traffic in the souls of men,

And fence yourselves proudly on every side
With God's high name, and put on sanctity
And spotless robes to serve the evil one;
And like to all devouring dragons, rove
O'er earth with jaws extended wide, to swallow
Up the last hoarded mite of meek-eyed patience
With maws of cormorants, and lust the while,
Like the o'ergorged and greedy leech for more:
While ever and anon ye babble loud
Of heavenly contentment, and bepraise
Suffering humility, and oft will bid

The starving poor, ground down to skin and bone, Glory in poverty and rags.

And ye

Who, bigotted to your dear darling creed,
Damn all without the pale of it, and set
The face of rank abhorrence, and the dagger
Of dark insinuation at the core,

The hearted core of humble-mindedness,
Who durst not, feeling sin in all its weight,
Aspire to call himself God's own.

And thou

Whose headlong blood, like lava, scath'd and sear'd The pristine bloom of virgin chastity,

As light'ning doth a flower: and thou shrewd man
Of Law, who stole by legal warranty,

And call'd the theft inheritance from God;
Who made black white, and truth look like a lie,
Casing thy heart with iron, and thy visage
With triple brass,-yea, thou shalt tremble too
At that Great Day. But he shall tremble most,
That masterpiece of Satan, who doth walk
With sanctimonious rigour through the paths
Of outward duty, and whom daylight views
Still quoting to the unsuspicious world,

In its gay paths, and mirth-enliven'd streets, Heaven's law with lowering look and lengthen'd face;

And taking of the mystic bread and wine
With ostentatious meekness, and with arts
Dissimulative, and with outward show
Of sanctity, deceiving God's elect-
Passes a saint, while his gross heart is black
As the foul tempter's face, and his desires
Hungry as empty tigers, and his lusts
Untameable as the ferocious winds,
Run ravening in the secret worldliness

Of earth all unappeas'd,-who in the sun
Holds up God's volume as a mirror for
Mankind to glass themselves, but in the shade
Tramples it all to pieces, and in place
Of an enduring and sublime affection
For Christian charity, so loudly praised
In throng'd assemblies and in crowded halls,
Grovels in low and cunning wickedness,
Or walks in pride and pompous bigotry,
In malice and in scorn. Yes, HYPOCRITE,
Thou cunning workmanship of the arch-fiend,
Oh! thou hast taken greater pains to reach
That burning world of soul-tormenting fire,
Than good men need to gain the promised land!
Dread then, O dread, the solemn Day of Doom!
W. MARTIN.

MAN UNGRATEFUL BY NATURE,
RECLAIMED BY GRACE.

WE breathe thy vital air, Father of all,
We feel thy blessed rain-drops and thy dews
Fall sweetly over us at eve or morn :
We hear thy mighty tempests, calling out
From cloud to cloud, to magnify thy power
In deeds sublime and glorious: we see
The golden sun march on in pageantry
Of light, from year to year, from age to age,
Pouring his vivifying smile upon the breast
Of the fair earth, which, like a beauteous bride,
Turns all abash'd at even from his gaze,
And meets him still with blushes in the morn.
Day pours her incense from ten thousand springs,

Of rich abundance, and the seasons come
With fruits, and flowers, and blessings-but yet

Man

Rebels alike through all, and coldly looks
Upon the blue serene of the high heavens,
Clear type of joyous hope and future peace,
And on the verdant earth-yea, idly breathes
The precious balmy air: the golden blaze
Of cheering daylight, and the glittering sheen
Of mists, and clouds, and vapours, throwing back
The solar beams upon the upturn'd eye,

But seldom reach the bosom: the full pomp
Of the storm's gloomy grandeur, and the deep
And solemn quirings of the thunder peal,
Walking the ocean in the pitch of noon,
To wake the heart up unto lordly feelings,
As the young ardent warrior's oft is stirr'd
By the alarm of the fierce drum: the gloom
And breathless peace of solitude, which comes
Upon the twilight wing of softest down,
To whisper holy thoughts, that might enthrone
Our immortality more firm within us:

And all the sights and sounds from the blue skies,
Descending in the broad day's extacy, or on
The raven wing of midnight, when the stars
Like heavenly talismans would seem to charm
And draw us from the earth to higher spheres,
But rarely find from man's hard flinty breast
A holy touch of sympathy. Pomp, power,
The lust of wealth, the vanity of life,
The reign of pleasure, close each avenue
Of that deep core of sensibility,

That answers nature's potent whisperings

With pure unfeigned love. He, wrapp'd in pride

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