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When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me! .

When the judgment is revealed,
And that opened which was sealed,
When to thee I have appealed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!


Thoughts at Midnight.-COLERIDGE.

DEAR babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the interspersed vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought ! My babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, And think that thou shalt learn far other love, And in far other scenes! For I was reared In the great city, pent ’mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze

lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores, And mountain crags; so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible

Of that eternal language which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher ! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and, by giving, make it ask.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall,
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet moon.


Look not upon the Wine when it is red.-WILLIS.

Look not upon the wine when it

Is red within the cup !
Stay not for Pleasure when she fills

Her tempting beaker up!
Though clear its depths, and rich its glow,
A spell of madness lurks below.

They say 'tis pleasant on the lip,

And merry on the brain ;
They say it stirs the sluggish blood,

And dulls the tooth of pain-
Ay! but within its glowing deeps
A stinging serpent, unseen, sleeps.

Its rosy lights will turn to fire,

Its coolness change to thirst ;

And, by its mirth, within the brain

A sleepless worm is nursed.
There's not a bubble at the brim
That does not carry food for him.

Then dash the brimming cup aside,

And spill its purple wine;
Take not its madness to thy lip,

Let not its curse be thine.
'Tis red and rich—but grief and wo
Are hid those rosy depths below.


America to Great Britain.-WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

ALL hail! thou noble land,

Our fathers' native soil !
O stretch thy mighty hand,

Gigantic grown by toil,
O’er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore;

For thou, with magic might,
Canst reach to where the light
Of Phæbus travels bright

The world o'er !

Though ages long have passed

Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !

And shall we not proclaim
That blood of honest fame,
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains ?

While the language, free and bold,

Which the bard of Avon sung,
In which our Milton told

How the vault of heaven rung,
When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ;-

While this, with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
From rock to rock repeat

Round our coast ;

While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,-

Between let ocean roll,
Our joint communion breaking with the sun ;

Yet still, from either beach,
The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,

“ We are one."


Memoir of Lady Huntingdon.-Christian OFFERING.

SELINA, countess of Huntingdon, a descendant of the house of Shirley, was the daughter of Washington, earl Ferrers, and was born August 24, 1707. In early life, when only nine years old, seeing the corpse of a child about her own age carried by to the grave, she was led to attend the funeral. There she received the first impressions of deep concern respecting an eternal world; and with many tears, she cried earnestly to God on the spot, that, whenever he should be pleased to call her hence, he would deliver her from all her fears, and give her a happy departure.

She frequently after visited the grave, and always retained a lively sense of the affecting scene. . Though no views of evangelical truth had hitherto opened on her mind, yet, in her juvenile days, she often retired to her closet, and, in all her little troubles, found relief in pouring out her requests unto God.

When she grew up, and was introduced into the world, she constantly prayed that she might marry into a serious family. No branch of the peerage maintained more of the ancient dignity of English nobility, or was more amiable in a moral point of view, than the house of Huntingdon, which, as well as the house of Shirley, bore the royal arms of England, as descendants from her ancient monarchs.

With the head of that family, Theophilus, earl of Huntingdon, she became united on the third of June, 1723.

In this high estate, she maintained a deportment peculiarly serious. Though sometimes at court, and visiting in the highest circles, she took no pleasure in the fashionable follies of the great. And when in the country, she delighted to scatter her bounty among her neighbors and dependants, with a liberal hand,

endeavoring, by prayer, and fasting, and alms-deeds, to commend herself to the favor of the Most High, and to establish her own righteousness before him. Lady Betty and lady Margaret Hastings, lord Huntingdon's sisters, were women of singular excellence. Lady Margaret was brought to the saving knowledge of the gospel under the preaching of the zealous Methodists of that time.

Conversing one day with lady Margaret on the subject of religion, lady Huntingdon was very much struck with one expression which she uttered, that “ since she had known the Lord Jesus Christ, and believed in him for life and salvation, she had been as happy as an angel.” To happiness like this, arising from the favor of God, lady Huntingdon felt that she was as yet a total stranger. Soon after this circumstance, a dangerous illness brought her to the brink of the grave : the fear of death excited terrors in her mind, and her conscience was greatly distressed.

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