Bread Cast Upon the Waters.

]> Bread Cast Upon the Waters.Dixon, Charlotte Eliza, Henry Yeh,creation of electronic text.Electronic edition88KbBritish Women Romantic Poets ProjectShields Library, University of California, Davis, California 956162000DixoCBread

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Davis British Women Romantic Poets Series68Nancy Kushigian,General EditorCharlotte Payne,Managing EditorBread cast upon the watersDixon, Charlotte Eliza Sold at the Sea‐ Book DepositoryLondon, 1830[This text was scanned from its original in the Shields Library Kohler Collection, University of California, Davis. Kohler ID no. I:339. Another copy available on microfilm as Kohler I:339mf.]

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[Title Page] "BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS." BY MRS. DIXON,AUTHOR OF THE "MOUNT OF OLIVES," A POEM.LONDON:SOLD AT THE SEA‐BOOK DEPOSITORY, WELLCLOSE SQUARE; AND AT1, WARWICK SQUARE, PATERNOSTER ROW.1830.W. SEARS, PRINTER, 11, BUDGE ROW, CITY. DEDICATEDTO REV. G. C. SMITH.Respected and Dear Sir,

IN soliciting permission to inscribe these effusions to you, I only follow the example of thousands who feel anxious to see an illustrious name at the head of their pages. If filling the office of Ambassador for Christ, rendered the fishermen of Galilee illustrious, you are illustrious; if "labouring more abundantly than all," added lustre to the name of Paul, you are illustrious; if suffering persecution for the name and work of Christ, conferred dignity on the martyrs now sleeping in Jesus, you are eminently illustrious! Flattery I detest, as an incense too vile for me to offer, or you to receive; but were this question put to me, Who is the most illustrious individual now existing in our kingdom? I should unhesitatingly and at once assert— G. C. SMITH.

With the affectionate feelings of aSister in the Gospel,I am your's,Charlotte Eliza Dixon. Nov. 14, 1829.ADVERTISEMENT.

SHOULD it be deemed necessary to offer an apology for intruding these Poems upon the attention of the Public, I trust it will be considered a sufficient one, that I wish to devote the profits arising from their sale to the "BRITISH AND FOREIGN SOLDIER'S AND SEAMAN'S FRIEND'S SOCIETY;" by which, if I am enabled to cast but "one mite" into its treasury, my meditations over needle‐work, to be found in the following pages, will not prove altogether unprofitable.

THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS.To G. C. SMITH1Go preach the Gospel, &c.5Absent from the Body present with the Lord10Gethsemane13A Dialogue at the Manger of Bethlehem15And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes19The Song, &c.19On the Song of Solomon24To W. C., with Dr. Collyer's Hymn Book29Experience of Pilgrims30From Canticles31To Harriet H—y33To J.S.44Give me thine heart46Behold! how He loved him48A Dream54Buried with Christ in Baptism61Lines written on a Rainy Good Friday63Lines, &c.65Oh! that I had in the Wilderness, a Lodging‐place of Wayfaring Men69Without were Fightings, Within were Fears72And when the Woman, &c.75LYRICS81‐88BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS,To G. C. SMITH.GO on, thou great Apostle of the Waters,Fill up the measure of thy useful days;Stem the rough billows that oppose thy course,Rude hurricanes to wreck thy stately bark,Riding sublime o'er many a swelling surge;Spread the broad sail of Faith to meet each blast,Lashing and blust'ring round thy gallant prow,Foaming out fury, bellowing in their rage,To mark thy steady, dauntless, onward bound,'Midst the distracting strife of confluent storms.Majestic vessel! onward, onward still,Reck not the deafening din of roaring winds,Rushing athwart, or following in thy track,Boiling with vengeance. Onward, onward still!There is a gale that bears thee o'er the waves,Gentle and soft, amid the rougher blasts,Like the "still voice" that struck Elijah's ear,Which dwelt not in the whirlwind, or the fire;A breeze set fair from the bland port of peace,A balmy zephyr, from the spicy breathOf those sweet austral "treasures" which refreshThe drooping, fainting "plants" our GOD'S right handPlaced in th' enclosed garden. Onward still,Intrepid man! Bound onward to thy task,Despis'd, derided, envied, hated, lov'd,Lov'd by the few who love the Son of Man;Tho' constituting thousands, still the few,Compar'd with such as fill the scorner's chair.I would not be the one that hated thee,For all this world could place within my grasp.If love to saints be held as evidenceOf having pass'd from death to endless life,I hold the evidence within my heart,For well I love thee, brother! All my soulIs knit to thine in holy Christian bonds,As Jonathan's was link'd to Jesse's son!And oh! what burning, all‐enduring loveLinks thee for ever to the righteous Branch,That shot from Jesse's Stem! Resplendent King,Crown'd in his peerless beauty, in that land,That distant land to which thou hastenest,Where thou shalt surely see Him, when thy work,Thy mighty work upon our earth is done!Nor yet alone shalt thou behold Him there—A multitude will follow in thy train,Thy joy and crown, potent ambassador!Sons of the deep, pluck'd from th' usurper's power,Daughters of loathsome misery and sin!Onward! oh, onward in thy glorious work!Pend high the Bethel flag above the main,Let the Lamb undulate upon the breezeThat fans its broad expanse, nor there confineThe floating banner, let the firmer groundPoise the blest ensign, fill the open air,Lift up thy voice 'mid circumambient space,Inflate it with the lovely name of CHRIST,Till echo wafts it round the sea‐girt land.Laborious servant of the living GOD,Heed not the idlers that obstruct thy path,Feel not the wounds that foes, or fickle friends,Inflict upon thee; tho' thy tortur'd heartRecoil to meet the unkindest stab of all!The LORD thou serv'st, the Man of many griefs,Writh'd 'neath the wounds of friends! The one denied,The other sold Him to his ruthless foes!In perils by false brethren, pass'd his days,And so are passing thine! On, onward still,The glorious end in view! Great man of GOD,Apostle of the watery world, press on.Go, preach the Gospel to every creature, baptizing them in the name,"&c.AND did the Gospel march in all its beauty?Was the blest mandate faithfully obey'd?Did great Apostles feel the pressing dutyOf each injunction by the Master laid?Yes,—to the earth's known boundaries they travell'd,Bearing the best of treasures in their hands,Redemption's high mysterious scheme unravell'dTO GOD'S elected children thro' the lands.Baptizing new‐born Souls in ample rivers,(Not sprinkling new‐born Babes for mock‐believers),At which the modern Church is seen to shiver,While shuddering Pastors from the plunge relieve her.Then where's the Gospel now? the happy tidings?Where Jordan's flood, that water'd all the crops?Alas! the Gospel has its times of hiding,And Jordan's waves have dwindled to some drops.The Jews reject it all—the sober QuakerExalts the Spirit most in his orations:Man is become much wiser than his Maker;Therefore the Gospel must have alterations.Its doctrines are unguarded, far too clear;They call for fences, limits, hedges, borders:Heaven's lavish bounty stirs the Preacher's fear,Lest Grace, unfetter'd Grace, should breed disorders.Therefore to work he goes, and first attacksThe Everlasting Covenant of Heav'n;Salvation free, with ifs and buts he backs,Commingling heav'nly truths with earthly leaven.Poor thirsty souls are empty sent away,Who fain would drink at the life‐giving fountain;Faith's best assurance feels a slow decay,And Calvary seems a dark, a cloudy mountain!!!Yet these are Gospel days!—Dissenting days!Bright Independent days!—devoid of schism!Yes! independent of old Gospel ways,Of faith almost, and quite of CHRIST'S baptism.And still the Shepherds preach—line follows line,And precept upon precept swell discourses:Our learned Doctors bible‐gold refine,In crucible that faith and truth divorces!Then are there now no men of God on earth?Yes, Heav'n has still a witness here and there;Men of distinguish'd spiritual worth,Who preach the simple truth with ceaseless care.Where shall I seek them? Round your ample city?No:—in the shade I'd rather seek such preachers;Our city men are learned, wise, and witty,*But "greedy dogs," and sorry, sorry teachers.Men who will once, some twice, the trumpet soundOn the Lord's day (guarding the time of dining);Remaining Sabbath hours, they may be foundOn downy couch, or sofa soft, reclining!!!Oh, ye laborious servants of our Lord!Ye Peters, Pauls, and Johns of ancient days!Who planted churches on the preached word,"Your ways," departed saints, are not "our ways."Send us like men, Thou same exalted Lord,Who'd fear to rob thy Gospel of its gold!Pastors who bear thine one[The word "one" corrected in contemporary manuscript hand to read "own" in original scanned text.] small whip of cord,To chase all mongrels from the starving fold!Then will the Gospel travel in its beauty!Then will the Church resume the first‐born's feature;When faithful men of grace perform their duty,And preach the untrammell'd word to ev'ry creature.*These remarks can only apply to character:—A BORROWS, in the Establishment,—a Dr. ANDREWS, among the Independents,— and a JEFFERY among the Baptists,—cannot apply them. "Absent from the body, present with the Lord." WHEN I'm dead, and silent lying,Should you in an hour of aweGaze upon me, softly sighing,Back the solemn curtain draw;But the frame of clay you'll see,Oh, my friend! will not be me:I shall be with CHRIST my treasure,Drinking in eternal pleasure.When within the coffin shrouded,Mantled in a winding sheet,All the springs of life becloudedIn that peaceable retreat:Stay the tear, to weep forbear,I, my friend! shall not be there;I shall be where Sharon's RoseChief in beauty fragrant blows!When you view my eye fast closed,And regret its quenched beam,Every fringy lash reposed,Where oft flow'd the copious stream;Let no tear‐drop fall from thine,—Dear one! they will not be mine;Mine on JESUS will be dwellingAll the sons of light excelling.When my feet, devoid of motion,Side by side inactive lay,Should you think with fond emotionNever more with me they'll stray;They will not be mine, beloved!Mine, by love's impatience moved,Will o'er heaven's bright pavement glide,Till they reach EMMANUEL'S side.Should your mournful eye‐beam linger,Should your palm the surface pressOf my icy marble finger,Shrinking from its nothingness;Dearest friend! 'twill not be mine,Motionless in palm of thine!Mine will then be sweetly playing;O'er a harp angelic straying.When you mark my head reposing,Mindless, thoughtless, tearless, still;Death's dark victory disclosingO'er the memory, heart, and will;As you trace care's furrow'd lineCross the brow,—'twill not be mine;Mine will lean on JESU'S breast,Pillow'd in eternal rest.When the humid grave's receivingThat cold casket, where to dwell,Oft my spirit sadly grieving,Found it but a prison‐cell;I, my friend, shall not be there,Clear escap'd for ever—whereI shall be with CHRIST my lover,Brother, bridegroom, lord, JEHOVAH.GETHSEMANE. THERE is a garden, scene of sad delight,Where oft my mournful spirit loves to rove,When all is silent round at dead of night,And not one breath disturbs the olive grove.Its shades are deep, are dark, the plaintive moonFinds not an inlet for one silver ray;Impervious to the flick'ring beam of noon,'Tis night within, when all without is day.Want you to know what grows? what tint adornsGarden so sad? Not the bright tulip's hues,But, thickly set with lacerating thorns,The "Rose of Sharon," drench'd in blighting dews.That Passion‐flower with tendrils all unbound,That Lily of the valley foul with stains,That Sensitive oft shrinking to the ground,As often rising to be struck again.No "balm of Gilead" with its spicy breath,No precious balsam near of sovereign worth,No herb soft andidote to coming death,As Love lies bleeding on the damp cold earth.No root of Heart's‐ease cheers the dismal walks,But Deadly nightshade thickens o'er the sod;And clust'ring Rue upon its bitter stalksForms a dark border to the humid clod.Ask you if living thing can breathe such air?Yes—one "old Serpent" rears its wounded crest,And writhing through the gloom that hovers there,Curls his huge folds in vain to find a rest.And there I wander when the world's asleep,And court its gloom, and dread returning light;There prostrate on the earth I love to weep,And long to close my eye in lasting night. A DIALOGUE AT THE MANGER OF BETHLEHEM. LUKE ii. 7. WHO is this Babe, in poverty array'dWeeping and cold, within the manger laid?While o'er the stable's roof rude torrents flow,As round its barren walls the bleak winds blow.It is the Eternal!—scarce one brief hour old!Whom yonder heaven of heavens cannot hold!The Sire!—the great I AM! one short span long!To whom eternity and time belong.Amazing! what reduced Him to this span?Why lies He here? what latent wond'rous plan?Tell to my lab'ring mind why thus he came?Why hides JEHOVAH in this little frame?He came, sweet Lamb of Glory! to be slain:He came to suffer agonies of pain!He came, dear tender Babe! to groan and die;To ransom rebels—doom'd to misery!Babes of the earth to Royal Crowns are born!This little brow must wear a crown of thorns!These cherub‐eyes now sinking fast in sleep.Must wake to weary watchings and to weep!This downy flesh must reek at ev'ry pore,As through its surface starts the spouting gore!For Justice has already tipt the dart,That soon must quiver in this little heart!Upon this back the swift‐descending lashWill plough up many a furrow, many a gash!The rage of men and devils here will meet,And all heav'n's storms upon this bosom beat.Through these soft hands and feet, the rending nailWill make each shrinking nerve and fibre fail;While all these polish'd limbs are bath'd in blood,And bursting tears down mingle with the flood.This head will sink dishonour'd on a breast,Which years of sorrow will deprive of rest;And grief‐wrung sighs will swell each mournful pray'r,That heav'nward soars to seek the Father there.But when He finds the Father can forsakeHis suff'ring Child! this tender heart will breakWhen bursting tears, and sighs, and pray'r, shall cease,And grief and sorrow find a quick release!Then kiss the sleeping SON! sweet Sharon's Rose,Now in the bud—but break not His repose!Oh, let the dear one slumber while He can;Shelter'd a season from that tiger—Man!Shield Him, mild Virgin! by a woman's arm;Thy gentler Sex will never seek His harm:Some mitigation from His future woe,Will from Earth's daughters' tender bosoms flow!And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."—REVELATIONS, xxi. 4. AND are there, then, no tears in yonder heaven?No dewy eye in all the brilliant regions?Does none grow dim, when the pent heart is riven,With joy past utterance, in countless legions?What substitute, Oh say, what kind reliefEases the mind of all its mighty feeling?—What gracious outlet to the rapturous grief,Which, wave on wave, through the full soul keeps stealing?Oh JESUS, dearest JESUS! when mine eyeViews, 'midst thy glory, ev'ry human feature—Should'st thou forbid this heart one human sigh,What will become of thine adoring creature?Thou know'st the soft fruition of our tears,For thou hast wept o'er brother Lazarus sleeping;When Martha's touching accents met thine ears,And sister Mary stood beside thee weeping!Precious EMMANUEL! thou dost also know,This exile heart is dead to earthly pleasure;When the earth slumbers, thou behold'st the flowOf watery gems, drawn from mine eyes' moist treasure.Tears cherish'd! sacred! laving thy dear wounds,Which sep'rate speak of Calvary's dark story,And whisper to my ears the solid groundsAnd claim I have to share thy fullest glory!Blest Surety! when I sit upon Thy throne,When with this Christ‐bought soul 'tis time no longer,When my Beloved is indeed my own,Will not the vivid flame of love burn stronger?When I behold within each precious handThe everlasting traces of salvation;When I survey from earth's remotest landsThe promis'd seed! the grace‐elected nation!Say, dearest JESUS! must the fount be dry,Which feeds the streams that run among the feelings?Must not one tear refresh the glist'ning eye,E'en when thine arms of light are round me stealing!Oh! tell thy purchas'd one what mighty plan,What sublimated soft relief is given,What will unload the bursting heart, what can,If tears are banish'd yonder splendid heav'n?THE SONG.ON HEARING ITS AUTHENTICITY DOUBTED BYA MINISTER.To doubt thy inspiration, glorious Song!Let such dark doubts to Infidels belong,Who feign to worship GOD in unity,And strip the LAMB of all divinity.Yes,—let such doubts to Infidels belong!Poor ransom'd Sinners prize thee precious Song!Taught by the SPIRIT'S witness in their heart,They hail the mysteries thy lines impart.Oh, that 'twere Infidels alone could doubt!Alas! e'en Christians cast thy pages out;Pastors who own and preach the Gospel news,Can yet thy sacred melody refuse!Thou best of Zion's Songs! thy glowing phraseTranscends the Shepherd‐king's sublimest lays:Israel's sweet singer never swept his lyre,With such high thrillings of seraphic fire.Let calculating, cold, phlegmatic minds,Turn[Word "turn" printed with upside down "r" in original scanned text.] from the joy a warmer spirit finds,And 'mid their learned nothings strive to proveThy numbers flow'd from human, earthly love!Martyr'd Redeemer! here I read Thy loveTo thy blood‐purchas'd Bride, Thy ransom'd Dove;Intense, enthusiastic, ardent, fond;All sordid human passion far beyond!Spirit of GOD! stamp, stamp each vivid lineOn this too hard, too flinty heart of mine!At each perusal fire its chords afresh,And that shall turn the rocky thing to flesh!ON THE SONGS OF SOLOMON. OH, read the lovely melting Song,Till all your inward soul is mov'd[Word "mov'd" changed in contemporary manuscript hand to "moved" in original scanned text.];And as we range these groves among,We'll muse and speak of our Belov'd![Word "Belov'd" changed in contemporary manuscript hand to "Beloved" in original scanned text.]Oh, listen to His heav'nly voice,Soft floating thro' these beauteous verses;Its thrillings will the heart rejoice,As with His fair one He converses!Hear Him declare his lasting love,Which can't be quench'd by many waters:Hark! how He calls His mourning DoveThe FATHER'S undefiled Daughter!One arm beneath her sinking head,When dangers rise, He fondly places,And, till each gathering storm is fled,The other circling arm embraces!Oh! how securely can she rest,Upon a love so deep, so tender;Close to that faithful bosom prest,In arms that can, that will defend her!Down to their garden of delights,She follows wheresoe'r He'll take her;No jealousy her soul affrights,She knows He never will forsake her!As onward through the wilderness,This frequent whisper well contents her:"His Father will their union bless,When at his footstool He presents her."Behold her raise her streaming eyes,Reflecting all His borrow'd graces!"Thou altogether sweet!" she cries:"Thou loveliest of ten thousand faces!"Oh! take me where thy guarded sheepEnclosed feed near spicy mountains;On thy dear bosom let me weep,And watch them sip the living fountains."Draw, draw me by some cord of love,Round my sad heart‐strings let it fasten;Then wilt Thou see thy timid DoveAfter thy fragrant footsteps hasten."For what should make her turn aside?From thy companions prove a rover?Or why should'st Thou thine aspect hideFrom her who owns no other lover?"By night if on her bed she seeksHer dear one gone, Thou know'st her anguish;To every passer‐by she speaks,—'Saw, saw you Him for whom I languish?'"If to thy vineyard Thou'lt removeWithout thy Spouse, back hasten hither;Why, why before these eyes of love,Should Sharon's Rose appear to wither?"O'ercome, the tender Bridegroom cries,"This touching grief my soul entrances;Turn, turn from me those dewy eyes,I cannot bear their tearful glances."Come to the banquet of delight,My flowing banner shall enfold thee,Never to quit my watchful sight,Within my heart I have enroll'd thee!"Paved with love, my chariot soonShall bear thee o'er the spicy mountain;Where, oh! thou fairer than the moon!Thou'lt drink of love's exhaustless fountain!"Thus vents the timorous Bride her woe,And thus His nuptial vow engages,Whose soft harmonious accents flow,Like music through these sacred pages!I read the lovely melting song,Till all my inmost soul is moved,And as I muse the lines among,I'm sick of love, Thou best beloved!TO W. C.WITH DR. COLLYER'S HYMN BOOK. BROTHER belov'd in CHRIST, receive this book,And when from daily toil you wearied flee,Over its soul‐supporting page to look,First think of JESUS CHRIST!—then think of me! EXPERIENCE OF PILGRIMS.WHEN Zion's children's hearts with grief are riven,One secret stream of comfort still runs sweet;One mournful joy, one balmy solace given,In a full flow of tears at JESU'S feet!When Zion's travellers their distance feel,In vain the world presents her joy—'tis drossAmidst the desolation, what can heal,Like a full gush of woe at JESU'S cross!When Zion's pilgrims languish on their way,And all their dearest consolations fled,What can relieve the bursting heart, oh! say,Like 'a full flood of grief o'er JESU dead?FROM CANTICLES.CHAP. V. v. 2, 3. ——1. v. 13, 14, slightly altered. AND dost Thou stand entreating, dearest,In love's own voice, to be admitted?To this poor heart the very nearest,In all yon heav'n which Thou hast quitted?And com'st Thou through the wilderness,Whilst chilly dews around are falling?Do night's cold drops thy socks distress,While boist'rous winds are loudly calling?And dost Thou name her undefil'd,Thy Love, thy Dove, thy darling Sister, Whom treach'rous rivals have beguil'd?And coms't Thou lonely to assist her? I sleep—but, wounded in my breastMy heart, my weary heart, is waking;It finds no cure, it feels no rest,While He's away for whom 'tis aching!Although my vesture is unbound,Up from my bed I rise delighted;My washed feet impress the ground,To let Him in to whom I'm plighted!Enter, Thou well‐beloved guest!The rude damp blasts around Thee bluster!Repose all night upon my breast,Fragrant as camphire's spicy cluster!Thy Spouse adores Thee! Thou to herArt like the south wind softly blowing;Or as the sweetly‐scented myrrhDown in Engedi's vineyard growing!Close fast the door! till day shall break,And shadows flee o'er Bether's mountain;Turn, my Beloved, turn and takeThy rest near love's celestial fountain!TO HARRIET H——Y.On her bed of protracted and lingering sickness. ONCE again, long silent lyre,Sound beneath this weary finger,Speak—but breathe with holy fire,As near Jordan's wave I linger.HARRIET, love! for thee it wakesFrom its night of deathlike slumbers;Hear it, as it slowly breaksO'er thy ear in worthless numbers.'Tis not like thy harp divine,Ev'ry sep'rate string a treasure;No, thou dear one! harp of mineNever breath'd such sacred measure.Once indeed its varying chord,Much of love and mercy telling,Spake the name of HARRIET'S LORD,Faintly 'midst its feeble swelling.*But, alas! far different themeYear by year engross'd its numbers;Many a visionary dreamFloated through its short‐liv'd slumbers.Till Grace in this unworthy breastArose, my soul forget it never;And hush'd such useless song to rest,While some vile strings it snapt forever.Thus mutilated, thus undone,Wilt thou attend its whisp'ring, dearest?Dead to all other themes but one,And that to HARRIET'S bosom nearest.Yes, thou wilt lend a list'ning ear,As ling'ring thus by Jordan's river,All rack'd with pain, all bath'd in tears,Thou blessest GOD, of pain the giver!Pain which has laid thee in his arms,Who bled on Calv'ry's hallow'd mountain,Whose love thy patient bosom warms,Who wash'd thee in his own heart's fountain.Yes, thou wilt cast a pitying eyeBack to the world's blank wilderness;And for a Sister heave one sigh,Who feels, who loathes its nothingness!Retrace in thought the desert waste,Replete with thorns, with sins, with danger;Nor wonder if impatient hasteAssail my soul, a pilgrim stranger!I view thee, HARRIET, near the brinkOf that sweet stream whose waters severGOD'S little flock, a chosen linkOf trav'llers, from its snares for ever!I view myself despoil'd by sin,Hemm'd round by many a sore temptation,And scarcely can discern withinAn interest in that holy nation!I view far off fair Zion's hill,Far off, dear HARRIET! there's my sorrow!Here, many a duty waits me still,Through many a cloudy dark tomorrow.Perhaps not midway through the storm!Oh! to depart were surely better:When will Death chill this heart so warm,And loose the "silver cord's" soft fetter?When will He break the golden bowl,Which dips so deep in life's red fountain?When will He free this struggling soul,To wing her flight up Zion's mountain?When will the "mourners through the street"Glide dimly slow 'mid tears and terror,Mourning a heart whose ev'ry beatWas fed by sorrow, sin, and error?When shall the "dust return to earth?"This spirit mount to God who gave it?Where it can only know His worth,Whose precious blood alone could save it.But cease, impatient sinner! cease;These murmuring sighs are sighs of treason:Peace, my rebellious spirit, peace!Await in silence Heaven's own season!Should Death snap short the "silver cord,"That weaves my web of life's dull story,Am I prepar'd to meet my Lord,The dear EMMANUEL, in His glory?Should at the "Cistern's" sluice the wheelStop—or the "golden bowl" be broken,Can I a full assurance feel?Can I of heirship show one token?Have I a mourning, contrite soul?The Child of Zion's deep distress?The lowly JESU'S self‐control,Or robe of perfect righteousness?Are all my thoughts with Him above?My doubtings lost in veneration?Do I obey this Lamb of love,His follower in regeneration?Holds the Eternal Dove his placeWithin my breast, serenely smiling?Bright "witness" of Redeeming grace,That breast of sin's sharp pang beguiling.A "still small voice" forbids this dream;Truth's inward voice, I can't resist her;But turn from self, unlovely theme!To thee, my holy, heaven‐bound sister.Lamb of the flock! thy title's sure;Thy evidence of heirship certain;Thy hidden life in CHRIST secure,When Death unfolds his sable curtain!Borne in the Shepherd's fostering arms,MY HARRIET smiles as Death advances:His love the icy King disarms,The Monarch's dart His love enhances!He'll bear thee still, when Jordan partsThy passage to a brighter dwelling;And press thee closer to His heart,Amidst its billows' fearful swelling!Oh, HARRIET! on blest Canaan's shore,Emerging from the confluent water,He'll hail thee His for evermore,The King of Heaven's ransom'd daughter.Ransom'd by love! by that deep sighWhich burst his sorrowing heart asunder,Which drain'd that living fountain dry,To quench the fires of Legal thunder!His" chosen" sister, friend "elect,""Sought out" in sorrow, sin, and anguish,*When hope of heavenly life was wreck'd,And earthly life began to languish!His charge through many a painful year,When "toss'd, afflicted," low in spirit,He whisper'd, dear one, do not fear,Venture thy peace on JESU'S merit!And thou didst venture all below,And all above! Thou sought'st no other,But wander'd through a vale of woe,Reclining on thy "Elder Brother!"*When Death one mind‐felt tie had burst,And thou receiv'd'st the blow in meekness,When fell disease had done its worst,And sunk thee to the earth in weakness;Heaven's Darling rais'd thee to His side,Much of the wilderness before thee,Op'ning his arms of pity wide,On his warm melting bosom bore thee!Think'st thou He'll ever quit thee, dear?Oh, let not unbelief o'ertake thee!Chase from thy mind the impious fear,He'll never leave thee, nor forsake thee!Till near the Rainbow‐circled Throne,To kindred Angels He displays thee;And claiming thee His very own,On His great FATHER'S bosom lays thee!Dear HARRIET, daughter of our God!Improve the precious hours He lends thee!In patience bear the chast'ning rod,That messenger of love He sends thee!While still on this side Jordan's stream,Let fervent prayer ascend unceasing;Remember, every solar beamThat dawns on thee, is Time decreasing.Yes, envied Saint! thy heaven's at hand—When present, list'ning to thy story,I view'd thee hast'ning to that land,I mark'd thee rip'ning fast for glory!And when my tears rain'd o'er thy face,At parting, and thine own flow'd faster,I wish'd thee in that better place,The mansion of thy holy Master!Dearest! forget not in thy prayersHer thou wilt leave behind in trouble!Surrounded by external cares,And sin, which makes their pressure double!And should we never meet again,Till thy freed soul has fled her prison;Till in that City without Fane,The Star of Bethlehem is risen!Farewell! and may we 'neath its raysEmbrace in more exalted union,And with our GOD of ancient days,And JESUS CHRIST, hold sweet communion!*To quote myself from MS. by me, How was I sailing down the gulph of time,Playing with straws that on its surface glide,Its rudest wave, a subject for my rhyme,The weakest rhyme, a subject for my pride!*When under the terrors of the Law. *A gentleman to whom she was betrothed.TO J. S.WITH A LOCK OF MY HAIR.BROTHER belov'd in CHRIST! receive this lock,Shorn from a head which dead in sin once slumber'd;And as you rest secure upon our Rock,Think that each sep'rate worthless hair is number'd.Number'd by Him whose own celestial browFelt, keenly felt, the thorns that plung'd so deep,To draw a healing balsam for our woe,Ere the pale Sufferer sank in Death's cold sleep.Then let us number every future day,Dead to the world—but dear to one another;Till our untrammell'd spirits soar away,To meet in yonder cloud our "Elder Brother.""GIVE ME THINE HEART."POOR ransom'd sinner, at thy handsA Man of Grief thy heart demands;'Tis surely His, He bought it dear,With many a sigh, and many a tear.With sighs that often tore his breast,When all the world lay soundly sleeping;When ev'ry eye was clos'd in rest,While His alone was sadly weeping!Nor were tears all the Mourner gave,He op'd a far more painful tide.Do'st ask whence flow'd this richer wave?Sinner, 'twas open'd in His side!That pulsing side, where woe on woeWas gath'ring thick, unseen of any,Till cold it laid the Suff'rer low,'Midst th' unpitying scoffs of many!More, more than this—He had a Sire—Once He enjoy'd His tend'rest love;That love all turn'd to vengeful ire,Fell heavy on this harmless Dove.Oh! 'twas the deepest wound of all,When loud the bleeding Suff'rer cried;His Father would not hear the call:It broke His tender heart—He died!Sinner, can'st thou deny thy heart?Deny it to this Man of Sorrows?He's patient—He will not depart—Deny to‐day, He'll ask tomorrow.Give it, and 'tis a mean returnFor loss of life, of love, of heav'n!Give it! and with the trifle learnNot to demand it back when giv'n.Take it, my sacred Surety! keep it:'Tis thine without reserve or measure;In thine own heart's sweet fountain steep it,Then lay it 'midst thy ransom'd treasures."BEHOLD HOW HE LOVED HIM!"A SHEPHERD from a mountain's steepBeheld a little wand'ring sheep;With anxious eye he watch'd it long,Creeping the briars and thorns among;And oft he wip'd a tear away,To think the careless thing would stray,Far from the fold's refreshing fountain,Upon the summit of the mountain.The Shepherd's face was sad and pale,He knew that wolves lurk'd in the vale:Many were lost, who that way went,Which all his care could not prevent;And many a mangl'd fleece display'dWhere the poor victims were betray'd.The wand'ring thing could not perceiveWhat made the Shepherd's bosom grieve:A rav'ning Monster crouching near,In ambush lay—the Lamb was dear,Dear as the drops that fed his heart—The Monster made a sudden start:The trembling Shepherd started too,On the swift wings of pity flew,But much he fear'd, a bri'ry alleyParted the mountain from the valley,And ere its mazes could be cross'd,His much‐lov'd treasure might be lost.Urg'd on by such intense desire,He heeded not the rending briar;One thing alone could now afflict him,The danger of the thoughtless victim;Amidst the tangling thorns he rush'd,From many a wound the crimson gush'd,Down trickling from his temples, metThe agonizing tear, that wetHis gentle breast! From ev'ry partThe stream of life was seen to start;His hands, his feet. his side, his head,Severely torn, profusely bled."With garments dyed," and sorely rent,Onward he press'd, his eye full bentUpon this dearly‐rescu'd Sheep.Oh! 'twould have made an angel weep,To view the anguish of that eye,Or hear the Shepherd's bursting sigh!With feelings such as none can tell,He gain'd the entrance of the dell,Just as the Wolf with eager eyesWas springing on his helpless prize:A moment later had been death,—He scarcely breath'd a second breath,But caught the dear one to his breast,And hid him in his blood‐stain'd vest!The rav'ning Monster back recoil'd,He saw the murd'rous project foil'd,Nor brook'd it tamely: vengeance rose,To tenfold murder quickly grows,Which burst in one malignant storm;When fast'ning on the Shepherd's form,He op'd another pouring flood,Then darted to the shelt'ring wood,The fatal wound indeed was deep,But he had sav'd his wand'ring Sheep!Traversing back with breathless haste,Athwart the dreary howling waste,Again through thorns and briars he rush'd,Again the trickling current gush'd;He felt all o'er one fest'ring wound,Each step incarnadin'd the groundWithin there throbb'd a deadlier smart,The Monster's fangs had reach'd his heart;His tender heart! A chasm wide,Sent forth the streaming vital tide;The Lamb was drench'd within its fountain,As slow he bore him up the mountain:But human nature can't sustain,Save to one point of racking pain.The Shepherd utter'd no complaint,But fainter grew, and still more faint;Till on the verdant turf he sank,Recumbent on the sloping bank,And with one deep and fev'rish sigh,Clos'd for awhile his languid eye;But though insensible he lies,His arms still grasp the rescu'd prize;The mountain zephyr fann'd his cheek,—Once more arising, sad and weak,Upward he pac'd: upon the heightThe fold now just appear'd in sight;But, oh! his weary soul was low,Many a step he'd yet to go!Feeble and varying was his breath,His spirit heavy e'en to death!And will he still embrace the Sheep?Still in his arms his treasure keep?Still on his bleeding bosom take it!Will nothing tempt him to forsake it?No!—though his pulses all are fleeting,That in his heart but faintly beating, Though life itself began to languish,Each sep'rate wound a source of anguish,His grasping arms retain their hold.Nor loosen till he gain'd the fold;Then as to earth the Shepherd dropt,For now the purple fount had stopt,He threw that gate of refuge wide,Smil'd on his blood‐bought Lamb, and died.A DREAM, WHEN THE AUTHOR HAD NO SAVING KNOW‐LEDGE OF CHRIST.I LOVE to lie quite still in Sleep's soft arms,And let my spirit wander where she lists,Regardless of those snares, those baneful harms,Which waking she so lazily resists.Oft do I feel her struggling to get free, While betwixt life and mimic death I lie,As if with high impatient energy,She watch'd th' expected signal when to fly.The signal comes! the body sinks supine,The eyes close up, fast barr'd those gates of light;The prison‐house no longer can confine—She takes her instant, her mysterious flight!Bound by no laws, restrain'd by no command,No interdiction now her thoughts controul,Th' untrammell'd wand'rer traverses the land,To hold communion with some distant soul.Communion sweet! as when the Saints of earthOne short hour freed from sublunary cares,Speak of EMMANUEL, His love, His worth,How they are His! and He, oh! He is their's!Once!—how I love to think upon that night!(Though grace as yet I knew not e'en in part,Calling light darkness, and the darkness light,A veil being on my eyes, and on my heart):The midnight hour had loos'd the spirit's chain,And she had left her cell to roam at large,Within that dungeon nothing could detain,Now downy sleep had seal'd her soft discharge.But night's vague visions prison'd me again:Deep in a dungeon barr'd by human laws,Th' attempt to burst whose ponderous bolts were vain,The Court was set, to plead my hopeless cause.Whate'er the crime that manacled my hands,How dread, how foul, sleep's whimsies did not state;Forth was I dragg'd through magisterial bands,At Justice' bar to learn my pending fate.Mute were spectators, loud the judge's tones,Scarcely was heard the softly issuing breath,Till 'midst a burst of sympathising groans,Was pass'd the soul‐appalling sentence—Death!This mitigation follow'd the dread sound,Life was repriev'd—but from my wrist a chainFast to a fellow‐pris'ner must be boundFor twice twelve mouths of days and nights of pain.I felt the handcuff clasp my nerveless arm,I heard the iron fetter harshly clink;But he most fill'd my breast with deep alarm,My destin'd partner in its binding link.Forth from the court thus manacl'd, we wentThrough multitudes that throng'd the teeming place, Toward a lone wilderness our steps we bent,But oh! I durst not look upon his face!Midst its deep shades, in silence and alone,I heard his measur'd footsteps pace with mine,While trembling I could scarce discern my ownTracking the desert in an equal line;—Till urg'd by fear itself, I dar'd the look,Fixing each eye upon my iron‐bound wrist,They glided up the chain which terror shook,And fasten'd on the face of—JESUS CHRIST!Yes! 'twas the darling SON of GOD'S delight,Who smiling fix'd his lovely eyes on me,And soon my trembling vanish'd at the sight,For oh! how instantly I knew 'twas He!He spoke soft words, and smil'd the desert through—Ah! his soft words my memory treasur'd not—Soon this divine companion silent grew,For now we reach'd again a crowded spot.And thus 'twas ever—oft through thronging streetAs onward traversing, He spake no word,But when we reach'd some verdant sweet retreat,The music of His voice again was heard!Oh! what a vision this to pass away!What a sweet slumber 'twas that morning broke,Well can I trace His smile this distant day—But all His words were lost when I awoke!Often, since grace divine unveil'd my eyes,Sin-sick and weary have I sought my bed,Anxious that He who cheers yon radiant skies,Should cheer again the visions of my head.But never since have I beheld that Friend'Mid the night-watches—Oh! there'll come a dream,A vision of Him, that will know no end,But I must go to sleep again to see Him!Yes, I must sleep again! a long, long sleep,Through that dark night which here can know no dawn,—A slumber so profoundly still and deep,Nought shall distrub it till one brilliant morn!Thou precious partner of my midnight chain,Still through a dreary wilderness I pace,But miss thy lucid smile, and look in vain,My sweet companion's footsteps to retraceYet I'm thy prisoner! Round this beating heartI feel a chain that binds me to thine own,Nothing its adamantine links can part,Firm as the basis of thy rocky throne!And still thy lovely eyes are fix'd on me,As o'er the desert land I lonely move,And oh! my weary eyes are up to Thee,My LORD, my GOD, my life, my only Love!BURIED WITH CHRIST IN BAPTISM.ROM. vi. 3, 4, 5. COL. ii. 12 YES! I have lain me in thy liquid grave,SON of the HIGHEST! buried in its depth,There planted in the likeness of Thy death,Emerging from the limpid element,To follow Thee in newness of the life,As Thou didst burst the Monarch's icy chain,And soar away into Thy native heaven!But oh, my murder'd LORD! how, how unlike!Sinless thou slep'st within Thy early grave,And sinless rose again! while I, alas!Descended underneath the lucid tide,With heart so treacherous, so full of sin,And rose from its fair surface still the same,Not one corruption left amid the flood,As prone to wander to forbidden things,And waste my energies of[The word "of" corrected in contemporary manuscript hand to read "on" in original scanned text.] all but—Thee!'Twas not Thy will, Thou high and lofty One,The re-creation of the Soul electShould Sin eradicate; but in Thy wordThere is a promise dearer than my life,That though its cursed seeds are still within,It shall not tyrannise o'er new-born souls,Or hold dominion o'er the Child of Heaven!Then be it so—Thy promises are sure!That shall suffice my weary, aching heart!WRITTEN ON A RAINY GOOD FRIDAY.WEEP, ye Heavens! weep, I say!My tears shall swell your gushing torrent!A deed most foul was done to-day,Which neither Earth nor Hell could warrant.A spotless Lamb, so pure, so white,With fleece all torn, was basely mangl'd:Your Sun could not endure the sight,And not one Star your conclave spangl'd.What a rude tempest He sustain'd!The sport of Earth, of Heav'n the wonder!Your Angels proffer'd help disdain'd,Who longed to hurl the bolted thunder.Weep on! ye frowning Heavens, weep!Embalm the lacerated Victim!Lave the red wounds He felt so deep,When your dread Sov'reign did afflict Him!Smote Him, and bruis'd Him for the stainsWhich sullied o'er His native brightness,Just as these desolating rainsDeform your soft cerulean lightness!Vent all your wrath, ye darkling Clouds,Full on each head that could deride Him!Weave, as ye roll, a dewy shroud,From ev'ry weeping eye to hide Him!Sweet Lamb! immaculate as sweet!Mine eyes your speaking wounds have water'dSee how poor Saints around Him meet,—'Tis their own JESUS CHRIST lies slaughter'd!LINESWRITTEN DURING THE TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE MOON, Lord's Day Night, June 9, 1816.PALEST of lights! why quench thy feeble lamp?Thou chaste, cold orb! why veil thy lurid face?No bright oppressive beams from thy bland sphereCause the clos'd eye to shrink beneath their fires:Scarce do thy silvery tinges gild the trees,Which wave around me in luxurious green,And seem to weep thy wan decrescent form!Stay, mournful star! thou best belov'd of nightShed all thy magic o'er this silent scene!Shine inward on the past, and re-illumeThe fire of mem'ry, dimm'd by sorrow's tears!And does the fire of mem'ry cease to glow?No fading beam! like thy obstructed light,It dies awhile, to blaze with greater power!Tarry amid thy sisters of the East,Who twinkle round thy car in stellate pride,And humbly emulate each lucent ray.Thou spotless orb! why shrink so fast away?Why thus retire behind that sable screen?Hast thou of deadly crimes a lengthen'd list,O'er which thy pensive eye retires to mourn?Or dost thou weep the crimes of other spheres?Dost thou behold the sins that spot our globe,Now parallel with thy resplendent disk!If so, alas! thou hast full cause to shrinkAnd redden, and retire amidst dun clouds,To veil the crimson of thy burning cheek!For thou dost blush, pale spark of heavenly light,Shame's deepest tint! I oft behold the flushSuffuse thy modest face, when o'er our hillsThou float'st sublime in chasten'd majesty!And well thou may'st, since deeds that shun the blazeOf that bright fire from whence thou gain'st those beams,Are all reserv'd to shock thy placid reign,And fright thee from the silence of the night!Return, mild ray! all Nature mourns thy loss!Can planets burn with envy in their course,That thus our jealous Earth in gradual shadeSteals o'er the surface of thy beauteous form,In dim eclipse?As if that ample shieldCould not extinguish ev'ry waning gleam!See from the dusky West, a floating massOf blacken'd vapour rises to its aid,And sails to where thou shed'st a dying flame!For now a faint Lunette, all lustre lost,Languid and pale, yon vista of dark cloudsBut just betrays thee to my eager eye,And now it closes round thee, feeble Spark,And all that cheer'd this lonely hour is fled!How mournful seems the sad deserted sky!The glimmering stars, forsaken by their queen,Die one by one, along the vault of heaven!Soft æther sighs amid the general gloom,And wakes to sympathy the slumbering leaves!A kindred sadness seizes on my soul,—Night's touching sorrow strikes a trembling chord,I will retire, and mourn thy transient death,Cold shrouded luminary! fare thee well!Oh! that I had in the Wilderness, a Lodging-Place of Way-faring Men.JEREMIAH, ix. 2OH! build me a hut, where that blue-streaming river*Winds placidly through the green valleys of CRAY;Where high on its breezes the aspin-leaves shiver,And deep in its dimples the fond willows play:There, dead to the world, all its vanities shunning,How sweetly would glide my remainder of life;Serene, undisturb'd, like its calm water running,Whose crystaline sluice was ne'er ruffl'd by strife.Oh! build me a hut with the earth of its border,And roof it with rushes from CRAY'S oozy bed,Bestud it with pebbles, which glow in disorder,Beneath its clear surface, brown, azure, and red:Distant thus from the world, I would pray o'er its crimes,And all I had seen of its mis'ries rehearse;While to thee, lovely fount, tho' imperfect my rhymes,I would pour forth my feelings in Scriptural verse.Oh! build me a hut where its blue baby-billowsCurl slow their soft heads to the stern winter blast;Conceal it from sight by embowering willows,Which kiss its bright tide where the current runs fast.When the austral breeze sighs through its bed of dank reeds,'Neath the wan beam of heaven as its limpid waves roll,I will think of those years till my aching heart bleeds,When first its bland murmurs athwart my ear stole!Oh! build me a hut where its silvery surges,Propell'd by rude gales, lave the emerald banks;Where in cones of green velvet the bulrush emerges,Waving high o'er the surface in tall spiral ranks;'Twas there roll'd away. my beginning of years,—'Twas there in the time of set favour, Grace found me;'Twas there trickl'd slowly Conviction's soft tears,While Mercy and Love threw their arms all around me!!!*A beautiful river in the Author's native valley.WITHOUT WERE FIGHTINGS, WITHIN WERE FEARS.2 CORINTHIANS, vii. 5.WHEN shall I sleep that long, long Sleep,From which no human voice can wake me—When o'er my corse shall mourners weep,When to yon heav'n shall angels take me?When shall I close my weary eyesOn vanity, on sin, and folly?When shall I burst those fragile ties,Which bind me here to melancholy?When shall I stay the trickling tear,So warm continually flowing?When dissipate those racking fears,Which doubt within my breast is sowing?When shall I cease to heave the sighWhich rives my bosom as it lengthens?When will Faith's penetrating eyeDissolve my doubts, my comforts strengthen?When will repose this wearied heart?When, when will cease its wild pulsation?When will Death aim that friendly dart,Which deadens me to all sensation?When will this throbbing pulse give o'er,When stop its quick, tumultuous beating?When will these lips inhale no more,The breath of life so weak, so fleeting?When shall I shift this troubled scene,Leaving a joyless world behind me?When shall friends seek me where I've been,Gaze all around—but shall not find me?When shall I see His lovely face,Which here was marr'd far worse than any?When shall I view that glorious place,His heart-felt griefs secur'd to many?Then—when I sleep that long, long sleep,From which affection's voice can't wake me!O'er my cold form my friends may weep,While to my JESUS angels take me!"And when the Woman saw that the tree was good for food, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat."—GEN. iii. 6.OH, woman! what hast thou done, presumptuous Eve!Stretch'd forth thy daring hand against command,Command of Him, whose high creative powerHas but now form'd thee. Ah! for that fell deed,Banish'd art thou for ever from his love!Cans't thou behold Him, when in cool of dayHe seeks free converse with the things He made?His frown will wither thee to nothingness!Impious offender! hide thee midst the trees,Speed to the shelter of the Tree of Life—The Tree of Life? 'twill wave thee from its shade!Thou hast beguil'd thy happy partner too,That noble creature, whom the God you dar'd,Form'd upright, till he shar'd thy direful guilt.Creation's Lord! why, why did'st thou give way?Why yield thy firmness to the weaker one?Was it, that gazing on her beauteous face,Thou could'st not let her sin and die alone?Dids't thou thus love the Mother of the World,Above the Maker of the Universe?The Maker of the Universe is nigh,Seeking thee, guilty one, within the grove.Hark! His tremendous voice in curses comesTo blast thee with its desolating breath!Lost man! lost guilty woman! Lo! He comesIn frowns vindictive!Did He come in frowns?List to His heavenly accents, while they waftSoft on thine ears, as His majestic stepNearer approaches! Oh! He comes to tellOf sacrifice, of ransom, of return,Of happiness, of heaven, of endless love!He comes to tell of one dear spotless Lamb,His soul's best treasure, His most holy child;He comes to say that Holy One shall bleed,Bleed to restore what insolent revoltThrew from thee, all the glories of his love!When will it come to pass?'Tis past, 'tis gone!That bleating Lamb has wander'd thro' the worldIn helplessness, in harmlessness, in grief!Woman! what hast thou done? The richest gemBlazing within heaven's regal diademIs not too lustrous to unset for thee!Fix'd in Redemption's radiant coronet,Circling thy guilty brows 'mid splendours vast,In heavenly innocence thou stands't array'd! What dost thou in return?All she could do,Dear suffering saviour, to abate thy woes!When man, creation's ruler, sought thy blood,Tracking his destin'd victim through each townHe sorrowing journey'd, woman follow'd too,Feeble in tears, all impotent to save!Yes, weeping woman tracked[The word "tracked" changed in contemporary manuscript hand to read "trac'd" in original scanned text.] thy wandering steps,Repentant woman bath'd thy weary feet,'Twas tender woman follow'd to the Cross,'Twas feeling woman would embalm thy corpse,'Twas trembling woman at the sepulchreVentur'd the task alone!First, first in sin'sDefiling trespass, often first to turn,Seeking forgiveness for the black offenceThere is a rock within the breast of man,That yields not to the trickling blood of CHRISTBut oh! its droppings soon dissolve the stoneIn woman's bosom, sooner far she meltsO'er the sad spectacle on Calvary!Mark the spread table of a murder'd lord,There hastens woman to remember Him;View the dark waters of his shadowy grave,'Tis timid woman oftener ventures there,Baptiz'd into his death! yes, dearest Lord,Woman did follow thee where'er thou went'st!Follows thee still! Well dost thou recompenseThe tenderness of souls so wholly thine.How many sisters 'mid the earthly foldsWhom JESUS loveth! Thou didst share thy heartWith woman in the town of Bethany!To woman thou did'st show thyself alone,First in the glimmering of the doubtful morn!Thou own'st no Parent on this cruel earth,But feeble woman! Saviour of our race,A lowly maiden gave thee to the world!LYRICS.Adapted to the popular tune,—"Come, Love, to me."WEARY, quite weary with sorrows contending,Had I the wings of a dove, I would flee;Thou, dearest Redeemer, those griefs befriending,Come in thy pity, oh, come, LORD, to me.Dreary, oh! dreary, as onward advancing,Life's tearful valley of troubles to me,While others round pleasure's gay altar are dancing,My aching heart whispers,—"Take me to Thee!"Break up the springs of the heart's purple fountain,Loosen the soft silver cord—set it free:JESUS! command my escape to the mountain—Bid me go die there, and hasten to Thee!Deeply and darkly the shadows are creeping,Fast closing round me from Death's waveless sea;Cold runs the life-tide, it soon will be sleeping:Farewell to all things!—I come, LORD, to Thee!The last beautiful Verse of the following is purloined from DR. COLLYER'S Collection of HYMNS,And was written by CHARLES WESLEY.—I am responsible for the three first. Suited to the Melody of "Oh, no, we never mention her." OH, yes! I'd hail the soft approach of Death's resistless tread,—I'd hasten on his noiseless march, and seek his downy bed;I'd wrap me in his winding sheet, and court his balmy touch,—'Tis said, that she whose love is deep, has been forgiven muchI catch through Death's "dark lattices" a glimpse of Him I love,—I'd burst the sable barrier, and dwell with Him above!Oh! point the friend in this cold world, that's half so dear to me;And in that land where all are fair, the dearest still is He!Then tell me not of joys to come in such a world as this,—To speak of JESUS where He is, can form its only bliss:But oh! his lingering chariot wheels still tarry in their flight;But come they will, and bear me home, and give Him to my sight!Then let my body languish, so He my soul redeem;And fail with mortal anguish, still I can trust in Him;Destruction as a blessing at JESU'S hand I meet,And calmly die embracing my dear Destroyer's feet!Never having been able to obtain the remaining Versesof the following, I have ventured to addthe last two.THE voice of Free Grace cries, "Escape to the mountain,For Adam's lost race CHRIST has open'd a fountain:For sin and uncleanness, and ev'ry transgression,His blood flows so free from the springs of salvation.Hallelujah to the Lamb! who has bought us a pardon!We'll praise Him again when we pass over Jordan.Oh! list to the voice that now bids us be going,O'er Calvary's summit the red tide is flowing;Let's bathe in the current from JESU'S heart stealing,That pure purple torrent His deep love revealing!Hallelujah to the Lamb! who thus buys us a pardon!We'll laud His dear name as we pass over Jordan.Haste, haste, ye lov'd tribes, then, to ford its deep surges,Each soul that embarks to sure glory emerges;Don't linger, or falter, or fear a rejection,The SPIRIT'S broad seal stamps your FATHER'S election.Hosannah to our GOD! who assures us of pardon,His oath will sustain 'midst the swellings of Jordan!To those who admire the brilliant harmony of MIRIAM'S SONG, my venturing to add two more Verses may not be disagreeable, to be sung as follows: SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!JEHOVAH has triumph'd! His people are free Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken,—His chariots and horsemen, all splendid and brave.How vain, was their boasting! the LORD hath but spoken,And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave!Soud the loud, &c.View the deep tomb of the daring transgressor—His lords and chief captains are slumbering below!Our GOD thus avenges His people's aggressor;How calm roll the surges o'er Israel's dread foe!Sound the loud, &c.High tower'd the walls of its crystalliz'd waters,While Heav'n's rescu'd thousands pass'd safe through the deep.They fell! and the glory of Egypt's proud daughtersFloats slow o'er its surface in death's lasting sleep!Praise to the Conqu'ror! oh, praise to the LORD!His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword!Who shall return to tell Egypt the storyOf those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?For the LORD hath look'd out from his pillar of glory,And all her brave warriors are dash'd in the tideSound the loud, &c.W. SEARS, Printer 11, Budge Row, City.