Be thy Creator's glorious name
And character engrav'd.

For soon the shades of grief shall cloud
The sunshine of thy days;

And cares, and toils, in endless round
Encompass all thy ways.

Soon shall thy heart the woes of age
In mournful groans deploré,

And sadly muse on former joys,
That now return no more.

THE HOUSE OF WOURVIVE.

REV. WM. CAMERON.

WHILE others crowd the house of mirth,

And haunt the gaudy show,

Let such as would with Wisdom dwell,
Frequent the house of woe.

Better to weep with those who weep,
And share the afflicted's smart,
Than mix with fools in giddy joys
That cheat and wound the heart.

When virtuous sorrow clouds the face,

And tears bedim the eye,

The soul is led to solemn thought,

And wafted to the sky.

The wise in heart revisit oft
Grief's dark sequester'd cell;
And thoughtless still with levity
And mirth delight to dwell.

The noisy laughter of the fool
Is like the crackling sound
Of blazing thorns, which quickly fall
In ashes to the ground.

SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED.

PART I.

THIS Indian weed, now wither'd quite,

Though green at noon, cut down at night,
Shows thy decay;

All flesh is hay.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The pipe, so lily-like and weak,

Does thus thy mortal state bespeak,

Thou art even such,

Gone with a touch.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the smoke ascends on high, Then thou behold'st the vanity

Of worldly stuff,

Gone with a puff.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the pipe grows foul within, Think on thy soul, defil'd with sin; For then the fire

It does require.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And seest the ashes cast away;

Then to thyself thou mayest say,

That to the dust

Return thou must.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

RALPH ERSKINE.

PART II.

Was this small plant for thee cut down?

So was the plant of great renown;
Which mercy sends

For nobler ends.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

Doth juice medicinal proceed

From such a naughty foreign weed?

Then what's the pow'r

Of Jesse's flow'r?

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The promise, like the pipe, inlays,

And by the mouth of faith conveys

What virtue flows.

From Sharon's Rose.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

In vain th' unlighted pipe you blow:
Your pains in outward means are so,
Till heav'nly fire

Your heart inspire.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The smoke, like burning incense, tow'rs;
So should a praying heart of yours
With ardent cries

Surmount the skies.

Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

LIVES.

SIR ROBERT GRANT.

O SAVIOUR, whose mercy, severe in its kindness,
Hast chastened my wanderings and guided my way,
Adored be the power which illumined my blindness,
And weaned me from phantoms that smiled to betray.

Enchanted with all that was dazzling and fair,

I followed the rainbow; I caught at the toy, And still in displeasure, thy goodness was there, Disappointing the hope, and defeating the joy.

The blossom blushed bright, but a worm was below;
The moonlight shone fair, there was blight in the beam;
Sweet whispered the breeze, but it whispered of woe;

And bitterness flowed in the soft flowing stream.

1 The Rt. Hon. Sir Robert Grant, late governor of Bombay, was of one of the most ancient families of Scotland, and was a brother of the present Lord Glenelg. He died in 1838, and a collection of his "Sacred Poems" was published soon after in London.