Dim miniature of greatness absolute !
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust :
Helpless immortal! insect infinite!

A worm! a god! I tremble at myself,

And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, And wondering at her own. How Reason reels!

O what a miracle to man is man;

Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread!
Alternately transported and alarm'd!

What can preserve my life, or what destroy !
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave;
Legions of angels can't confine me there.

THE BLEST IN HEAVEN.

Giles Fletcher.

No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow,
No bloodless malady empales their face,
No age drops on their hairs his silver snow,
No nakedness their bodies doth embase,
No poverty themselves and theirs disgrace,

G

No fear of death the joy of life devours,

No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers,

No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours.

But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain;

The infant wonders how he came so old,

The old man how he came so young again;

Still resting, though from sleep they still refrain
Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe;
And all are kings, and yet no subjects know,
All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow.

For things that pass are past, and in this field
The indeficient spring no winter fears;
The trees together fruit and blossom yield,
The unfading lily leaves of silver bears,
And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears;
And all of these on the saints' bodies grow,
Not, as they wont, on baser earth below :
Three rivers here, of milk, and wine, and honey

flow.

THE SEA.

Barton.

BEAUTIFUL, sublime, and glorious,
Mild, majestic, foaming, free,—
Over time itself victorious,

Image of eternity.

Sun, and moon, and stars shine o'er thee,

See thy surface ebb and flow;

Yet attempt not to explore thee

In thy soundless depths below.

Whether morning's splendours steep thee
With the rainbow's glowing grace,
Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee,
"Tis but for a moment's space.

Earth, her valleys, and her mountains, Mortal man's behest obey;

The unfathomable fountains

Scoff his search, and scorn his sway.

Such art thou-stupendous Ocean!
But, if overwhelm'd by thee,
Can we think without emotion

What must thy CREATOR be?

THE JUDGMENT.

Milman.

THE Chariot! the Chariot! its wheels roll in fire,
As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire:
Self-moving it drives on its pathway of cloud,
And the Heavens with the burthen of Godhead
are bow'd.

The Glory! the Glory! by millions are pour'd, The hosts of the Angels to wait on their Lord, And the glorified saints, and the martyrs are there, And all who the palm-wreath of victory wear.

The Trumpet! the Trumpet! the dead haveall heard: Lo, the depths of the stone-covered charnel are stirr❜d: [the north From the sea, from the land, from the south and The vast generations of man are come forth.

The Judgment! the Judgment! the thrones are

all set :

[met! Where the Lamb, and the white-vested elders are

All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on his word.

Oh Mercy! Oh Mercy! look down from above, Creator! on us, thy sad children, with love! When beneath to their darkness the wicked are

driven,

May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven.

THE BIBLE.

Sir W. Scott.

WITHIN this awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries;
Happiest they of human race
To whom their God has given grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray;
To lift the latch, to force the way;
And better had they ne'er been born,
Than read to doubt, or read to scorn.