things that blush to see the light, and either are shameful in manners, or private in nature, these

I love Thee,-when thy Sabbath dawns
O'er woods and mountains, dales and lawns,
And streams that sparkle while they run,
As if their fountain were the Sun:
When hand in hand, thy tribes repair,
Each to their chosen House of Prayer,
And all in peace and freedom call
On Him, who is the Lord of all.*

I love Thee,-when my Soul can feel
The Seraph ardours of thy zeal;
Thy Charities, to none confined,

Bless, like the sun, the rain, the wind;
Thy schools the human brute shall raise,
Guide erring Youth in Wisdom's ways,
And leave, when we are turn'd to dust,
A generation of the Just.

I love Thee,-when I see thee stand,
The Hope of every other land:
A sea-mark in the tide of Time,
Rearing to heaven thy brow sublime.

I love Thee, when I hear thy voice
Bid a despairing world rejoice,
And loud from shore to shore proclaim,
In every tongue, Messiah's name?
That name at which, from sea to sea,
All nations yet shall bow the knee.

I love Thee,-Next to heaven above,
Land of my Fathers! thee I love ;
And rail thy Slanderers as they will,
"With all thy faults I love thee" still.

* From Bolton's old monastic tower

MONTGOMERY.

The bells ring loud with gladsome power;
Of lasses and of shepherd grooms,
That down the steep hills force their way.

things are their care and their business. But if great things will satisfy our inquiry,—the course

Like cattle through the budded brooms;
Path or no path, what care they?
And thus in joyous mood they hie
To Bolton's mouldering Priory.
That sumptuous Pile, with all its peers,
Too harshly hath been doom'd to taste
The bitterness of wrong and waste :
Its courts are ravaged; but the tower
Is standing with a voice of power,
That ancient voice which wont to call
To mass or some high festival;
And in the shatter'd fabric's heart
Remaineth one protected part;
A rural chapel, neatly drest,
In covert like a little nest;
The sun is bright; the fields are gay
With people in their best array
Of stole and doublet, hood and scarf,
Along the banks of the crystal Wharf,
Through the Vale retired and lowly
Trooping to that summons holy.
And, up among the moorlands, see
What sprinklings of blithe company!
And thither young and old repair

This Sabbath day, for praise and prayer.

WORDSWORTH'S WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE.

Oh! brethren, I have seen sabbath sights, and joined in sabbath worships, which took the heart with their simplicity, and ravished it with sublime emotions. I have crossed the hills in the sober and contemplative autumn, to reach the retired lonely church betimes, and as I descended towards the simple edifice, whitherto every heart and every foot directed itself from the country round, on the sabbath morn, we beheld issuing from the vales and mountain glens, the little train of worshippers coming up to the congregation of the Lord's house, around

of the sun and moon, the spots in their faces, the firmament of heaven and the supposed orbs, the ebbing and flowing of the sea, are work enough for us; or, if this be not, let him tell me whether the number of the stars be even or odd, and when they began to be so. If these be too troublesome, search lower, and tell me why this turf this year brings forth a daisy, and the next year a plantane why the apple bears his seed in his heart and wheat bears it in his head; let him tell why a graft taking nourishment from a crabstock shall have a fruit more noble than its nurse and parent: let him say why the best of oil is at the top, the

which the bones of their fathers reposed, and near to which reposed the bones of one who had in cold blood fallen for his God, at the hands of that wretched man, the hero of our northern romances: bones oft visited by pious feet, and covered on the hill side where they lie with a stone bearing an inscription not to be paralleled in our noble mausoleum, which containeth the ashes of those whom the nation delighteth to honour. In so holy a place, the people assembled under a roof where ye of the plentiful south would not have lodged the porter of your gate. But under that roof the people sat and sang their Maker's praise," tuning their hearts, by far the noblest aim," and the pastor poured forth to God the simple wants of the people, and poured into their attentive ears the scope of christian doctrine and duty, and having filled the hearts of his flock with his consolations, parted with them after much blessing and mutual congratulation, and the people went on their way rejoicing. Oh! what meaning there was in the whole! what piety! what intelligence! what simplicity ! The men were shepherds and came up in their shepherd's guise, and the very brute, the shepherd's servant and companion, rejoiced to come at his feet. Oh! it was a sabbath! a sabbath of rest! From a Sermon of Edward Irving.

best of wine in the middle, and the best of honey at the bottom. But these things are not such as please busy-bodies; they must feed upon tragedies, and stories of misfortunes and crimes.*

ON MERCY.

IF do but see a maiden carried to her grave a you little before her intended marriage, or an infant die before the birth of reason, nature hath taught us to pay a tributary tear. Alas! your eyes will behold the ruin of many families, which though

* There is (for life is too short to be wasted on fruitless speculations) scarcely any subject of more importance than idle curiosity; or, to speak more correctly, (as all knowledge contains something good, all dross some pure metal), curiosity in things of little use. "Be not curious," says the preacher, "in unnecessary matters, for more things are shewed unto thee than men understand." "We spend our days," says the philosopher, "in unprofitable questions and disputations, intricate subtleties, de lana caprina, about moonshine in the

water.

Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought,
Are not important always as dear bought,
Proving at last, though told in pompous strains,
A childish waste of philosophic pains;

But truths, on which depend our main concern,
That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn,
Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread,
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.

See the conclusion of this note, in note II. at the end of the volume.

they sadly have deserved, yet mercy is not delighted with the spectacle; and therefore God places a watery cloud in the eye, that when the light of heaven shines upon it, it may produce a rainbow to be a sacrament and a memorial that God and the sons of God do not love to see a man perish.*

As contrary as cruelty is to mercy, as tyranny to charity, so is war and bloodshed to the meekness and gentleness of Christian religion: and, however, there are some exterminating spirits who think God to delight in human sacrifices, as if that Oracle-Καὶ κεφαλὰς ἅδη καὶ τῷ πάτρι téμtere pura, had come from the Father of Spirit, yet if they were capable of cool and tame homilies, or would hear men of other opinions give a quiet account without invincible resolutions never to alter their persuasions, I am very much persuaded it would not be very hard to dispute such men into mercies and compliances, and tolerations mutual, such I say, who are zealous for Jesus Christ, than whose doctrine never was any thing more merciful and humane, whose lessons were softer than nard, or the juice of the Candian olive.

* Sermon at the Opening of the Parliament.