They are the charge and care of the Most High,
Who tenders them as the apple of his eye;

And therefore they shall challenge as their own,
From the Lord's hand, a kingdom and a crown:
With his right hand he'll cover them from harm,
And mightily defend them with his arm.
He shall his jealousy for armour take,
And put in arms his creatures for their sake,
His and their foes to be reveng'd upon :
He for a glorious breast-plate shall put on
His righteousness, and for an helmet bear
True judgment, to astonish them with fear;
For an invinc'd shield holiness he hath,

And for a sword he sharpens his fierce wrath:
Nay, the whole world he'll muster, to surprise
His enemies, and fight against the unwise.

The thunderbolts, by the hand of the Most
High

Darted, shall from the flashing lightnings fly;
Yea, fly ev'n to the mark; as from the bow
Bent in the clouds; and in his anger go

That hurleth stones: the thick hail shall be cast;
Against them shall the flood and ocean vast
Be wondrous wrath, and mightily o'erflow;
Besides, the fierce winds shall upon them blow,
Yea, and stand up against them with their God,
And like a storm shall scatter them abroad.—
Thus wickedness the earth to a desert brings,
And sin shall overthrow the throne of kings.

JOHN DAY.

DAY, one of the poets of James the First's reign, was the author of "The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green," "The Isle of Gulls," and several other dramas. There is great breadth and vigour in the style of this writer: his lines occupy a mid-. dle place between the antique grandeur of Marlowe, and Dryden's nervous but finished couplets.

JOHN DAY.

MAN'S NATURAL INFIRMITY.

WHAT means my God? Why dost present to me
Such glorious objects? Can a blind man see?
Why dost thou call? Why dost thou beckon so ?
Wouldst have me come? Lord, can a cripple go?
Or, why dost thou expect that I should raise
Thy glory with my voice? the dumb can't praise.
Unscale my dusky eyes; then I'll express
Thy glorious object's strong attractiveness:
Dip thou my limbs in thy Bethesda's lake—
I'll scorn my earthly crutches; I'll forsake
Myself: touch thou my tongue, and then I'll sing
An hallelujah to my glorious King:

Raise me from this my grave-then I shall be
Alive, and I'll bestow my life on thee.

Till thou, Elijah-like, dost overspread

My limbs, I'm blind, I'm lame, I'm dumb-I'm

dead!

M

CONTEMPT OF THE WORLD.

ALOFT, O Soul! and make thy soaring plumes
Outreach the loathsome airs and noisome fumes
That spring from sordid earth: come, come,
and see
Thy birth, and learn to know thy pedigree.
What, wast thou made of clay? or dost thou owe
Homage to earth? Say, is thy bliss below?
Dost know thy beauty? Dost thou not excel ?
Can the creation yield a parallel?

The world hath not a glass to represent
Thy shape, and shall a dirty element

Bewitch thee? Think, is not thy birth most high?
Blown from the mouth of all the Trinity,
The breath of all-creating Jove, the best
Of all his works; thee, thee of all the rest
He chose to be his picture: where can I
But in myself see immortality

'Mongst all his earthly creatures? Thou art chief
Of all his works: and shall the world turn thief,
And steal away thy love? Wer't not for thee
The heaven-aspiring mountain should not be;
The heavens should have no glistering star, no light,
No sun to rule the day, no moon the night;
The globe had been ('twas not the Maker's will
To make it for itself) a chaos still.

Thou art God's priestly Aaron, to present
The creatures' service, while they give assent
By serving thee: why, then's the world thy rest?
'Tis but thy servant's servant, at the best.
The world is for our bodies; they for none
But for our souls, our souls for God alone.
What madness then for men, of such a birth,
To grovel all their days on dunghill earth,