Dead in offences, by his aid revived,

Quicken'd in spirit by the grace he yieldeth : Sound then his praises, to the world's amazement Thankfully singing.

GOD MY REFUGE.

PSALM XIII.

HEAR, O Lord and God! my cries;
Mark my foes' unjust abusing;
And illuminate mine eyes,

Heavenly beams in them infusing;

Lest my woes, too great to bear,
And too infinite in number,
Rock me soon, 'twixt hope and fear,
Into death's eternal slumber;

Lest my foes their boasting make,
"Spite of right on him we trample;"
And a pride in mischief take

Hearten'd by my sad example.

As for me I'll ride secure

At thy mercy's sacred anchor,
And undaunted will endure

Fiercest storms of wrong and rancour.

These black clouds will overblow,
Sunshine shall have his returning,
And my grief-wrung heart, I know,
Into mirth shall change his mourning.

Therefore I'll rejoice and sing
Hymns to God, in sacred measure,
Who to happy pass will bring

My just hopes, at his good pleasure.

THE LORD MY SHEPHERD.

God, who doth all nature hold
In his fold,

Is my Shepherd kind and heedful;
Is my Shepherd, and doth keep

Me, his sheep,

Still supplied with all things needful.

He feeds me in fields, which been

Fresh and green,

Mottled with spring's flowery painting;

Through which creep, with murmuring crooks, Crystal brooks,

To refresh my spirit fainting.

Shades on every side enfold me,

Dreadless, having Thee for guide,

Should I 'bide,

For thy rod and staff uphold me.

Thou, my board with messes large,
Dost surcharge;

My bowls full of wine thou pourest,
And before mine enemies'

Envious eyes,

Balm upon mine head thou showerest.

Neither dures thy bounteous grace

For a space,

But it knows nor bound, nor measure: So my days, to my life's end,

Shall I spend

In thy courts with heavenly pleasure.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

DIED 1650.

THE comparative ignorance which prevails respecting the merits of this Author, whose delicate fancy, tenderness, and singular beauty of diction are alike admirable, will, it is hoped, be sufficient excuse for recurring to his productions in the present volume; even though he is now brought before the reader principally in the character of a translator. In simplicity and force, however, the subjoined version from "Marino" is superior to the greater part of Crashaw's original compositions. Limits were set here to the play of his "thick-coming fancies." The two poems which follow the translation have been highly commended by critical authorities, from which it would be presumption to appeal; the verses "On a Prayer Book," having, we are told, been considered by Coleridge as "one of the greatest poems in the language," while the "Epitaph on Mr. Ashton," was highly commended by Pope.