formed the earth and the world', even from everlasting to ever 'asting', thou art God'.

Thou turnest man to destruction'; and sayest', “Retûrn', ye children of men'." For a thousand years in thy sight', are but as yesterday when it is past', and as a watch in the night. Thou carriest men away as with a flood'. They are as a sleep': in the morning', they are like grass which groweth up': in the morning it flourisheth', and groweth up'; in the evening it is cut down', and withereth'. For we are consumed by thine anger', and by thy wrath are we troubled'.

Thou hast set our iniquities before thee', our secret sins in the light of thy countenance'. For all our days are passed away in thy wrath': we spend our years as a tale that is told'. The days of our years are threescore years and ten'; and if', by reason of strength', they be fourscore years', yet is their strength labour and sorrow'; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away'.

Who knoweth the power of thine anger'? Even according to thy fear', so is thy wrath'. So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom'.

THROUGH every age', eternal God',
Thou art our rest', our safe abode':

High was thy throne ere heaven was made,.
Or earth', thy humble footstool', laid'.

Long hadst thou reigned ereb time began',
Or dust was fashioned into man';

And long thy kingdom shall endure',
When earth and time shall be no more'.

But man', weak man', is born to die',
Made up of guilt and vanity':
Thy dreadful sentence', Lord', was just',
"Retûrn', ye sinners', to your dust'."

A thousanda of our years amount'
Scarce to a day in thine account';
Like yesterday's departed light',
Or the last watch of ending night'.

Death', like an overflowing stream',
Sweeps us away': our life's a dream',
An empty tale', a morning flower',

Cut down and withered in an hour'.

•Thôizand—not, thouzn. 'åre. Sentense—not, sentunse.

Our age'..to seventy years'..is set':
How short the time! how frail the state.
And if to eighty we arrive',

We rather sigh and groan', than lîve'.

But', oh'! how oft thy wrath appears',
And cuts off our expected years!!
Thy wrath awakes our humblea dread':
We fear the power that strikes us dead'.

Teach us', O Lord', how frail is man';
And kindly lengthen out the span',
Till a wise care of piety'

Fit us to'..die and dwell with thee'.

SECTION XVII.

St. John, chapter 12.
Repenting Mary.

THEN', six days before the passover', Jesus came to Bethany where Lazarus was who had been dead', and whom he had raised from the dead'. There they made him a supper'; and Martha served': but Lazarus was one of them that sat at the table with him'.

Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard', very costly', and anointed the feet of Jesus', and wiped his feet with her hair' and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment'.

Version of the same.—MOORE.

WERED not the sinful Mary's tears'
An offering worthy heaven',
When o'er the faults of former years'
She wept'... and was forgiven'?

When', bringing every balmy sweet'
Her day of Luxury stored',
She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet'
The precious perfumes poured';

And wiped them with that golden hair',

Where once the diamond shone',

Though now those gems of grief were there',
Which shine for God alone'?

Um'bl. bWêr.

There's nothing true but Heaven.—MOORE.

THIS world is all a fleeting show',
For man's illusion given';

The smiles of joy', the tears of wo',
Deceitful shine', deceitful flow'-

There's nothing true'.. but Heaven'.

And false the light on glory's plume',
As fading hues of even';

And love', and hope', and beauty's bloom',
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb'-
There's nothing bright'.. but Heaven'.

Poor wanderers of a stormy day',

From wave to wave we 're driven';
And fancy's flash', and reason's ray',
Serve but to light the troubled way'—
There's nothing calm but Heaven'.

Secret Devotion.-IB.

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean, Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, My God, silent to thee:

Pure, warm, silent to Thee

So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee,
My God, trembling to Thee;

True, fond, trembling to Thee

So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.

"Wer. Såk'ré-fize. Sl'lènt-not, si'lunt.

SECTION XIX.

The Soul in Eternity.-BYRON.
WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay',
Ah', whither strays the immortal mînd'?
It cannot die', it cannot stây',

But leaves its darkened dust behind'.
Then', unembodied', doth it trace'

By steps each planet's heavenly way'?
Or fill', at once', the realms of space';
A thing of eyes that all survey'?

Eternal', boundless', undecayed',
A thought unseen', but seeing all',
All', all in earth or skies displayed'
Shall it survey', shall it recall':
Each fainter trace that memory holds'
So darkly of departed years',

In one broad glance the soul beholds',
And all that was', at once appears'.

Before creation peopled earth',

Its eyes shall roll through chaos back';
And', where the farthest heaven had birth',

The spirit trace its rising track'.

And', where the future'. . mars or makes',
Its glance dilate o'er all to be',

While sun'.. is quenched', or system'b.. breaks',
Fixed'... in its own eternity'.

Above or love', hope', hate', or fear',
It lives all passionless and pure':
An age shall fleet like earthly year';
Its years as moments shall endure'.

Away', away', without a wing',

O'er all, through all', its thought shall fly'.
A nameless and eternal thing',

Forgetting what it was to die'.

SECTION XX.

Henry the Fourth's Soliloquy on Sleep.-SHAKSPEARE.

How many thousands of myd poorest subjects
Are', at this hour', asleep! O', gentle sleep"!
Nature's soft nurse': how have I frighted thee',

That thou no more wilt weigh myd eyelids down',
And steep my senses in forgetfulness'?

Why rather', sleep', liest thou in smoky CRIBS',

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee',

Důth. Sis'têm. Mo'mènts. Me. Nå'tshårez.

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber',
Than in the perfumed chambers of the GREAT',
Under the canopies of costly state',

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody'?

O', thou dull god! Why liest thou with the vile',
In loathsome beds', and leav'st the kingly couch',
A watch-case', or a common 'larum-bell'?
Wilt thou', upon the high and giddy mast',
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes', and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude', imperious surge',
And in the visitation of the winds

Which take the ruffian billows by the top',
Curling their monstrous heads', and hanging them
With deaf'ningb clamours in the slipp'ry clouds',
That', with the hurly* death itself awakes'-
Canst thou', O', partial sleep'! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude',
And', in the calmest and the stillest night',
With all appliances and means to BOOT',

Deny it to a KING? Then happy', low lie down!!
UNEASY lies the head that wears a crown'.

SECTION XXI.

Apostrophe to Light.-MILTON.

HAIL! holy Light, offspring of Heaven first born,
Or of the eternal co-eternal beam,

May I express thee unblamed? Since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light

Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essences increate,
Or hear'st thou, rather, pure ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun,
Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight,

Through utter and through middle darkness borne

With other notes than to the Orphean lyre

I

sung of chaos and eternal night.

Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down

The dark descent, and up to reascend,
Though hard and rare; Thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovereign, vital lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain,

*Noise. *Tshame'bůrz. 'D¿f'fn'ing. Es'sense-not ès'sunse.