TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. THOMAS SPENCER, OF LIVERPOOL, Who was drowned while bathing in the tide, on the 5th of August, 1811, in his 21st year. "Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters; and thy footsteps are not known."-Psalm lxxvii. 19. VOL. II. I WILL not sing a mortal's praise; To whom my powers belong! In earth and ocean, sky and air, Seen, felt, or understood, From one eternal cause descends, I worship not the Sun at noon, I will not bow the votive knee To Wisdom, Virtue, Liberty; Him through all nature I explore, 16 Around, beneath, above; Oh! there was ONE,-on earth a while His beauteous image pass'd us by; Mild in his undissembling mien, The soul, whose hopes were wont to climb Of old, before the lamp grew dark, Thus early call'd, and strongly moved, From strength to strength, from grace to grace, He carried victory in his face; He triumph'd as he ran. * 1 Sam. iii. How short his day!-the glorious prize, To our slow hearts and failing eyes, Appear'd too quickly won: -The warrior rush'd into the field, The Sprit's sword, the Spirit's shield, The loveliest star of evening's train Who shall forbid the eye to weep, For ever bow'd his honour'd head, The heart of friendship cold and dead, Revolving his mysterious lot, I mourn him, but I praise him not; Who sent him, like the radiant bow, O Church! to whom that youth was dear, Behold the path he trod, "A milky way" through midnight skies! -Behold the grave in which he lies; Even from this dust thy prophet cries, 66 Prepare to meet thy GOD." THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN DEATH OF THE REV. THOMAS TAYLOR, After having declared, in his last Sermon, on a preceding evening, that he hoped to die as an old soldier of Jesus Christ, with his sword in his hand. "SERVANT of GOD! well done, Rest from thy loved employ ; A mortal arrow pierced his frame, Tranquil amidst alarms, It found him in the field, A veteran slumbering on his arms, His sword was in his hand, Still warm with recent fight, It was a two-edged blade Of heavenly temper keen; And double were the wounds it made, Oft with its fiery force, His arm had quell'd the foe, Bent on such glorious toils, The world to him was loss; At midnight came the cry, "To meet thy God prepare !" He woke, and caught his Captain's eye; His spirit, with a bound, Bursts its encumbering clay : The pains of death are past, And life's long warfare closed at last, A RECOLLECTION OF MARY F., A YOUNG LADY UNEXPECTEDLY REMOVED FROM A LARGE FAMILY CIRCLE. Her life had twice been saved, once from the flames, and again from the water, by an affectionate father. THRICE born for earth and twice for heaven, A lovely maiden once I knew, To whom 'tis now in glory given To grow, as here in shade she grew; |