Devotion was her work, and thence fhe drew
Delights which ftrangers never tafte,

Not the gay fplendors of a flatt'ring court;
Could tempt her to appear and shine:
Her folemn airs forbid the world's refort;
But I was bleft, and she was mine.

Safe on her welfare all my pleafures hung,
Her fmiles could all my pains control;
Her foul was made of foftness, and her tongue
Was foft and gentle as her soul.

She was my guide, my friend, my earthly all ;
Love grew with every waning moon;
Had heav'n a length of years delay'd its call,
Still I had thought it call'd too foon.

But peace, my forrows, nor with murmuring voice
Dare to accufe heaven's high decree :
She was firft ripe for everlafting joys;
Sophron, fhe waits above for thee.

A common occurrence moralized.

AS Theophron, one evening was fitting folitary by the fire, which was funk low, and glimmering in afhes, he mufed on the forrows that furround human nature, and befet the fpirits that dwell in flesh. By chance he caft his eyes on a worm which was lodged on the fafer end of a fhort fire brand: It feemed very uneafy at its

warm ftation, writhing and ftretching itself every way for relief. He watched the creeping creature in all its motions. " I saw it (said he, when he told this incident to Phiemus) reach forward, and there it met the living coal; backward, and on each fide, and then it touched the burning embers. Still ftarting from the prefent torment, it retreated and fhrunk away from every place where it had juft before fought a refuge, and ftill met with new difquietude and pain.

"At Jaft I obferved (faid he) that having turned on all fides in vain, it lifted its head upward, and raised its length as high as poffible in the air, where it found nothing to annoy it; but the chief part of the body ftill lay prone on the wood; its lower or worfer half hung heavy on the aspiring animal, and forbid its afcent. How happy would the worm have been, could it then have put on wings and became a flying infect!

"Such (fays he) is the cafe of every holy foul on earth; it is out of its proper element like the worm lodged among hot embers. The uneafy fpirit is fometimes ready to ftretch its powers, its defires and wishes on every fide, to find rest and happiness among fenfible good; but these things inftead of fatisfying its nobler appetites, rather give fome new pain, variety of vexation, and everlafting difappointment. The foul finding every experiment vain, retires and fhrinks backward from all mortal objects, and being touched with divine influence, it raifes itself up towards heaven to feck its God; but the flesh, the body, the

meaner or worfer half of the man, hangs heavy, and drags it down again, that it cannot ascend thither, where rest and ease are only to be found.

"What should fuch a foul do now, but pant and long hourly for a flight to the upper world, and breathe after the moment of its release ?What would be more joyful to fuch a fpirit, than the divine and almighty fummons to depart from flesh? O bleffed voice from heaven, that fhall fay to it, "Come up hither ;" and in the fame inftant fhall break off all its fetters, give it wings of an angel, and inspire it with double zeal to afcend!"

Death and Judgment.

i. YE virgin fouls arife,

With all the dead awake;
Unto falvation wife,

Oil in your veffels take;
Upftarting at the midnight cry,
Behold your heav'nly Bridegroom nigh.

2. He comes, he comes to call,

The nations to his bar,

And takes to glory all

Who meet for glory are:

Make ready for your free reward;
Go forth with joy to meet your Lord.

3. Go meet him in the fky,
Your everlasting friend;
Your head to glorify,

With all his faints ascend:
Ye pure in heart, obtain the

grace,

To fee, without a veil, his face.

4. Then let us wait to hear,

The trumpet's welcome found;
To fee the Lord appear,

Watching may we be found!
With that bless'd wedding robe endu'd,
The blood and righteousness of God.

The wearisome Weeks of Sickness.

BY DR. WATTS.

THUS pafs my days away. The cheerful fun ·Rolls round and gilds the world with lightsome beams,

Alas, in vain to me; cut off alike

From the bless'd labours, and the joys off life:
While my fad minutes in their tirefome train
Serve but to number out my heavy forrows,
By night I count the clock; perhaps eleven,
Or twelve, or one; then with a wishful figh
Call on the lingering hours, Come two, come
five:

When will the day-light come? Make hafte ye

mornings.

Ye evening fhadows hafte; wear out these days, These tedious rounds of fickness, and conclude The weary week forever.—

Then the fweet day of facred rest returns, Sweet day of reft, devote to God and Heaven And heavenly bufinefs, purpofes divine. Angelic work; but not to me returns

Reft with the day: Ten thousand hurrying thoughts

Bear me away tumultuous far from heaven,
And heavenly work. In vain I heave and toil,
And wrestle with my inward foes in vain,
O'erpower'd and vanquish'd ftill: They drag
me down

From things celeftial, and confine my fenfe
To prefent maladies. Unhappy ftate,
Where the poor fpirit is fubdu'd t' endure
Unholy idleness, a painful abfence

From God and heaven, and angels' blessed work,
And bound to bear the agonies and woes
That fickly flesh and shattered nerves impofe.
How long, O Lord, how long!