A MORNING HYMN.

By the Rev. John Ewart.

"Father of all, to thee I'll raise,
My early prayer of love and praise.
It is thy great Almighty hand

Can raise me up, or make me stand.
It is thy Providence divine

Which still around me seems to shine.
Omnipotent art thou on high,

And yet thy goodness ever nigh.
O! rise, my soul, from sad despair,
From gloom and sorrow, grief and care,
Which soon can quite destroy the mind,
In this poor mortal frame confin'd.
The body sick may groan in pain,
And all God's mercies here in vain :
O! rise, my heart, to see his power,
His wisdom every day and hour.
O! let his goodness, all divine,
In every darkest moment shine.
It is the mind gives peace and health,
Far, far beyond the power of wealth.
O let thy mercy cheer my heart,
In this dark life to do my part;

To lead my soul the road to heaven,
By faith, and hope, and patience given.
Grant me a guardian angel near,
To give me aid, and banish fear,

And firm, yet humble, seek the road,

With strength which only comes from God.
O! in this feeble house of clay,

Let pious hope cheer every day.

The greatest joy to mankind given

Must flow from frequent thoughts of heaven:

O! let me feel thy power divine,

And every anxious care resign."

THE MELANCHOLY MAN.

To a Friend.

"To me, alas! what boots the light of heaven, While still new miseries mark my destin'd wayWhether to my unhappy lot be given,

Death's long sad night, or life's short busy day?

To me the scene is dark, yet I rejoice When chance some brighter, happier, hopes presents; Though not such change awaits my luckless choice, Still disappointment governs all events,

And mountains rise between my hopes and me.

If e'er one gleam of comfort glads my soul, If e'er my brow to wonted smiles unbend,

"Tis when the fleeting minutes, as they roll, Can add one gleam of pleasure to my friend.

Long has my bark in rudest tempests toss'd,
By stormy seas, and life's most hostile wave:
Suffice it now, in all my wishes cross'd,
To seek my peaceful harbour in the grave.

And when that hour shall come (as come it must),
As many moons by days and weeks increase,
Then this weak mortal frame shall sink to dust,
And all its vain pursuits and troubles cease.

Then may my friend weep o'er the funeral hearse, Then may his presence gild the awful gloom, And his last kindness be some mournful verse, To mark the spot that holds my silent tomb.

This, and no more- -the rest let heaven provide, To which resigned I trust my weal or woe, Assured, howe'er Omnipotence decide,

To find nought worse than I have left below."

Such were the verses of Gay the poet, who wrote the excellent "Fables," also "The Beggar's Opera," &c. He was Gay by name, and gay by nature, and by habits of life. Yet the genuine innate principles of piety had not been planted in his memory and his heart in early life; above all, he had not been taught at that period to read the Gospel of Christ. The Bible is the true medicine to cure melancholy, and to teach the heart that nothing is produced by chance.

SONNET CHRETIEN. PAR MONSIEUR BARREUX,

(A very respectable French author.)

"Grand Dieu! tes jugemens sont remplis d'équité,
Toujours tu prens plaisir à nous être propice;
Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonté
Ne me pardonnera, sans choquer ta justice.
Oui, mon Dieu! la grandeur de mon impiété
Ne laisse à ton pouvoir que la choix du supplice;
Ton intérêt s'oppose à ma félicité,

Et ta clémence même attend que je périsse.
Contente ton désir, puisqu'il t'est glorieux,

Offence toi des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;
Tonne, frappe, il est tems, rend-moi guerre pour guerre :
J'adore, en périssant, la raison qui t'aigrit.

Mais, dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre,

Qui ne soit tout couvert du sang de Jésus Christ."

No one can fail to observe how very inferior are the style and feelings expressed in these verses, compared with the vein of ardent and enlightened piety which we find in the beautiful hymns of Dr. Watts, Judge Hale, Addison, Thomson, and Milton. In them we see the heart of man elevated by the most exalted sense of the goodness, power, wisdom, and mercy of God, void of all self-importance and egotism, so obvious, in general, in all the French writers on Religion, Fenelon excepted. The pomp and external splendour of

the ceremonials and rites of the Popish Religion (wherein the heart and head have little concern) have, perhaps, created or increased vain glory in the addresses to the Almighty in the writers of France and Italy. The Protestant Religion is, by the pure and genuine spirit of the Gospel, made manifest by the Divine wisdom of Christ, full of patience, humility, and kindness, free from vain glory, and from all dark, gloomy, melancholy ideas. The first miracle of our Saviour was to turn the water into wine at the marriage at Cana, in Galilee'. He fed the people who were hungry in the wilderness; he healed the sick, and those severe nervous diseases by which both body and mind are greatly disordered. Travellers who have visited Jerusalem have written of the many nervous diseases which prevail there. The whole spirit of the Christian Religion is full of mercy, charity, and confidence in the goodness of God, if mankind are desirous of preventing sin from getting dominion over them, to destroy their happiness for ever.

1
1 John ii.