A SINNER saved, a saint on earth,
A spirit of immortal birth,
A pilgrim on the heaven-ward road,
A child returning to his God!
Where is the mount, the fiery flame?
From whence the thundering voices came,
That burthen once, so hardly borne,
Those sandals, in rude pathways torn?
Where are the terrors of the law?
The sight that once thy vision saw ;
Christian! forsake that tattered dress!
Thy passport through the wilderness,-
Christian to heaven direct thy gaze!
Attune thy voice to prayer and praise;
Christian let joy thy spirit fill!
Look up 'tis Zion's holy hill.
Thine eye perchance, turns fondly back
And views thy long forsaken track,
It sees destruction's dread domain,
Where guilt, remorse and terror reign;
It looks to Satan's citadel,
Where Sin and all her minions dwell-
See! too, the slough of deep despond !
Again, look up! hope smiles beyond.
That wicket gate! what pilgrims there
Have entered by the power of prayer!
Thine eye beheld infernal rage,
The prisoner in the iron cage ;-
Thou lookedst-and Demas' feet had gone
Where earthly dross like brilliants, shone,—
Those slippery ways! alas! alas!
The ways of man are smooth as glass,
But false the glitter and the show,-
Darkness and death lie veiled below.
Look on the vanities of men!
The sight forbids an angel's ken.
Christian with Faithful at thy side,
'Twas thine to roam each margin wide—
With him, in life's eventful day,
To tread your dark disheartening way-
Till summoned to that shadowy hour,
When flesh and heart shall yield their power.
Christian with Faithful tried and true!
On earth ye walked, with heaven in view:
Thine eye beheld him, when by faith,
He sealed his mission with his death-
Thine eye beheld ;-the martyr's crown,
The gates of pearl his soul hath won.
Pilgrim! thy journey still we see,
Marked out in life's reality;
Thy journey, strown with weeds and flowers,
Chequered with sunshine and with showers;
Thy journey- o'er the mountain side,
Or laid where silvery streamlets glide;
That self-same journey-pilgrim! still
Lies in our course to Zion's hill.
Thy story gladdens youth and age
With way-marks of thy pilgrimage;
Thy words of saintly import rest,
Still, in the listener's faithful breast,
Like golden apples, bright and fair,
That shine in silvery pictures there.
'Twas thine to cheer, with gospel light,
The way-worn wanderer of the night:
The safety-lamp of truth was thine,
Ordained in caverned mists to shine;-
And light like hers methinks, may well
'Mid earth's destructive vapours dwell.
Warrior in arms! the oppressor's rage
Did oft thy stedfast mind engage:
That royal conflict! when with might,
Apollyon grappled in the fight:
That conflict, Christian! laid thee low,
Who then should strike the master blow ?
Jesus, thy conquering Captain, see!
He died-and vanquished all, for thee.
Thine eyes beheld Immanuel's land!
On Jordan's bank 'twas thine to stand!
But Jesus in death's chilling wave,
Jesus Himself, was there to save.
How goodly then, the fair array
Of saints who soar in beams of day!
How bright was then each polished gem,
That graced the new Jerusalem!
The airs of heaven were sweet to thee!
And glad thy song of Jubilee!
We hail thee, in that spotless dress,
Thy Saviour's finished righteousness !
The strife is ended,-and thy rest
For ever lies in His dear breast,-
Whilst evermore, His love shall be
Thy soul's o'ershadowing canopy!
"For the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did; by the which we draw nigh unto God."-HEB. vii. 19.
LA BELLA-DONNA.
A LITTLE creature! full of sense,
Sparkling with bright intelligence,
A bel esprit !
Whilst fancy, taste, and genius shed
Their crowning honours on her head,
Most wittingly.
In kingly courts with grace, she trod,
Submissive to the princely nod
Of regal state;
She learned in silence, to obey
The mandates of imperial sway-
Well pleased to wait.
With manners polished and refined,
With memory and with powers of mind
In ample range;
She plunged in fashion's giddy stream, Convulsed in that tumultuous dream Of" chance and change."
She caught the passing hues of things,And in her gay imaginings,
With truth combined,
She penciled, with a limner's art,
That loftiest, most ethereal part,
The human mind.
Bishops, and books, and courtly news,
Soirées, and pageants, and reviews,
And princely men,
We picture, as in memory's eye,
We glance each bright reality
That filled her ken.
Doctors, and dons, and deacons, all,
The concert and the modish ball,
The gay parade;
The dinner visit,—and the park,
The route en-carrosse, in the dark,
The masquerade;
The beau, the courtier, and the wit—
The great philosopher, the cit,
The pedant, grave;
Ambassadors from foreign climes,
The orator who charmed his times,-
Admission crave.
The soul of music gave a sound
That echoed those bright halls around,
And ravished there,
With syren sounds of passing skill,
The captives taken at her will,-
The brave the fair!
The theatre with brilliants gay,
The mimic actors in the play,-
Garrick and friends;
Whilst conversation, de bon goût
Qui ne se comprend pas, de tout ;-
The scene commends.
Helas! je plains la gaieté
That leads the dance with vanity,
Nor finds repose;
We pity-and we pray the while,
That God on senseless man will smile,
And heal his woes.
|