unworthy wicked adults, the outward sign is not inseparable from the inward grace: nay, he goes even further than I am disposed to do; for I think, that let an adult be ever so unworthy and devoid of faith, he yet derives one benefit from the reception of baptism-I mean incorporation into the visible church, so that if afterwards he should by God's grace amend his life, he has no need of a fresh baptism; he has already been baptized with water, he is now, when reformed, baptized with the Holy Spirit. It certainly seems to me, Mr. Editor, that such a person ought not to be re-baptized; is not this your opinion? I should be glad to hear the sentiments of yourself or of any pious and learned divine on this point. faithful servant,

I am, Sir, your

PHOENIX.

P. S. Your correspondent does not notice what I said regarding Acts x. 47.

POEMS BY JOHN CHARLES EARLE.

(St. Edmund's Hall, Oxon.)

No. VI. TABOR.

"And, behold, there talked with him two men, which were Moses and Elias: who appeared in glory, and spake of his decease, which he should accomplish at Jerusalem."-Luke ix. 30, 31.

THEY talk not of the conquering song

By Egypt's waters sung,

From timbrelled maid and choral throng
On ravished breezes flung:

They talk not of that pillar bright,
The dawn of eve, the sun of might,
Nor echoing praise that rung
Some Pisgah of the skies, when first
The Canaan true on Moses burst.

They talk not of the Cherith brook,
By heavenly fountains fed,
Where, finding more than he forsook,
The bird-nursed prophet fled;
They talk not of the car of fire,
With coursers panting to aspire,

In which to heaven he sped,
Like victor to his home returned,
His glory, crown, and triumph earned.

No. V. "The Ground Ivy," in our number for May, was published anonymously.

They talk not of the plausive strain,
And melting music's thrill,
Sustained o'er every dulcet plain,
And undulating hill;

They talk not of the glad surprise
With which they tread the sapphire skies,

And find new wonders still,

And feel when ages' course has run,
Their life of science but begun.

They talk not of the deep delight

On Jesu's throne to gaze,

And bask their souls, that shine so bright,
In Love's unclouded blaze,
Nor glassy sea, nor shelly shores,
Where sailing saint his shallop moors,

And thoughtfully delays,

Inscribing on the golden sand

Some praise of that enchanted land.

They talk not of the promised hour,
When, throned on Zion's hill,
The Lord shall in his pomp and power
The present type fulfil,*

When risen saints shall leave the skies,
Or deathless, like Elijah, rise,

And circles round Him fill,

And bear Him to his blood-bought throne,-
They talk of Jesu's cross alone.

Adored Spirit, when, sublime,

And passive in thy guiding hand,

The holy hill of prayer I climb,

And glimpse my more than native land,

Although on Tabor's mount I see

My Lord, transfigured, gloriously
Before his ancients stand,

Soon, turning from the dazzling throne,
We talk of Jesu's cross alone.

Our Lord's transfiguration on the Mount was a type of his second Advent. 2 Pet. i. 16-18.

66

Moses may be considered as representing those members of the church who sleep in Jesus," and whom "God will bring with him;" Elias, those who shall be "alive and remain unto the coming of the Lord," and "shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air." 1 Thess. iv.

A being who can never see
How high his destinies may be,—

I shall, with keen delight,

With men of each bright orb converse,
And hear them all its praise rehearse.

It may be that their deathless soul
Has other modes of thought than mine;
It may be all the stars that roll

With some peculiar glories shine;
And yet if Reason, Law, and Love,
Are found, in every realm above,
Supreme, alike divine,

We sure may find congenial theme
However far distinct we seem.

And yet, perchance, their thoughts may turn
From every theme beside,

And more about the cross would learn,
The cross where Jesus died:

And, if immortals shed a tear,

Some heart-wept grief-drops may appear,
While, sitting side by side,

On sunny sward, or golden throne,
We talk of Jesu's cross alone.

When we have passed the gloomy flood,
And gained the quiet shore,

Our vesture washed in Jesu's blood,
And dyed in martyr's gore;
When parted friends again are met,
Again in social circles set,

To separate no more;

No other theme our lips shall own,
But talk of Jesu's cross alone.

When age on age has passed away,
Like flash of insect's wing,
New glories, each celestial day,
Around the cross shall cling;

And saints shall fill their urn-like souls

With water of delight, that rolls
From that perennial spring;

Nor other theme their harps shall own,

But sing of Jesu's cross alone.

No. VII. THEE.

FOND Alchemy's delusive dream
Transmuted all to gold;

When Midas stirred Pactolus' stream,
With costly sands it rolled.

Thus, Saviour, would my spirit turn

Things earthly to divine;

In every sight and sound discern
Some type of Thee, or thine.

The mountain heights, the valley's depths,
The shore, the bounding sea;
All are but nature's golden steps,
By which I mount to Thee!

I wander 'neath the moon's soft ray,
When stars, to fancy's eye,

Seem lamps to light an angel's way,
Returning to the sky.

Then while alert from star to star
On wings of thought I glide;
I think how bright thy glories are,
How dark is all beside!

The world is wrapt in guilt and woe,
The shadows will not flee,
Till darkness learns like light to glow,
Thou morning star, from Thee.

When evening spreads her sable pall,
The trees in dark relief,

Which stand like mourners mute, in all

The majesty of grief:

The weeping birch, the poplar's spire,

The pyramid of pines;

The oak, a forest's hoary sire,

The laden trellised vines;

The beech, umbrageous, branching wide,
All lead me to the tree-

The sacred tree where Thou hast died,
And leave me there with Thee.

I cull the flowers of sweetest scent,
And summer's richest dye;
A boon for one more lovely meant,
And in a garland tie.

And then I think how all below,
Around me, and above,—

All that an angel's ken may know,
Of beauty, power, and love,-

All worlds that roll so bright and fleet,
Beyond where angels flee,
Are but a garland at thy feet,
And hardly worthy Thee.

I see a bright bird tower on high,
And leave the world behind;
And glitter as she cleaves the sky,
Or rests upon the wind :

And then I would my soul had wings,
To mount and flee away,
And leave all sublunary things,
And quite forget her clay :-

Forget the world's tumultuous strife,
To heaven her own home flee;
And nestle in the tree of life,

And ever sing to Thee.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE CHRISTIAN REMEMBRANCER.

SIR,-Permit me to call your attention to a very unfair artifice used by those who violently oppose, not only the Tracts for the Times, but all the Clergy who, in the present day, endeavour to uphold the rubrics

• When our Lord was on his way to Mount Calvary, St. Veronica, according to a Romish legend, lent him her veil or kerchief, in order that he might wipe the dust and sweat away from his sacred face; the veil being returned, the astonished saint discovered that it contained a perfect image of her Saviour's countenance.