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But what the beauty of the plain, compared
To that sublimity which reigns enthroned,
Holding joint rule with solitude divine,
Among yon rocky fells that bid defiance
To steps the most adventurously bold !
There silence dwells profound; or if the cry
Of high-poised eagle break at times the calm,
The mantled echoes no response return.
But let me now explore the deep sunk dell :
No foot-print, save the covey's or the flock's,
Is seen along the rill, where marshy springs
Still rear the grassy blade of vivid green.
Beware, ye shepherds, of these treacherous haunts,
Nor linger there too long : the wintry day
Soon closes, and full oft a heavier fall,
Heaped by the blast, fills up the shelter'd glen.
While gurgling deep below the buried rill
Mines for itself a snow-coved way. Oh! then
Your helpless charge drive from thetempting spot,
And keep them on the bleak hill's stormy side,
Where night-winds sweep the gathering drift

away :
So the Great Shepherd leads the heavenly flock
From faithless pleasures full into the storms
Of life, where long they bear the bitter blast,
Until at length the vernal sun looks forth,
Bedimmed with showers; then to the pastures

green He brings them where the quiet waters glide, The streams of life, the Siloah of the soul.

JAMES GRAHAME.

Who is the King of Glory? TEAR, O ye nations ! hear it, О ye dead!

He rose ! he rose! he burst the bars of death. Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates! And give the King of glory to come in. Who is the King of glory ? he who left His throne of glory, for the pang of death! Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates ! And give the King of glory to come in. Who is the King of glory? he who slew The ravenous foe, that gorg'd all human race! The King of glory, he, whose glory fillid Heaven with amazement at his love to man; And with divine complacency beheld Powers most illumin’d wilder'd in the theme.

The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain? Oh the burst gates! crush'd sting! demolish'd

throne ! Last gasp! of vanquish'd Death. Shout Earth

and Heaven! This sum of good to man. Whose nature, then, Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb! Then, then, I rose; then first humanity Triumphant pass’d the crystal ports of light, (Stupendous guest !) and seiz'd eternal youth, Seiz'd in our name. E'er since, 't is blasphemous To call man mortal. Man's mortality Was, then, transferr'd to death; and Heaven's

duration Unalienably seal'd to this frail frame,

This child of dust-Man, all immortal! hail; Hail, Heaven! all lavish of strange gifts to man! Thine all the glory; man's the boundless bliss.

Where am I rapt by this triumphant theme, On Christian joy’s exulting wing, above Th’ Aonian mount ? Alas! small cause for joy! What if to pain immortal ? if extent Of being, to preclude a close of woe ? Where, then, my boast of immortality ? I boast it still, though cover'd o'er with guilt; For guilt, not innocence, his life he pour'd, 'T is guilt alone can justify his death! Nor that, unless his death can justify Relenting guilt in Heaven's indulgent sight. If, sick of folly, I relent; he writes My name in Heaven, with that inverted spear (A spear deep-dipt in blood !) which pierc'd his

side, And opened there a font for all mankind, Who strive, who combat crimes, to drink, and

live: This, only this, subdues the fear of death.

And what is this?—Survey the wondrous cure: And at each step, let higher wonder rise ! “Pardon for infinite offence! and pardon Through means that speak its value infinite! A pardon bought with blood! with blood divine ! With blood divine of him I made my foe! Persisted to provoke! though woo’d, and aw'd, Blest, and chastis'd, a flagrant rebel still! A rebel, ʼmidst the thunders of his throne ! Nor I alone! a rebel universe !

My species up in arms! not one exempt!
Yet for the foulest of the foul he dies,
Most joy'd, for the redeem'd from deepest guilt!
As if our race were held of highest rank;
And godhead dearer, as more kind to man!”

Bound, every heart! and every bosom burn!
O what a scale of miracles is here!
Its lowest round, high planted on the skies;
Its towering summit lost beyond the thought
Of man or angel! O that I could climb
The wonderful ascent, with equal praise !
Praise! flow for ever (if astonishment
Will give thee leave :) my praise ! for ever flow;
Praise ardent, cordial, constant, to high Heaven
More fragrant, than Arabia sacrific’d,
And all her spicy mountains in a flame.

So dear, so due to Heaven, shall praise descend, With her soft plume (from plausive angel's wing First pluck'd by man) to tickle mortal ears, Thus diving in the pockets of the great ? Is praise the perquisite of every paw, Though black as Hell, that grapples well for

gold ? Oh love of gold! thou meanest of amours ! Shall praise her odours waste on virtue's dead, Embalm the base, perfume the stench of guilt, Earn dirty bread by washing Ethiops fair, Removing filth, or sinking it from sight, A scavenger in scenes, where vacant posts, Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect Their future ornaments ? From courts and

thrones,

Return, apostate Praise ! thou vagabond !
Thou prostitute! to thy first love return,
Thy first, thy greatest, once unrivall’d theme.

There flow redundant; like Meander flow
Back to thy fountain; to that Parent Power,
Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to

soar, The soul to be. Men homage pay to men, Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they bow In mutual awe profound of clay to clay, Of guilt to guilt; and turn their back on thee, Great Sire! whom thrones celestial ceaseless

sing: To prostrate angels, an amazing scene! O the presumption of man's awe for man! Man's Author! End! Restorer ! Law! and

Judge! Thine, all; day thine, and thine this gloom of

night, With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds: What, night eternal, but a frown from thee ? What, Heaven's meridian glory, but thy smile ? And shall not praise be thine, not human praise ? While Heaven's high host on hallelujahs live ?

O may I breathe no longer than I breathe My soul in praise to him, who gave my soul, And all her infinite of prospect fair, Cut through the shades of Hell, great love! by

thee, O most adorable! most unador'd, Where shall that praise begin, which ne'er should

end?

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