MRS. ROWE.

BORN 1674. DIED 1737.

Principal Works:-Devout Meditations, Friendship in Death, Poems, &c.

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THOU didst, O mighty God! exist
Ere time began its race;
Before the ample elements
Fill'd up the void of space:

Before the ponderous earthly globe
In fluid air was stay'd;
Before the ocean's mighty springs
Their liquid stores display'd:

Ere through the gloom of ancient night
The streaks of light appear'd;
Before the high celestial arch,
Or starry poles were rear'd:

Before the loud melodious spheres
Their tuneful round begun;
Before the shining roads of heaven
Were measured by the sun :

Ere through the empyrean courts
One hallelujah rang;

Or to their harps the sons of light
Ecstatic anthems sang:

Ere men adored, or angels knew,
Or praised thy wondrous Name;
Thy bliss, O Sacred Spring of life!
Thy glory, was the same.

And when the pillars of the world
With sudden ruin break,

And all this vast and goodly frame
Sinks in the mighty wreck;

When from her orb the moon shall start,
The' astonish'd sun roll back,
And all the trembling starry lamps

Their ancient course forsake ;

For ever permanent and fix'd,
From agitation free,
Unchanged in everlasting years,
Shall thy existence be.

WILLIAM COLLINS.

BORN 1728. DIED 1756.

From the few exquisite productions of this incomparable Poet, the following is, perhaps, the only fragment that can be fairly pressed into the service of" The Christian Poet."

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On Milton.

HIGH on some cliff, to Heaven up-piled,
Of rude access, of prospect wild,
Where, tangled round the jealous steep,
Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep,
And holy genii guard the rock,

Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock,
While on its rich ambitious head,

An Eden, like his own, lies spread;

I view that oak, the fancied glades among,

By which as Milton lay, his evening ear,

From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew,

Nigh sphered in Heaven its native strains could hear: On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung; Thither oft his glory greeting,

From Waller's myrtle shades retreating,

With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue,
My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;
In vain-such bliss to one alone,

Of all the sons of soul was known,

And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers, Have now o'erturn'd the' inspiring bowers, Or curtain'd close such scene from every future view.

EDWARD YOUNG.

BORN 1681. DIED 1765.

Principal Works:-Night Thoughts, Universal Passion, and other Poems.

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Address to the Deity.

"O THOU! whose balance does the mountains weigh,
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey,
Whose breath can turn those watery worlds to flame,
That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame;
Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls,
And on the boundless of thy goodness calls..
"Oh! give the winds all past offence to sweep,
To scatter wide, or bury in the deep:
Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see,
And wholly dedicate my soul to Thee:

Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and flow
At thy command, nor human motive know:
If anger boil, let anger be my praise,
And sin the graceful indignation raise;
My love be warm to succour the distress'd,
And lift the burthen from the soul oppress'd.
Oh may my understanding ever read

This glorious volume, which thy wisdom made!
Who decks the maiden Spring with flowery pride?
Who calls forth Summer, like a sparkling bride?

Who joys the mother Autumn's bed to crown? nd bids old Winter lay her honours down? Hot the great Ottoman, or greater Czar,

Not Europe's arbitress of peace and war. (a)
May sea and land, and Earth and Heaven be join'd
To bring the' eternal Author to my mind!

When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll,

May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul When Earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine, Adore, my heart, the MAJESTY Divine!

"Through every scene of life, or peace, or war, Plenty, or want, thy glory be my care!

Shine we in arms? or sing beneath our vine?
Thine is the vintage, and the conquest thine:
Thy pleasure points the shaft, and bends the bow;
The cluster blasts, or bids it brightly glow:
'Tis Thou that lead'st our powerful armies forth,
And giv'st great Anne thy sceptre o'er the north.
"Grant I may ever, at the morning ray,
Open with prayer the consecrated day;
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise,
And with the mounting Sun ascend the skies:
As that advances, let my zeal improve,
And glow with ardour of consummate love;
Nor cease at eve, but with the setting Sun
My endless worship shall be still begun.

And, oh! permit the gloom of solemn night
To sacred thought may forcibly invite.

When this world's shut, and awful planets rise,
Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies;
Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight,
And show all Nature in a milder light;

How every boisterous thought in calms subsides!
How the smooth'd spirit into goodness glides!
O how divine! to tread the milky way,
To the bright palace of the Lord of day:
His court admire, or for his favour sue,"
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew;

(a) Queen Anne.

Prasei a jak down, and see the world asleep Wile I img vels to its Fonder keep.

Canse Thun noc shake the centre? Or conne Since y arte, the rebel m my SONI:

That win cast soll the raging of the food,
dscam de mrious tem nits of my blood;
Ina ne, viri equal franess, to sustain
Aurog piessure, and assaulting pain.
Ar Thee in each desire!

AND WILL strong with foment the boy fre!
STEEM OIL 17 SOL in hope, and grasp the prize
When a Lenity's deep bosom lis
At the Great Day of recompense bebold,
Derai si jear, the fatal book unfold!
Den wiced upward to the bussful seat,
From age to age, my grateful song repeat;
Ky pay e, my God, my Saviour see,
And rival angels in the praise of Thee."

Fram Night Thoughts."]

Time.

THI bell strikes one. We take no note of time

To give it then a tongue

As if an angel spoke,

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours:

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.

It is the signal that demands despatch;

How much is to be done! My hopes and fear
Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-On what? a fathomless abyss;
A dread eternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?