Who lives, that can the stroke of death defend;
Or shall not to the silent grave descend?
Where is thy ancient love, thy plighted troth!
Confirm'd to David by a solemn oath!
Remember the reproaches I have borne,
Those of the mighty, and their bitter scorn:
Traduced; by thy enemies abhorr'd:

Yet, O my pensive soul, praise thou the Lord.

THOU through all ages art our God;
In thee was our secure abode,
Before thy compass drew the earth,

Or thence the mountains took their birth.

Yet man, who to destruction falls,
Thy voice into the world recalls:
A thousand years are, to thy sight,
Like a past day, or ending night.

Lost in a swift impetuous stream,
We seem but like a waking dream;
The flow'r that with the sun did rise,
I' th' evening hangs the head, and dies.

So cast into consuming fire,

In thy fierce anger we expire.

Our darkness yielding to thy light,
Our secrets can't escape thy sight.

We all our days in sorrow spend,
And as a tale that's told, they end:
Seventy compleats the age of man;
Eighty but stretches out his span:

And who beyond that measure strains,
Upon the rack prolongs his pains.
Who knows thy anger's power? or who
Pays thy just wrath the fear that's due ?

When once we're taught to count our days, Our hearts with wisdom we shall raise;

M

Return, O Lord, lo! we repent,
O free us from sin's punishment!

Blest God, thy sun of mercy raise,
And give us bright and happy days!
Measure the years which make us glad
Equal with those which made us sad.

Thy wonders to thy servants show,
And let their sons thy glory know;
May that on us its beams reflect,

And with its light our ways direct.

SIR JOHN DENHAM.

PSALM XC.

1, 2.

O LORD, our sure, our constant aid,

Our souls' supreme abode;

Who, ere the heav'ns and earth were made,

Art one eternal God.

8.

In death thou bidd'st our bodies lie;

To life recall'st again,

When Mercy's voice proclaims on high,
Return, ye sons of men."

4.

Thousands of years, Almighty Power!
Are moments in thy sight,

Day passes day, as flits the hour

That marks the watch of night.

13.

Teach then our souls, life's little space
With wisdom's eye to see,

1

And waft them, on the wings of Grace,
To Glory, and to Thee.

MASON.

PSALM XCI.

THIS beautiful psalm may have been composed by David: and there are parts of it, which make the supposition very probable. See ver. 14 and 16. It has no title in Heb. but in Sept. Vulg. and Arab. it is called "A praise-song of David.”-GEDDEs.

The subject of the ninety-first psalm is the secu rity, the success, and the rewards of piety. The

exordium exhibits the pious man placing all his dependance upon Almighty God:

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most

"Who saith to Jehovah, Thou art my hope and my "fortress!

My God, in whom I trust :

And immediately leaving the sentence unfinished, he apostrophizes to the same person, whom he had been describing:

"He indeed shall deliver thee

"From the snare of the fowler, from the destroying pestilence."

The imagery that follows is beautiful and diversified, and at the same time uncommonly solemn and sublime:

"With his feathers will he cover thee,

"And under his wings shalt thou find protection:

His truth shall be thy shield and thy defence. "Thou shalt not fear from the terror by night; "From the arrow that flieth by day;