O, talk of God in secret shades,
Where silence every part pervades,-
The pine scarce waves its head,—
And sacred awe prevails around,
And every step is holy ground

And

Where Faith delights to tread.

ye whose voice is heard afar,
Say whence ye coine, and whose ye are,
And who has bid you roar !
Lift high to Heaven the impetuous song,
And in your boldest notes prolong

His praise from shore to shore!

Nor brooks nor rills the strain refuse,
And let me catch it as I muse

Beside your banks so fair:

Ye headlong torrents, dark and deep,
Ye softer floods that silent sleep,
Jehovah's praise declare.

And thou, majestic main, arise,
And sound His praises to the skies
Who swells thy rolling tide!
Whose greater voice or bids thee roar,
Or bids thee calmly kiss the shore,

When winds and waves subside.

Soft roll your incense, herbs and fruits!
While every flower its fragrance shoots,
In mingled clouds to Heaven!
Whose sun exalts, whose breath perfumes,
Whose showers refresh, whose light illumes,
By whom your tints were given.

Ye forests, bend! ye harvests, wave
To Him who all your produce gave,
And ripen'd all your store!
And let your silent praise impart
A secret joy to man's glad heart,
And bid his spirit soar!

Ye stars, effuse your mildest ray,
As through the vault of Heaven ye stray,
And glow with sacred fire!
And, while ye speak your Maker's praise,
Their sweetest songs let angels raise,
And strike the silver lyre!

Great source of day! as round the world
We see thy glorious light unfurl'd,

Praise Him who bade thee shine!

Let every beam His love declare,

Who placed thy lamp of brightness there
To speak His power divine!

Ye thunders, sing His praise aloud,
And, echoing back from cloud to cloud,
Inspire the swelling gale!

Retain the sound, ye rocks and hills!
Praise Him who all creation fills,-

Whose kingdom shall prevail !

Ye groves and woodlands, all awake,
And at the strains of music break

From your remotest shade!

Let every creature,-earth and air,—
That boundless power and love declare
Which all his works pervade!

But chief, let reasoning man proclaim
With lofty songs his Maker's name!—
Let crowded cities raise

One general, one harmonious song,
And through the extended earth prolong
The great Jehovah's praise !

And ye who seek the rural shade,
And court the cool, sequester'd glade,
There feed devotion's fire!
Unite, the tribute just to pay,
The shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
And the poetic lyre !

For me, if I forget to raise
The voice of prayer, the song of praise,
And every change to greet,-

O let my fancy paint no more!
My tongue be mute, my joys be o'er!-
Forget my heart to beat!

Should Fate compel my steps to stray,-
Bear me to distant climes away,-
To regions wild and bare !
Where'er I dwell, where'er I roam,
I find a Father and a home,

For God is everywhere!

E'en to the farthest verge of earth
He gives the vast creation birth,

And boundless love declares!
In cities full, or barren wastes,
Man all his Maker's bounty tastes,
And all His mercy shares !

And, at the last, the solemn hour,
When death, with irresistless power,
Shall bear my soul away
To wing its long and mystic flight

Through realms of gloom, and shades of night,-
I cheerful will obey!

I cannot go where Endless Love,—
Sustaining all yon orbs above,-

Siniles not on all around;

Educing good from seeming ill,
And better thence, and better still,
To time's remotest bound.

But let me cease my feeble song,
Nor thus th' unequal strain prolong,
The fruitless anthem raise !
I lose myself in heavenly light!—
O let me curb my daring flight,
And silent muse His praise.

Totnes, Devon, June 11, 1824.

Crediton.

WRITTEN AT SUNSET, JULY 30, 1824.

Lo, the sun's triumphal car
Bears the victor from his war ;-
Yet a moment he delays

O'er the last of vanquish'd days,
Rearing, on the west's blue shore,
To his God one trophy more:
Golden banners here are twining,

There rich clouds, like arms, are roll'd

Fiery arms that burn in shining,
Shield of light and sword of gold.
Pause and view yon pile sublime
On the field of conquer'd time.
Pause and look, with no vain gaze,
Where goes down the last of days:
Read the moral, writ in fire
On the day's proud funeral pyre.
Life is like the vanished sun;
Swift as that, its race is run.

Like the clouds, which veil'd the azure
Of the day for ever pass'd,
Tears and trials dim the pleasure
Of man's hours, until the last.
Trace and learn the lore sublime
On the scroll of parted time.

Enter, like the lord of day,
On thy brief, but lofty way.
Scorn, like him, each dusky clond
Weaving round a transient shroud :
Pass, like him, serene and high,
On the march that wins the sky.
So shall every cloud surrender

All its gloom at evening hour,
Verging, in one pomp of splendour,

Round the light that spurn'd its power.
List, oh list, the voice sublime

From the grave of buried time!

A BALLAD,

On the Irish Superstition of a Child changed by Fairies, by Mr. Anster.

[From "Researches in the South of Ireland." By T. C. Croker. 4to. pp. 86, 87.] The summer sun was sinking

With a mild light calm and mellow,

It shone on my little boy's bonny cheeks,
And his loose locks of yellow.

The robin was singing sweetly,

And his song was sad and tender;

And my little boy's eyes as he heard the song
Smiled with a sweet soft splendour.

My little boy lay on my bosom,

While his soul the song was quaffing:
The joy of his soul had ting'd his cheek,
And his heart and his eye were laughing.

I sat alone in my cottage,

The midnight needle plying;

I feared for my child, for the rush's light
In the socket now was dying.

There came a hand to my lonely latch,
Like the wind at midnight moaning,
I knelt to pray-but rose again-

For I heard my little boy groaning!

I crossed my brow, and I crossed my breast,
But that night my child departed!

They left a weakling in his stead,

And I am broken hearted!

Oh! it cannot be my own sweet boy,
For his eyes are dim and hollow;
My little boy is gone to God,

And his mother soon will follow.

The dirge for the dead will be sung for me,
And the mass be chaunted meetly;
And I will sleep with my little boy
In the moonlight churchyard sweetly.

OBITUARY.

July 5, the Rev. Dr. JOHNSTON, minister during a long period of the Church and Parish of North Leith; respected and beloved as a pastor and revered as the patron and founder of the Asylum in Edinburgh for the Industrious Blind.

19, the Rev. THOMAS FLEMING, D.D., one of the ministers of Edinburgh; a zealous preacher of the old school, a man of varied talents, and a Christian of fervent piety and unquestioned virtue.

Aug. 2, in the 30th year of his age, and 5th of his ministry, the Rev. A. WAUGH, M.A., late Minister of the Presbyterian Church, Miles's Lane, and son of Dr. Waugh, of Wells-Street.

11, at Bristol, at an advanced age, ANNE, relict of Howell Wynne HUоHES, of London, optician. In the early part of her life, she suffered under unexpected trials and affliction, from the imprudence of one with whom she was nearly connected: but her mind was one of uncommon strength and steadiness, and Providence graciously tempered them to her feelings by a large over-balance of succeeding blessings and mercies. Though born and educated in the bosom of the Established Church, she became, while young, a convert to the doctrines of Unitarianism. Her father, a beneficed clergyman, died while his children were young, and the family continued, un

VOL. XIX.

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doubtingly, to entertain the same opinions which he held, till the time when his son had nearly finished his studies at Cambridge, and was soon to be ordained. His widow, who had a mind equally serious, penetrating, humble and candid, was then led, with her daughters, by their intimacy with the Rev. Edward Harries, (for a memoir of whom, see Mon. Repos. Vol. VII. p. 118,) to doubt whether they had not hitherto, on some very material points, misapprehended the plain and obvious doctrines of Christ and his apostles. Their friend was then in possession of two livings, and performed the duty of the church in the village where they resided. He was still inquiring himself, but became daily more and more convinced that Unitarianism was the doctrine of the gospel, and from time to time gave up reading those parts of the Liturgy which he judged to be unscriptural; and so far were his hearers from objecting to this, that not only the people of his own parish regularly attended, but as many others as could be accommodated with places in the church.

This went on for several years, till an anonymous letter sent to the Bishop of the diocese brought a remonstrance from him, which caused Mr. Harris to resign his livings. But long before this hap pened, Mrs. Hughes, with her mother and sisters, were become convinced and When her marriage zealous Unitarians. caused her to remove to London, she regularly attended the excellent Theophilus Lindsey and Dr. Disney, in Essex