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EL EGY
On the DEATH of the lute Reverend and much-lamente

JAMES MOODY, OF WARWICK.

Two famous Statesmen *, and two Heroes brave +,
Twelve circling months have summon’d to the grave !
Peaceful they slumber in their dusty bed,
And Britain sorrows for the mighty dead.
Nor mourns alone : The Church, her loss severe
Deeply deplores, and renders tear for tear !

If polish'd manners, and if taste refin’d, -
If ardent piety and temper kind,
If vig'rous intellect and maply sense,
If ready wit and graceful eloquence,
An ample beart, for steady friendship forin'd,
A soul, with ev'ry gen'rous passion warm'd,
Can win regarı, or claim a sig! from you,
That sigh to MOODY, that regard is due'!

Lately, the Man of God exalted stood,
Directing thousands to the Saviour's blood :
The list ning multitudes attentive hung
Wilb holy rapture on the preacher's tongue.
Now, low he lies! That tongue no more shall teli
The Saviour's triumphs over vanquish'd Hell!
No more his voice from devious ways restrain,
Nor gently sooth the weeping mourner's pain $

Small spot of earth where rest his sacred bones,
With green turf cover'd, or sepulchral stones,
Those precious relics keep, till that great day
When tombs shall burst and mountains melt away i
When sun and stars are from their orbits hurld,
And Chaos drives his ploughshare o'er the world,
Uprising from thy silent cold embrace,
Celestial glories shining in his face,
Iligh at the awful Judge's better hand,
Bright as an angel Moody then shall stand !

O much-respected, much-lamented friend,
Thy life was holy, — happy was thine end !
By saints esteem'd, and e'en by sinners blest,
And best belov'd by those who knew thee best !
In thee the Saviour's image clearly shone,
As chrystal lakes reflect the orient sum.
The wonders Grace divine perform'd in thee,
Such, and superior, may it work in me!

Oft, as thy people tread the flow'ry fields,
When blooming Summer all her beauty yields ;
Or walk liy gentle Avon's $ classic stream,
While plays upon the wave the Moon's pale beam;
Or when siern Winter howls with tempests dire,
At evening sit around the blazing fire;
Of former times conversing, and the way
Tbro' which life's mazy chequer'd journey lay,

* Messrs. Pitt and Fox.

+ Lords Nelson and Cornwallis. † The Upper Avon passes by Warwick, washing the lofty walls of the venerable castle, from whence it proceeds to Stratford, distant eight miles, celebrated for being the birthplace of Shakespeare.

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rus shall one speak, and heave a heartfelt sign,
While shines the glittering tear in ev'ry eye:
" 'Twas thus, with rich experience largely fraught,
" Thus our dear pastor liv'd, and thus he taught.
“ In Fancy's ear still sounds his pleasing voice,
" The well-known accents make my heart rejoice!
" Ah! momentary joy, delusive, vain!
" He's dead! and Mem'ry aggravates my pain;
" Yet shall revolving time the period bring,
And soon, perhaps, when leav'n's Almighty King
“ Shall bid me quit this tenement of clay,
« And soar 10 regions of eternal day!
« Then shall we meet above the azure sky,
“ With glory crown'd, and immortality!
“ Our friendship to advantage there renew.

« Till that bless'd hour, much-honor'd friend, Adieu !!! Wotton under Edge.

W, W.
ofroj osobnost
MY JESUS.

LINTS

COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS. 'Tis true, here is another year;

ALAS! how frail our mortal frame ! And I'm permitted to appear

How near the grave we dwell! Before thee, and thy name revere, A sudden cough, a bursting vein,

My Jesus!

And we must bid farewell ! Tho' I've abusid thy providence, My flutt'ring heart,-why sink and beat Tho’long I've liv'd in indolence,

So briskly at the thought ? Yet in thy love me recompence,

Why shrink at what each mortal knows, My Jesus.

As though thou knew'st it not? O that I had a glimpse of thee ! It cannot be! Death's arrows tly O that I had but faith to see

Where'er thine eyes survey: Thy righteousuess transferr'd to me, Insatiable he gulps his meal

My Jesus!

Of thousands in a day! But, 0 this vile deceitful heart, Alas! tho’ friends and neighbours die, So loth with earthly joy to part,

Death is a stranger still ; I fear will make thee hence depart, And shrinking Nature shuts her eyes

My Jesus!

Against the dreaded ill. Then since in sio I am involv'd,

We shun the dart, we shin the sight, On thee be all my sins devolvid,

We shun the place of Death, That I henceforth may be absolvid, As tho' we never were to meet,

My Jesus.

Or to resign our breath ! Sweetly permit me to confide

But let us view this monster near, In thee alone, and none beside ;

Examine him anew ; Ever be thou my God, my Guide, Anál from the good man's mortal couch

My Jesus.

Take an impartial view. But here is no continued rest,

Here say, my soul, what terrors dwell: Earth is a wilderness at best;

Does fear distort his eyes ? But thou canst make me truly blest, Does be view Death as sinners do:

My Jesus!

With horrible surprize! On thee then I wili humbly call,

Cain and serene, he smiles to feel When this clay tepement shall fall,

The last dissevering pain ; And joy to crown thee Lord of All,

Just as the glimm’ring fame expires, My Jesus!

He whispers, “ Death is gain!” Till then, dear Lord, thy servant keep, Gain! yes, my soul, to die is gain, By night, by day, awake, asieep;

To those who are prepard : Aod place me with thy dear-bought

They leave their sins, and pains, and sheep,

My Jesus!

fears, Keep me depenflent on thy grace,

Aud gain a rich reward ! Till I shall see thee face to face,

May I then seck this wond'rous gain! And be complete in thine embrace, To Jesus let me dy!

My Jesus!

O be my Saviour while I live, 'AXOO0G My Saviour when I die! Evesham.

J. C.

HYMN

“ Quick as the slant Auroral bearis ON TIIE NEW YEAR.

Or as the flight of Fancy's dream,

Roll on your fleeting days ; From the pleasant laud of Hermon,

Shortly, my form you shall assume, From the top of Mizar's height; And swelling Earth’s prolific womb Backward look with grateful pleasure;

A grassy hillock raise. Forward look with sweet delight!

" To conquer Death is heav'nly art ; Viewing time and seasons changing, Nature, howe'er she act her part, Rolling round the circling sun,

Must to the Monarch yield: Hlast’ning on the course of Nature, 'Twas He who fought on Calvary, Time, thy race will soon be run!

Je dyiog gain'd the victory, Run then Time, let Nature hasten

And slew him on the field ! To her destin'd final end :

“ The ensigns which the vidor wears May each year, each moment, bring me Are a rough cross and bloody spears, Nearer to my much-lov'd Friend!

White wool his robe adorns ; Friend to man, the Friend of sinners, And on his bold majestic brow Friend to my once friendless soul; Sits, woven with an olive bough, He that show'd me his great mercy,

A coronet of thorns ! Bids the wheck of Nature roll.

“ His righteousness a shield can forut, Spared to another season,

To guard amid the angry storm, Spared to see another year,

That sweeps along the dale, May the life by thee protected, To turn the point of arrowy show'rs Still thy bounties largely share!

From principalities and pow'rs, Bounties both of grace and goodness

Shot in the shadowy vale. That thy hands so wide bestow;

Faith in his merits arms the soul, Then my grateful thanks I'll offer, While Hope can ev'ry fear controul, Then my heart-felt love shall glow;

And urge you in the fight :
And for ever,

Then Christian in the valley sings,
Lord, for ever

60 Death! where are thy venom'd To the world thy praise I'll show!

stings?" Chatham.

TUET A.

Putting his foes to flight.
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So does a firm and valiant rock
Nobly sustain the furious shock

Or irritated waves,
Sepulchre of Instruction,

Till in disorder they retire,

And seek, amid phosphoric fire, The Vocal Ashes of a departed Muse.

Unfathomable graves !”

ADJUTOR THE Muse is dead! her ashes speak !

os oss from the cold tomb the accents break

PSALM LXVIII. 4.
In soft but solemn tone ;
And virtually to all she cries,

Praise ye Him, Sun and Moon, &c. * My friends, direct your wand'ring BRIGAT Sup! thou source of light and eyes

heat, To this instructive stone.

Shine to thy great Creator's praise ! foolish epitaph it bears,

He hug thee in the blue expanse, Nor gaudy Pride's insignia wears,

And fill'd• thine orb with golden rays!' Nor gives the lie to truth;

Pale Moon! who shedd'st thy silver But teaches in emphatic sound

beams Some lessons from beneath the ground, O'er the dark reign of solemn Night, Alike to age and youth !

Praise him in thy nocturnal tour, “Reader, approach this shadowing yew,

Who ihus, supplies thy sphere with And let your tears the turf bedew,

light! To mark the spoils of Death : Sparkle lis praise, ye starry train, Here, prostrate lic the young and old, That spot with gold Night's sable robe, The laurels of the wise and bold, He plac'd your glitt'ring lamps on high

And c'en the poet's wreath! To shine when darkness gloðins the “ As in the bright reflecting glass,

globe! Eyeing its surface when you pass, Shall Man, the noblest work of Heaven, An image starts in view;

Forbear the thankful hymn to raise ? Tho' dark be the surrounding shades, Let gratitude inspire his heart, A mirror's light the scene pervades, To give his gracious Maker praise ! And shews a type of you.

Ilaverhill.

J. W.

THE

OR

Printed by G. AULD, Greville Sireet, London.

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