Now let the voice due measure keep, In strains that sigh, and words that weep; Till all the vocal current blended roll, Not to depress, but lift, the soaring soul: To lift it in the Maker's praise,

Who first informed our frame with breath;
And, after some few stormy days,

Now, gracious, gives us o'er to death.
No King of Fears

In him appears

Who shuts the scene of human woes.
Beneath his shade

Securely laid,

The dead alone find true repose.

Then while we mingle dust with dust,
To One, supremely good and wise,
Raise hallelujahs! God is just,
And man most happy when he dies!
His winter past,

Fair spring at last

Receives him on her flow'ry shore !

Where pleasure's rose

Immortal blows,

And sin and sorrow are no more!

MALLET.

JOB'S COMPLAINT.

Or all my race there breathes not one,
To comfort or deplore me;
Pain wakes a pulse in every bone,
And death is closing o'er me.
Still doth his lifted stroke delay,
Protracted tortures dooming,

I feel, ere life has pass'd away,-
His very worm consuming.

Night spreads her mantle o'er the sky,
And all around are sleeping;
While I, in tears of agony,

My restless couch am steeping.
I sigh for morn,-the rising day
Awakes the earth to gladness:
I turn with sick'ning soul away,―
It smiles upon my sadness.

Curs'd be that day,-in tempest wild,--
When first, with looks delighted,
My mother smil'd upon her child,
And felt her pangs requited!
Oh! that, by human eye unseen,

I might have fled from sorrow;
And been as though I had not been,-
As I would be to-morrow!

The light wave sparkling in the beam,
That trembles o'er the river,
A moment shades its quiv'ring gleam,
Then shuns the sight for ever:
So soft a ray can pleasure shed,
While secret snares surround it;
So swift that faithless hope is fled,
Which wins the heart to wound it!
A crown of glory grac'd my brow,
Whole nations bent before me,
Princes and hoary sires would bow
To flatter and adore me :
To me the widow turn'd for aid,
And ne'er in vain address'd me:
For me the grateful orphan pray'd,
The souls of mis'ry bless'd me.

I rais'd the drooping wretch that pin'd,—

In lonely anguish lying;

Was balm unto the wounded mind,

And solace to the dying.

Till one stern stroke of all my state,
Of all my bliss, bereft me;
And I was worse than desolate,
For God himself had left me.

Ye, too, as life itself belov'd,

When all conspir'd to bless me,

I deem'd ye friends, but ye kave prov'd
The foes who most oppress me.

I could have borne the slave's rude scorn,
The wreck of all I cherish'd:

Had one, but one,-remain'd to mourn
O'er me, when I too perish'd.

My children sleep in death's cold shade,
And nought can now divide them;
Oh! would the same wild storm had laid
Their wretched sire beside them!

I had not then been doom'd to see
The loss of all who love me ;
Unbroken would my slumbers be,
Though none had wept above me.

All hope on earth for ever fled,

A higher hope remaineth;

E'en while his wrath is o'er me shed,
I know my Saviour reigneth.
The worm may waste this with'ring clay,
When flesh and spirit sever;

My soul shall see eternal day,

And dwell with God for ever.

DALE.

THE DREAM.

In a dream of the night I was wafted away
To the muirlands of mist, where the martyrs lay;
Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen.
Engrav'd on the stone where the heather grows

green.

wood;

'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, When the minister's home was the mountain and [Zion, When in Welwood's dark valley the standard of All bloody and torn 'mong the heather was lying; 'Twas morning;-and summer's young sun from the east [breast: Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's On woodland and cairn-table the clear shining dew Glistened sheen 'mong the heath bells and mountain flowers blue!

And far up in heaven near the white sunny cloud, The song of the lark was melodious and loud; And in Glenmore's wild solitudes, lengthen'd and

deep,

Was the whistling of plovers, and bleating of sheep; And Welwood's sweet valley breath'd music and [redness;

gladness,

And its fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and
Its daughters were happy to hail the returning,
And drink the delights of a sweet July morning.
But there were hearts cherished far other feelings,
Illum'd by the light of prophetic revealings,
Who drank from the scen'ry of beauty but sorrow,
For they knew that their blood would bedew it
[were lying,

to-morrow.

'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron Conceal'd 'mong the mist, where the heath fow

was crying;

[hov'ring For the horsemen of Earlshall around them w

cov'ring

And the bridal reins rung through the thin misty [sheathed, Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unBut the vengeance that darken'd their brow was unbreathed;

With eyes rais'd to heaven in calm resignation, They sang their last song to the God of salvation : The hills with the deep mournful music were

ringing,

The curlew and plover in concert were singing,—
But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter.
As the host of ungodly rush'd on the slaughter.
Though in mist and in darkness and fire they
were shrouded,
[clouded;
The souls of the righteous were calm and un-
Their dark eyes flash'd lightning, as firm and un-

bending

[ing. They stood like the rock which the thunder is rendThe muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming,

The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming; [rolling The heavens grew dark and the thunder was, When in Welwood's dark muirlands the mighty [was ended

were falling.

When the righteous had fallen, and the combat A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended; The drivers were angels, on horses of whiteness, And its burning wheels turn'd upon axles of brightness!

A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining, All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining;[tion, And the souls that came forth out of great tribulaHave mounted the chariots and steeds of salvation; On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding,Through the paths of the thunder the horesmen are riding!