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Confusion dwelt in every face,
And fear in every heart;

When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs,
O'ercame the pilot's art.

Yet then from all my griefs, oh Lord,
Thy mercy set me free,

Whilst in the confidence of prayer,
My faith took hold on thee.

For, though in dreadful whirls we hung
High on the broken wave,

I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.

The storm was laid, the winds retired
Obedient to thy will;

The sea, that roared at thy command,
At thy command was still.

In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore,

And praise thee for thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.

My life, if thou preserv'st my life,

Thy sacrifice shall be;

And death, if death must be my doom,

Shall join my soul to thee.

CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE soul.

It must be so-Plato, thou reason'st well,

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror

1 Tuscan.

2 The scene represents him as holding in his hand Plato's book on the Immortality of the Soul, a drawn sword being on the table beside him.

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself and startles at destruction?
-"Tis the Divinity that stirs within us,
"Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates Eternity to man.

Eternity-thou pleasing-dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being—

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass!
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold :-If there's a Power above us,
(And that there is all nature cries aloud

Through all her works,) he must delight in Virtue;

And that which he delights in must be happy :

But-when?-or where?-This world was made for Cæsar.

I'm weary of conjectures :-This must end them.

[Laying his hand on his sword.

Thus I am doubly armed; my death and life,

My bane and antidote are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end,
But this informs me I shall never die.
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,

The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.

ISAAC WATTS, D. D.

(1672-1717.)

THE name of this eminent theologian is familiar to our nursery associations. He was born at Southampton. His parents were Protestant Dissenters, who had suffered severely for their faith during the arbitrary times of Charles II. His immense attainments in literature may be accounted for in some measure from their early commencement. He read Latin at little more than four years of age. He adhered in manhood to the faith of his fathers, and devoted himself to the ecclesiastical profession. His health was unequal to his professional duties, and, fortunately for literature and Christianity, he obtained, in the religious household of Sir Thomas Abney, a retreat in which for thirtysix years he devoted his whole energies to the Christian good of his fellowThe character of Watts is one of the most perfectly amiable and beautiful that literary history presents. Nothing was too humble for the active benevolence of his great mind. He could trace the outlines of the vast spheres of divinity and philosophy, and condescend to the simple catechism

men.

and the beautiful strains that continue to awaken and to fan the piety of childhood. The lyric poetry of Watts displays the easy elegance of a mind unbending itself from severer studies. His poems of "Heavenly Love" are the extatic expressions of his devotional feelings. Johnson finds fault with their sameness. "He is," the critic adds, "one of the few poets with whom youth and ignorance may be safely pleased; and happy will be that reader whose mind is disposed, by his verses or his prose, to imitate him in all but his non-conformity; to copy his benevolence to man, and his reverence to God."

THE LAW GIVEN AT SINAI.

His chariot was a pitchy cloud,
The wheels beset with burning gems,
The winds in harness with the flames,
Flew o'er th' ethereal road.
Down through his magazine he passed
Of hail and ice and fleecy snow;
Swift rolled the triumph, and as fast
Did hail and ice in melted rivers flow:
The day was mingled with the night,
His feet on solid darkness trod,
His radiant eyes proclaimed the God,
And scattered dreadful light.

*

Sinai received his glorious flight;
With axle red and glowing wheel,
Did the winged chariot light;

And rising smoke obscured the burning hill.

Deep groaned the mount: it never bore
Infinity before:

It bowed and shook beneath the burden of a God.

Hark, from the centre of the flame,

All armed and feathered with the same,
Majestic sounds break through the smoky cloud,
Sent from the All-creating tongue;

A flight of cherubs guard the words along,
And bear their fiery law to the retreating crowd.
"I am the Lord; 'Tis I proclaim

That glorious and that fearful name,

Thy God and King. Twas I that broke

Thy bondage and th' Egyptian yoke.

Mine is the right to speak my will,
And thine the duty to fulfil !"

FREE PHILOSOPHY.

Custom, that tyranness of fools,
That leads the learned round the schools,
In magic charms of forms and rules,-
My genius storms her throne.

No more ye slaves with awe profound,
Beat the dull track and dance the round;
Loose hands and quit the enchanted ground,
Knowledge invites us each alone.

I hate these shackles of the mind,
Forged by the haugnty wise:
Souls were not born to be confined,
And led, like Samson, blind and bound;
But when his native strength he found,
He well avenged his eyes.

*

*

Thoughts should be free as fire or wind.
The pinions of a single mind

Will through all nature fly.
But who can drag up to the poles
Long fettered ranks of leaden souls?
A genius, which no chain controls,
Roves with delight or deep or high:
Swift I survey the globe around,
Dive to the centre through the solid ground,
Or travel to the sky.

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And with choicer plenty crown'd.
Here on all the shining boughs
Knowledge fair and useless1 grows;
On the same young flowery tree
All the seasons you may see;
Notions in the bloom of light
Just disclosing to the sight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth
Ripening into solid truth;
Fruits refined of noble taste,-
Seraphs feed on such repast.
Here, in green and shady grove,
Streams of pleasure mix with love;
There, beneath the smiling skies,
Hills of contemplation rise;
Now upon some shining top
Angels light and call me up;
I rejoice to raise my feet;
Both rejoice when there we meet.
There are endless beauties more
Earth hath no resemblance for;
Nothing like them round the pole;
Nothing can describe the soul:
'Tis a region half unknown,
That has treasures of its own,
More remote from public view
Than the bowels of Peru.
Broader 'tis and brighter far
Than the golden Indies are.

Yet the silly wandering mind,
Loath to be too much confined,
Roves and takes her daily tours,
Coasting round the narrow shores,
Narrow shores of flesh and sense,
Picking shells and pebbles thence.
Or she sits at fancy's door,
Calling shapes and shadows to her;
Foreign visits still receiving,
And t' herself a stranger living.

If her inward worth were known,
She might ever live alone.

1 Apparently implying not to be used in this world.

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