Fear not, for I am with thee, and will stand
In thy defence; and my all-grasping hand
Shall bring thy seed from the remotest places,
And fill thee with my satisfying graces.

My tongue shall call unto the north, and say
Unto the south, Give; and they shall obey:
Bring from afar my sons and daughters all,
Hear my loud voice, be active when I call.
I have created them, and I proclaim

They shall be called and honoured by my name.
I'll usher forth the blind, and make them see
The splendent glories of my Majesty:

I'll cure the deaf, and make their hearts rejoice
To hear the echoes of my warbling voice."
Thus hath our God untied the tongues, and broke
His prophets' lips,-thus have his prophets spoke;
And wilt thou be, O man, so much obdure,

As not to credit Him that will assure
Perpetual happiness? Thou canst not ask
That which He cannot give: do but unmask

Thy shame-faced soul, that so thou mayst descry
Jehovah's mercies with a faithful eye;

Descant upon his promises; advise

With thine own thoughts; let wisdom make thee wise.

Thy thoughts together, and discreetly fall

Into a serious study. Let thy mind

Be absolute and really inclined

To meditation. Contradict the rage

Of thine own passions. Labour to assuage
The fire of lust, that so thou mayst behold,
With more serenity, how manifold
His mercies are. Think what He did endure
Before his wounds had perfected thy cure.
Remember how undauntedly He stood,
And sweat Himself into a crimson flood,
To ransom thee; remember how his woes
Were asperated by his raging foes;

Remember how his sacred temples wore
A spiny crown; remember how it tore

His sublime front; remember how they broached
His breast with spears, and shamefully reproached
His spotless fame; remember how they nailed
His spreading hands; remember how they scaled
His ivory walls; remember how they spawled
Upon his face; remember how they bawled
And banded at his agony, whilst He
Proved patient martyr to their tyranny;
Remember, when He came unto the brink
Of death, they gave Him vinegar to drink.
Here's love, O man, that does as far transcend

Thy thoughts as thy deserts, that Heaven should send
His Son and Heir to be incarnated

And suffer death for thee: thou wert as dead

As sin could make thee; 'twas for thy offence
He died, ah! how, how canst thou recompense
Such high-bred favours? After thou art fed,

Wilt thou contemn the hand that gave thee bread?
Wouldst thou not love that friend that should bestow
A superannuated crust, and show

Respect unto thee when the ebbing tide

Of fortune runs so low, that thou mayst ride

Upon the sands of poverty? Fond man,
Strive to be grateful; study how to scan
The mercies of thy God; remember how
He feeds thy soul with manna; learn to bow
The unruly thoughts; with admiration think
How often and how much embittered drink
Thy Saviour drank, with what a doleful cry
He begged of God to let that cup pass by;
But knowing that his pleasure must be done,

He proved Himself a most obedient Son.

And wilt thou not, coy wretch! drink one poor sup Of bitter drink for Him that drank a cup

To sweeten thine?

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

ABRAHAM COWLEY, the most miscellaneous of all our poets, was born in London in 1618. He was early sent to Cambridge, but being a zealous loyalist, he was ejected thence, and retired first to Oxford, and afterwards to France. He was made secretary to Lord Jermyn, and after the Restoration, through his interest, obtained an advantageous lease, which set him at ease in fortune. He died at Chertsey in 1667, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, near Chaucer and Spenser.

The writings of Cowley possess great intrinsic merit. They display a vivid imagination, clear intellect, and a rich command of language; but his style is too artificial. "In Cowley," says Mr. Montgomery, "it has been the fate of one of the most brilliant intellects that ever arose in this country never to be estimated by its real excellence.'

THE GARDEN.

WHEN God did man to his own likeness make,
As much as clay, though of the purest kind,
By the great Potter's art refined,

Could the Divine impression take;
He thought it fit to place him where

A kind of heaven, too, did appear,

As far as earth could such a likeness bear:

That man no happiness might want,

Which earth to her first brother could afford,

He did a garden for him plant

By the quick hand of his omnipotent word;

As the chief help and joy of human life,

He gave him the first gift, first e'en before a wife.

O blessed shades! O gentle cool retreat

From all the immoderate heat

In which the frantic world does burn and sweat!

This does the lion-star ambition's rage,

This avarice, the dog-star's, thirst assuage:

Everywhere else their fatal power to see,

They make and rule man's wretched destiny:

They neither set nor disappear,

But tyrannize o'er all the year,

Whilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence here.

The birds that dance from bough to bough,

And sing above in every tree,

Are not from fears and cares more free
Than we who lie, or sit, or walk below,
And should by right be singers too.
What prince's quire of music can excel
That which within this shade does dwell,
To which we nothing pay or give?
They, like all other poets, live

Without reward or thanks for their obliging pains;
'Tis well, if they become not prey.

The whistling winds add their less artful strains,
And a grave bass the murmuring fountains play.

When Epicurus to the world had taught

That pleasure was the chiefest good,

(And was perhaps i' th' right, if rightly understood,) His life he to his doctrine brought,

And in a garden's shade that sovereign pleasure sought.
Whoever a true epicure would be,

May there find cheap and virtuous luxury.

Vitellius's table, which did hold

As many creatures as the ark of old;

That fiscal table, to which every day

All countries did a constant tribute pay;
Could nothing more delicious afford,
Than nature's liberality,

Helped with a little art and industry,
Allows the meanest gardener's board.

The wanton taste no fish or fowl can choose,
For which the grape or melon he would lose :
Though all the inhabitants of sea and air
Be listed in the glutton's bill of fare,

Yet still the fruits of earth we see

Placed the third story high in all her luxury.

But with each sense the garden does comply;
None courts, or flatters, as it does, the eye:
When the great Hebrew king did almost strain
The wondrous treasures of his wealth and brain,
His royal southern guest to entertain;
Though she on silver floors did tread,

With bright Assyrian carpets on them spread,
To hide the metal's poverty;

Though she looked up to roofs of gold,
And nought around her could behold,
But silk and rich embroidery,

And Babylonian tapestry,

And wealthy Hiram's princely dye

Through Ophir's starry stones met everywhere her eye;
Though she herself and her gay host were dressed

With all the shining glories of the East;

When lavish art her costly work had done,

The honour and the prize of bravery

Was by the garden from the palace won;

And every rose and lily there did stand

Better attired by nature's hand:

The case thus judged against the king we see,

By one that would not be so rich, though wiser far than he.

Nor does this happy place only dispense

Such various pleasures to the sense;

Here health itself does live,

That salt of life, which does to all a relish give;

Its standing pleasure and intrinsic wealth,

The body's virtue, and the soul's good fortune-health.

The tree of life, when it in Eden stood,

Did its immortal head to heaven rear;

It lasted a tall cedar till the Flood:

Now a small thorny shrub it does appear,
Nor will it thrive too everywhere: