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To sixty more, but that he lived too fast, Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense, And made almost a sin of abstinence. Yet had his aspect nothing of severe, But such a face as promised him sincere. Nothing reserved or sullen was to see; But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity. Mild was his accent, and his action free. With eloquence innate his tongue was armed;

Though harsh the precept, yet the people charmed.

For, letting down the golden chain from high,

He drew his audience upward to the sky: And oft with holy hymns he charmed

their ears

He taught the gospel rather than the law;

And forced himself to drive; but loved to draw.

For fear but freezes minds; but love, like heat,

Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat.

To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard, Wrapped in his crimes, against the storm prepared;

But when the milder beams of mercy play,

He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.

Lightning and thunder (heaven's artillery)

As harbingers before the Almighty fly: Those but proclaim his style, and disappear;

The stiller sounds succeed, and God is there.

REASON.

DIM as the borrowed beams of moon and

stars

:

To lonely, weary, wandering travellers, Is reason to the soul and as on high, Those rolling fires discover but the sky, Not light us here; so reason's glimmering ray

Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, But guide us upward to a better day. And as those nightly tapers disappear When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere;

So pale grows reason at religion's sight, So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light.

THOMAS KEN.

[1637-1711.]

MORNING HYMN.

AWAKE, my soul, and with the sun Thy daily course of duty run; Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise To pay thy morning sacrifice.

Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart, And with the angels bear thy part,

Who all night long unwearied sing
High praises to the eternal King.

All praise to Thee, who safe hast kept,
And hast refreshed me whilst I slept;
Grant, Lord, when I from death shall
wake,

I may of endless light partake.

Lord, I my vows to thee renew;
Disperse my sins as morning dew;

Guard my first springs of thought and will,

And with thyself my spirit fill.

Direct, control, suggest, this day,
All I design, or do, or say;
That all my powers, with all their might,
In thy sole glory may unite.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord,
Thy mercy set me free,
Whilst in the confidence of prayer,

My faith took hold on thee.

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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.

JOSEPH ADDISON.

[1672-1719.]

HYMN.

How are thy servants blest, O Lord!
How sure is their defence!

Eternal Wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.

In foreign realms and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I passed unhurt,

And breathed in tainted air.

Thy mercy sweetened every toil,
Made every region please;
The hoary Alpine hills it warmed,
And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas.

Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide extended deep
In all its horrors rise.

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

PARAPHRASE OF PSALM XXIII.

THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye; My noonday walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
My weary, wandering steps he leads,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill;
For thou, O Lord, art with me still:
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devious lonely wilds I stray, Thy bounty shall my wants beguile, The barren wilderness shall smile,

O'ercame the pilot's art.

And streams shall murmur all around.

To trust in everything, or doubt of all. Who thus define it, say they more or less Than this, that happiness is happiness? Take nature's path, and mad opinion's leave;

All states can reach it, and all heads conceive;

Obvious her goods, in no extremes they dwell;

There needs but thinking right and meaning well;

And mourn our various portions as we please,

Equal is common sense and common ease. Remember, man, "The Universal Cause Acts not by partial, but by general laws"; And makes what happiness we justly call

Subsist not in the good of one, but all. There's not a blessing individuals find, But some way leans and hearkens to the kind;

No bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with pride,

No caverned hermit rests self-satisfied: Who most to shun or hate mankind pre

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