Hide me, O my Saviour hide,
Till the storm of life is past
Safe into the haven guide;

O receive my soul at last!
Other refuge have I none;

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, oh! leave me not alone;
Still support and comfort me.
All my trust on Thee is stay'd;
All my help from Thee I bring:
Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of thy wing!

Plenteous grace with Thee is found,--
Grace to pardon all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound,
Make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the Fountain art,
Freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart,
Rise to all eternity!

ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

DEAD, dead the child I loved so well,
Transported to the world above,
I need no more my heart conceal,
I never dared indulge my love;
But may I not indulge my grief,
And seek in tears a sad relief?

But hath not Heaven who first bestowed,
A right to take his gift away?

I bow me to the sovereign God,

Who snatch'd him from the evil day;

Yet nature will repeat her moan,
And fondly cry, My son! my son!

Turn from him, turn officious thought,
Officious thought presents again
The thousand little acts he wrought,
Which wound my heart with soothing pain,
His looks, his winning gestures rise,
His waving hands and laughing eyes.

Those waving hands no more shall move,
Those laughing eyes shall smile no more;
He cannot now engage our love,

With sweet insinuating power,
Our meek unguarded hearts ensnare,
And rival his Creator there.

Angels rejoice! a child is born
Into your happier world above,
Let poor short-sighted mortals mourn,
While, on the wings of heavenly love,
An everlasting spirit flies,

To claim his kindred in the skies.

Dr Samuel Johnson.

Born 1709.

Died 1784.

THE celebrated lexicographer was born at Lichfield, on 18th September 1709. His father was a bookseller, and gave him a good education. In his twenty-sixth year he went to London to push his fortune, and soon obtained employment in writing for the magazines. In 1749 he published a poem, "The Vanity of Human Wishes." In 1750 he started the "Rambler," and in 1755 published his famous Dictionary, which had engaged him for several years. His poems form a very small part of his works; but even they had an effect on the character of the poetical writings of his time. Johnson died on 13th December 1784.

FROM THE "VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES."

IN full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand,

Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand:
To him the church, the realm, their powers consign;
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine;
Turned by his nod the stream of honour flows,
His smile alone security bestows:

Still to new heights his restless wishes tower;
Claim leads to claim, and power advances power;
Till conquest unresisted ceased to please,
And rights submitted, left him none to seize.
At length his sovereign frowns-the train of state
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate:
Where'er he turns he meets a stranger's eye,
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly;
Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glittering plate,

The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The liveried army, and the menial lord.
With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed,
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest.

Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings,
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine,
Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end be thine?
Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content,
The wisest Justice on the banks of Trent?
For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate,
On week foundations raise the enormous weight?
Why, but to sink beneath misfortune's blow,
With louder ruin to the gulfs below.

On what foundations stands the warrior's pride,
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide;
A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire;
O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain,
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain.
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;
Behold surrounding kings their power combine,

And one capitulate, and one resign;

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain ;
"Think nothing gained," he cries, "till nought remain,
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standarts fly,
And all be mine beneath the Polar sky."

The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern famine guards the solitary coast,
And winter barricades the realms of frost:
He comes, nor want, nor cold, his course delay;
Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day:
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemned a needy supplicant to wait,
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend?
Did no subverted empire mark his end?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound,
Or hostile millions press him to the ground!

His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand;

He left the name, at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral or adorn a tale.

Where, then, shall hope and fear their objects find? Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain,

Which Heaven may hear, nor deem religion vain.
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice.
Safe in his power, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious prayer.
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,
Secure whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat:
These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain,
These goods he grants, who grants the power to gain;
With these celestial wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find.

ON THE DEATH OF DR LEVETT.

CONDEMNED to hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away.

Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levett to the grave descend,

Officious, innocent, sincere,

Of every friendless name the friend.

Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
Nor, lettered arrogance, deny

Thy praise to merit unrefined.

When fainting nature called for aid,
And hovering death prepared the blow,
His vigorous remedy displayed

The power of art without the show.
In misery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless anguish poured his groan,
And lonely want retired to die.
No summons mocked by chill delay,
No petty gain disdained by pride;
The modest wants of every day

The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walked their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure the Eternal Master found
The single talent well employed.

The busy day-the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
His frame was firm-his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

Then with no fiery throbbing pain,

No cold gradations of decay,

Death broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.

Richard Glover.

Born 1712.

Died 1785.

A LONDON merchant, who published some elaborate poems in blank verse, which are now little known. His ballad of Admiral Hosier's Ghost is the only piece now read.

ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.

As near Portobello lying

On the gentle swelling flood,
At midnight, with streamers flying,
Our triumphant navy rode: