Benighted reason dimly kens
Mount Sinai's awful blaze,

While instinct and misjudging sense
Incline me to its rays.

Once courting hell with ev'ry breath,
Each day I flutter'd nigh'r;
Hover'd around the specious death,
Nor dream'd, like thee, 'twas fire.

Thus far, poor fellow-flutterer,
Our kindred fortunes run;
'Tis grace, my soul, divides us here:
Then say what grace has done!

A blood-ting'd beam from Calvary
With sweet coercion came,
Cleft the deep gloom, engag'd my eye,
And drew me from the flame.

Soft whispers bade me, "Flee the fire;"
And this my dawning sun
Would carry on, as he rose high'r,
The change he had begun.

Thus undeceiv'd by sov'reign grace,
By grace empow'r'd to flee,"
I'd shew to all that Saviour's face,
So freely shewn to me.

As once to thee, to all I'd cry, "Behold the open door :"

"Turn ye, Oh turn! why will ye die?" But I can do no more.

As neither window open thrown,
Nor warning voice could bring
That day which could attract alone,
Thy self-devoted wing;

So vain my voice, my efforts vain,
Till Jesus deigns to shine;
Who says, "ye must be born again,"
Declares the work divine.

PART V.

THE SEASONS.

ON WINTER.

Fond man,

Behold thy pictur'd life! pass some few years,
Thy flow'ry spring, thy ardent summer, thy
Sober autumn fading into age; and

Pale concluding winter comes at last
And shuts the scene!

SO sung one of the sweetest British bards: and shall he sing in vain ? Ah no; let us in contemplating the present gloomy season, lift up our hearts to the God of mercy, and beg his assistance to keep our souls from coldness and barrenness.

2. Cheerless is the winter, but let not our hearts be cheerless; for in winter was the God of our salvation born: perhaps to shew us when in the depth of affliction, when we blindly think that all things are against us, and when all hope of being saved is lost, that we have an all-wise and an almighty Saviour; but his ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts as our thoughts. The north wind blows bleak; black looks the atmosphere; all Nature seems to lower; all Nature seems to frown!

3. If winter wears so unpleasing an aspect to those who are in plenty, what must it wear to the houseless child of want! What must be the feelings of that mother who has neither warmth nor food to impart to her children? What the sensations of that man who, through the hardness of the times, cannot procure bread for his family! Ah, my friends, that mother's feelings are as exquisitely formed for maternal sensibility as

your own; that man's heart is as affectionate as the fondest father's, the tenderest husband's: and shall such "Solicit the cold hand of Charity!

"To shock us more,-solicit it in vain !"

4. I know the hand of the Christian is open; the heart of the philanthropist expands at human misery. But O, ye sons of festive mirth; ye daughters of thoughtJess gaiety, can you exclude all feelings from your hearts as easily as you do the cold from your habitations! When you sit in plenty, surrounded by every elegance, even to luxuriance, can you wish to think of the poor?

5. You feel not the northern blast, you feel not the chill of poverty; but hundreds of the children of God feel it and this commandment have we from him, "that he who loveth God, love his brother also," John, iv. 21.

"But little think the gay licentious throng
Whom pleasure, pomp, and affluence surround.
Ah, little think they, as they dance along,
How many feel this very moment death,
And all the sad variety of woe!"

THOMPSON.

6. But though they feel not the inclemency of winter skies, they will one day feel the chill hand of death. It will be vain then to wish they had their time again. With what horror will they then recollect these words -For with the same measures that ye mete withal, it shall be measured to you again!"

7. Then while life is lent, be emulous of the god-like virtue of diffusing to others the blessings and comforts you enjoy.

8. This gloomy season is a proper emblem of our natural state by sin-as the succeeding spring is of our conversion and renovation by grace Divine. Then we may say with the church, "The winter is past,—the rain is over, and gone." To those who have experienced this happy change, all the successive seasons are full of mercy; and they can see the bounteous hand of their God in all the varieties of the revolving year. The grace of Christ in the heart, and the blood of atone

ment sprinkled on the conscience, will give joy in the midst of Nature's gloom, and peace amidst all her tempests.

9. Though the present season is gloomy and freezing, and Nature seems inanimate, let not the freezing influ ence extend to our hearts. But 0, that zeal and love may enkindle in our bosoms, and display itself in love to God and man: remembering these words of our Lord, "For as much as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me.”

God will restore what you resign,
Or grant you blessings more divine.

LINES WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

BY W. COWPER, ESQ.

THANKLESS for favours from on high,

Man thinks he fades too soon!

Tho' 'tis his privilege to die,

Would he improve the boon.

But he, not wise enough to scan
His best concerns aright,
Would gladly stretch life's little span
To ages-if he might.

To ages! in a world of pain,

To ages! where he goes,

Gall'd by Affliction's heavy chain,

And hopeless of repose.

Strange fondness of the human heart,

Enamour'd of its barm!

Strange world, that costs it so much smart,

And yet has pow'r to charm.

Whence has the world its magic pow'r?

Why deem we death a foe?

Recoil from weary life's best hour,

And court a longer woe?

The cause is conscience-Conscience oft
Her tale of guilt renews;

Her voice is forcible, tho' soft;
And dread of death ensues.

Then anxious to be longer spar'd,
Man mourns his fleeting breath;
All evil then seems light, compar'd
With the approach of death!

'Tis judgment shakes him! there's the fear,
That prompts his wish to stay;
He has incurr'd a long arrear,

And must despair to pay!

Pay! follow Christ, and all is paid,
His death your peace ensures;
Think on the grave where he was laid,
And calm descend to yours.

But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ?
Oh, when shall it bloom on the night of the grave?

AH! cease from complaining, the moment is nigh,
When Death, the great monarch, forever shall die!
When Nature's fair seasons no more shall return,
O then shall Spring visit the mouldering urn!
Then Heav'n's brightest Sun shall resplendently rise.
Dissolve this fair fabric of earth and of skies;
From silence and darkness triumphantly save,
And gloriously shine on the night of the grave!

ON THE SPRING.

ALL hail, delightful season! thy approach seems to gladden every heart, and breathe new life into every bosom before thy presence the shadows fly, the wintry glooms recede, and the whole face of Nature puts on a cheerful smile. The little hills and fruitful vales rejoice, the forest glows with renewed verdure, and the gardens and orchards array themselves in their gayest attire and most variegated tints; while the sweet