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Young and aged, rich and poor,
Mourner, wanderer, heed the Voice:
Haste to that foundation sure,

Where the builders all rejoice;
Cry aloud and do not spare,
All! "to meet your God prepare.”

1 TIMOTHY vi. 12.

"Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou art also ca led, and hast professed a good profession before many witnesses.” Child of God, let nought confound thee, Wear thy panoply of light;

Gird thy heavenly armour round thee,
Fight the good and glorious fight;
Standing firm, or pressing onward,
Strong in thy Redeemer's might.

Look to Christ; he will direct thee
When and where thine arms to wield;
He will guide thee and protect thee;
Jesus is both sun and shield.

Follow thy victorious Leader,
Keep thy station in the field.

Let his eye with joy inspire thee,
See it ever on thee rest;
Let his voice with ardour fire thee,
Wear his name upon thy breast;

Till the heights of Zion gaining,
Thou art in his presence blest.

There will He in triumph raise thee,
Crown'd with joy and victory;
O how will the sight amaze thee!
Of God's cloudless majesty,

Where his beams of light and glory
Shine, and shine eternally.

Child of God, let nought affright thee;
All that is, thy Lord obeys;
To his cross by faith unite thee,
Where he points, thy standard raise.
Go from conquering to conquer
Thine salvation-His the praise.








It is generally known, that the French writer Volney was a confirmed infidel, and laboured in all his writings to instil the vilest principles of infidelity into the minds of his readers.

The late Mr. Bancroft accompanied Mr. Isaac Weld, jun. in his travels through North America and the two Canadas; a very interesting narrative of which is published. As they were traversing one of the extensive lakes of the northern states in a vessel, on board of which was Volney, a very heavy storm came on, insomuch that the vessel, which had struck repeatedly with great force, was expected to go down every instant, the mast having gone by the board, the helm being quite ungovernable, and the whole scene exhibiting confusion and horror. There were many females as well as male passengers on board; but no one shewed such strong marks of fearful despair as Volney; throwing himself on the deck, now imploring, now imprecating the captain, and reminding him, that he had engaged to carry him safe to his destination, vainly threatening, in case any thing should happen. At last, however, as the prospect of their being lost increased, Volney began loading all the pockets of his coat, waistcoat, and every place he could think of, with dollars to the amount of some hundreds; and thus, as he thought, was preparing to swim for his life should the expected wreck take place. Mr. Bancroft remonstrated with him on the folly of such acts, saying, that he would sink like a piece of lead with so great a weight on him; and, at length, as he became so very noisy and unsteady as to impede the management of the ship, Mr. Bancroft pushed him down the hatchway. Volney soon came up again, having lightened himself of the dollars, and in the agony of his mind, threw himself upon the deck, exclaiming, with uplifted hands and


streaming eyes-"My God! my God! what shall I do!" This so surprised Bancroft, though the moment did not very well accord with flashes of humour, that he could not refrain from addressing him,-"Well, Mr. Volney, what! you have a God now?" To which Mr. Volney replied, with the most trembling anxiety-"O yes, yes!" The ship however got safe, and he made every company which he got into echo, with this anecdote of Volney's acknowledgment of God. Volney, for a considerable time, was so hurt at his weakness, as he called it, that he was ashamed to shew himself in company at Philadelphia, &c. but afterwards, like a modern French philosopher, said, that those words escaped him in the instant of alarm, but had no meaning. And he again utterly renounced them.


Having received the permission of the minister of the village of L-to copy some of his village sketches, I proceed to do so for the benefit of every heathen at heart in Christian England; and may the good Spirit of God bless this labour of love to the conversion of some wanderer from the fold of Christ.

In the village poor-house there lived an aged widow who had seen better days. She had been for the last five years on the parish; and hearing that she was in declining health, I was anxious to discover whether her lamp was about to set in darkness, that if possible I might be the means of leading her to a knowledge of the truth. At my very first visit I felt assured she was not long for this world. She was sitting up propped with pillows-her frame reduced to a skeleton, and her counten ance expressive of acute suffering; a young girl, her attendant and nurse, sat by her. "I'm very ill, Sir, you see," she began in a faint tone. “You are indeed, my poor woman, and I wish I could do any thing to relieve you; but there is One who has the power over sickness and health, over life and death, and to him alone you must look for aid." "Ah! Sir, the doctor can do very little for me, I fear; he says I must have patience, and perhaps may recover." "And do you wish to get well again?" "Yes,


Sir, though I am an old woman; we none of us like the thoughts of death-I am sure I do not"-here a tear-drop stole from her eye. "Shall I tell you why we do not?" "Why," said she, "the grave is a lonesome place, and it is an awful thing to die.” “Yes, but there is another reason: we are not ready to die: we are not fit to stand before God, and there is a fear that death may take us to something worse than this life, with all its cares and troubles." "I do not understand you, Sir." "I mean that we poor sinners all deserve to go to hell, and therefore we are afraid of death-for who can dwell with devouring fire? whọ can dwell with everlasting burnings?" "Very true, Sir, the wicked may well fear death on that account-but you and I may hope for better things; I have always been a good liver, and paid every one his own till I came to this place-now indeed I have not much to thank God for, but I'm willing to have my sufferings here, so that I may find peace and comfort hereafter." "Have you regularly attended church?" I asked. "Why, Sir, I used to go now and then; and when I could not, I got some one to read me a chapter in the Bible." And did not you find there that we are all, every one miserable sinners deserving of death and hell-that Jesus Christ died to save all that will turn to him, and that he has promised his Holy Spirit to those who will ask for it, to make them fit to go to heaven?" I spoke to ears which refused to hear the voice of the charmer, the publishing of the Gospel of peace-to a heart hardened by pride, and opposing itself to the whole counsel of God, regarding fallen guilty man. "I'm not so ignorant as some poor creatures, thank God," she said; “I'm no scholar myself, but I have lived with those that are, and I know the Bible pretty well through-but just now I am in such pain that I had rather not talk." I ask ed if I should read; and on the permission to do so, I selected such texts as I thought most suitable to her state of mind, praying that God would bless his word to her soul. She listened apparently, that is, she did not interrupt me; and when I had done, said, "it was all very true and very good;" but I could see that she did not feel it in her heart. I spoke of her bodily concerns, and then she was all alive and ready to converse; evidently shewing that that was the object of all her cares and thoughts. At my next visit, she gave me a long recital of the wants and sufferings of the perishing body-but would scarcely

afford me a patient hearing when I mentioned the good Physician of souls-Jesus Christ was no more to her than Bramah or Vishnu or any idols of the heathen; she did not indeed deny him with her lips, but she never thought of trusting to him, and him alone, for salvation-she made her own harmless life and her sufferings, a saviour, and treated as foolishness that preaching of the cross which is so indeed to all that perish; while those who are saved by it find it the power of God unto salvation. She seemed to have set her heart on her recovery, though she was then upwards of seventy.. I tried all the means I could use-reproof, rebuke, exhortation, persuasion, entreaty, and, in the use of the sword of the Spirit, the word of God: I was guided, I trust, by that Spirit, without whom the planting of Paul and the watering of Apollos are alike in vain. But the long-suffering, loving-kindness, and mercy of God may be provoked too long. To those that ask it not, shall no mercy be given the haters of instruction and the despisers of reproof may expect their portion to be the worm that never dieth. Though evidently near death, she could not be persuaded, she could not feel that she needed mercy. The world had fast hold of her heart, she had loved the world, and the love of the Father was not in her. She had no hope, or a false one which was still worse-she still spoke of her good life, and her desert of heaven, for the god of this world had indeed blinded her eyes.

At length the summons came to call her away. I saw her on her dying bed, and listened to her awful regrets for time past, to her prayers that she might not die. It was a striking lesson. The night of death had overtaken her before she was ready; and the soul on the verge of eternity, still clung to the shadows of time and sense. "I cannot die, I cannot die!" she exclaimed. "My Bible will rise up in judgment against me, I've forgotten God and served the world, and now he is taking me away for ever. O! I cannot die!"

My dear readers, take warning, I beseech you. Churches are open to you, the Bible is at hand, Jesus Christ still waits to be gracious, and death is perhaps very near. Then examine, I entreat you, on what are your hopes founded? On your good lives? O! remember this poor woman found hers a broken reed at the last; and if she should now arise from her grave, she would say aloud,

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