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I ask'd my Bible, and methinks it said,
"Time is the present hour, the past is fled :
Live ! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On

any human being rose or set!"

I ask'd old Father Time himself at last,
But in a moment he flew swiftly past;
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, that left no trace behind.

I ask'd the mighty angel who shall stand
One foot on sea and one on solid land :
“By heaven's great King, I swear the mystery's o'er;
Time was," he cried, “but Time shall be no more.”

MARSDEN.

THE TIME-PIECE.

Who is He, so swiftly flying,

His career no eye can see ? Who are they so early dying,

From their birth they cease to be ? Time :- behold his pictured face ; Moments :-can you count their race ?

Though with aspect deep dissembling,

Here he feigns unconscious sleep, Round and round this circle trembling,

Day and night, his symbols creep ; While, unseen, through earth and sky, His unwearying pinions ply.

Hark! what petty pulses, beating,

Spring new moments into light !
Every pulse, its stroke repeating,

Sends its moment back to night :
Yet not one of all the train
Comes uncalled, or flits in vain.

In the highest realms of glory,

Spirits trace before the throne, On eternal scrolls, the story

Of each little moment flown ; Every deed, and word, and thought Through the whole creation wrought.

Were the volume of a minute

Thus to mortal sight unroll'd, More of sin and sorrow in it,

More of man, might we behold, Than on history's broadest page, In the reliques of an age.

Who could bear the revelation ?

Who abide the sudden test? With instinctive consternation,

Hands would cover every breast; Loudest tongues at once be hushid, Pride in all its writhings crush'd.

Who with leer malign exploring,

On his neighbour's shame durst look ? Would not each, intensely poring

On that record in the book, Which his inmost soul reveal'd, Wish its leaves for ever seal'd ?

Seal'd they are, for years

and

ages, Till,—the earth's last circuit run, Empire changed through all its stages,

Risen and set the latest sun,On the sea and on the land Shall a midnight angel stand :

Stand,--and while th' abysses tremble,

Swear that Time shall be no more ; Quick and dead shall then assemble,

Men and demons range before That tremendous judgment seat Where both worlds at issue meet.

Time himself, with all his legions,

Days, months, years, since nature's birth, Shall revive,-and from all regions,

Singling out the sons of earth, With their glory or disgrace Charge their spenders face to face.

Every moment of my being

Then shall pass before mine eyes : -God, all searching ! God all seeing !

Oh! appease them, ere they rise : Warn'd, I fly, I fly to Thee ; God, be merciful to me! JAMES MONTGOMERY.

CREATION AND REDEMPTION.

“LET there be light,” were the words of creation

That broke on the chaos and silence of night; The creatures of mercy invok'd to their station,

Suffused into being, and kindled to light.

“Let there be light!"-The Great Spirit descended,

And flash'd on the waves that in darkness had slept ; The sun in his glory a giant ascended,

The dews on the earth their mild radiance wept.

Let there be light !"—And the fruits and the flowers

Responded in smiles to the new-lighted sky; There was scent in the gale, there was bloom in the bowers,

Sweet sound for the ear, and soft hue for the eye.

Let there be light,” were the words of salvation,

When man had defeated life's object and end, Had waned from his glorious and glad elevation,

Abandon'd a God, and conform'd to a fiend.

“ Let there be light !"— The same Spirit supernal

That lighted the torch when creation began, Laid aside the bright beams of his Godhead eternal,

And wrought as a servant, and wept as a man.

“Let there be light!" from Gethsemane springing,

From Golgotha's darkness, from Calvary's tomb, Joy, joy unto mortals, good angels are singing ; The Shiloh has triumph'd and death is o'ercome.

ARCHDEACON SPENCER.

THE TRUE LIGHT.

WHERE the angel's golden wings,

O'er the ark together met,
Sat enthron'd the King of kings,

On his glorious mercy-seat.

Curtains all around were spread,

Shutting out the light of day :
Neither lamp nor candle shed,

In its stead their feeble ray.

Yet there shone a fairer light

Than this earth could e'er afford; Can the sun be counted bright,

When compared with the Lord ?

'Tis his face makes heaven so fair ;

With fond rapture angels gaze,
Sweetest smiles for ever wear,

Joyful songs for ever raise.

The bright sun shall cease to shine,

Lamps and candles shall expire ; But the glorious face divine

Still shall bless the heavenly choir.

Soon shall earthly pleasures die,

Like the candle's feeble flame ;
God can brighter joys supply,

Through eternal years the same.

H

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