"Sweet Bird! O may I still awake with thee
To offer up the matin song as free.
Sweet Bird, may I, still at your voice arise,
To spurn th' unhallowed pride below the skies,
And mount on musing Contemplation's wing
To where intelligences spotless sing,
And join the choir, the raptur'd choir above,
Who ever commune with th' eternal loye.
To sing, to celebrate my God always,
With hymns of gratitude, and songs of praise."
O how delightful here now to repair,
To scent the morning's fresh unrifled air,
Far from the hamlet chime, and poplar scorn
To meditate beneath the aged thorn,
T' inhale the balmy breeze with joy to stray,
And all the verdant landscape's charms curvey,
To taste the calm of nature, to adore
The great I AM, and on the page to pore.
Now bleating flocks do crown yon rising hill,
And gold-speck'd fishes wanton in the rill
The sportive tribe all perch'd, or on the wing,
At spruce May's restoration, sweetly sing.
Their loves in echoing lays and songs resound,
Which fill with melody the groves around.
Yea insect myriads hum around my head,
And music warbles from each myrtle shade.
The very herds agreeably conspire,
'Tho' in harsh lowings, to assist the choir.
And, ah! shall DAMON not with all combine,
To prove a wise and powerful hand divine.
Shall DAMON, Heaven forbid! no pleasures prove,
Nor own his God, and wake to gen'rous love.
Awake my lute, on harps, ye sacred nine,
Aid and assist me in the song divine,
With song celestial help my grateful voice,
And duteous lay, and bid my heart rejoice.
"LORD, from thy mighty hand at first I came,
With nicest care thou mad'st my wond'rous frame,
And soon each finished part minutely join'd,
With skill immortal to the curious mind;
Lo in that work of artifice divine,
Thy wisdom and thy awful wonders shine..
Now thee I'll praise that here I joyous stand,
In Freedom's arms, in this blest happy land;
Whose clime is genial, where no foe alarms,
And Faith is pure from Superstition s charms ;.
And where secure thy works I can explore,
And rapt in joy the great First Cause adore."
Awake my lute, assist me now to sing,
Of the preserving care of Zion's king;
n infant years, those years that subject are
To thickest dangers, we were then his care;
C'er since that time unto this present day,
He's kept our breath, and ordered our way;
And will till genii point the blest abode,
And bear us homeward thro' yon airy road.
But, O REDEMPTION! at thy gracious name,
My soul's inspir'd, renewed is its frame,
At it my heart distends with gentle turoes,
And in my breast a pleasing ardour glows.
Lo! Christ, the saviour comes, unfathom d love,
Upon the wings of mercy from above;
And deigns, O! blessed condescension, kind,
T'expire on Calv'ry's mount for lost mankind;
That he might ease them of their sinking load,
And reconcile them unto mercy's God.
How great thy blessings Lord to man below,
Yet greater still for him above do flow.
Then may my whole life with my lays agree,
And through eternity I'll sing of THEE.
Perth, August 15th.
The Happy Marriage;
OR, THE RING PRESENTED A SECOND TIME.
THEE, MARY, with this ring I wed,
(So, sixteen years ago, I said,)
Behold another ring, For what?
To wed thee o'er again, why not?
With that first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth;
Taste long admir'd, sense long rever'd
And all my MOLLY then appear'd.
If she, by merit since disclos'd,
Prove twice the woman I suppos'd,
I plead that doubled merit now
To justify a double vow.
Here then to day, with faith as sure
With ardour as intense and pure,
As when amidst the rites divine
I took thy troth, and plighted mine.
To thee sweet girl, my second ring
A token and a pledge I bring;
With this I wed till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;
Those virtues, whose progressive claim
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves
For conscience' sake as well as love's.
For why? they shew me hour by hour
Honour's high thought, Affection's pow'r,
Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sentence;
And teach me all things but repentance.
TO THE PUBLISHERS OF THE CHEAP MAGAZINE. Gentlemen,
A FEW years ago, happening to call at the house of a respectable family, I found an affectionate mother lamenting, though with Christian fortitude, for her first born, an account of whose death, in a distant land, she had lately received. After conversing for some time with the afflicted mother, I wandered into an adjoining wood where I met with two children, a brother and sister of the deceased, who, with tears in their eyes, told me they were looking for their father, whom they expected from Edinburgh. This picture of parental affection and filial tenderness, excited in my mind a mixture of feeling, to which, on parting with the children, I gave vent in the following Lines, which, if they suit the pages of your little work, you are at liberty to use. I am, &c. S. G. S. R. J. O.
HEAVEN bless you, ye sweet little Babes of the vale!
Why wander you thus from your home?
Or why do you wishfully look to the North,
While far through the greenwood you roam?
Why heave your sweet bosoms, why beat your fond hearts;
Say, why do you thus deeply sigh?
Why fled is the smile that once dwelt on your cheek?
Ŏ why starts the tear in your eye?
"Our Father, dear Sir, from afar we expect,
We wander to meet his return.
But, ah! Sir, our Brother, kind Brother is dead,
And our Mother, dear Mother, does mourn.
Alas, for our Brother! he died far away,
We cannot weep over his grave.
He lov'd us he left us: ah! ne'er to return,
For no one from death could him save.
Tho' sorely afflicted, and spent with disease,
His confident hopes were on high,
And now, though his body be cold in the grave,
He lives, yea, he reigns in the sky."
God bless you, ye sweet little sons of the wood,
You teach me to share in your woes;
Your parents I pity, your Brother I loved,
And you in my bosom could close.
Your filial affection is pleasing to me,
And comely the tears which you shed.
May you live like the virtuous, and die like the good,
And live with your Brother when dead.
CONSOLATION ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.
WHAT grief doth rend a parent's heart
To see his child in pain!
What grief when death's unwary dart
Does break the heart in twain!
Oh! NANCY, late to us so dear,
What tears I've shed for thee,
But from the griefs, the troubles here,
Thou'rt now forever free.
Thy weary eyes are clos'd at last
To open here no more,
Thy pains, sweet innocent! are past:
Safe landed on that shore
Where infants such as thou are blest
With never failing joy,
You've enter'd to that promised rest
Which nothing can destroy.
Thy life was as a blessing lent,
How soon it pass'd away!
Your heavenly Father for you sent,
You could no longer stay;
But why should I grieve or repine
That thy short life is done,
Two little years I've call'd thee mine,
They like a dream are gone.
Ought I not rather to rejoice
That now thou'rt blest above,
That now thy sweet, thy pleasing voice,
Proclaims thy Saviour's love.
That praise employs that prattling tongue,
I've oft delighted heard,
That HE, for such, even infants young,
Heaven's kingdom has prepared.
May we, my darling NANCY, meet
Upon that happy shore,
Where every sorrow we'll forget,
Because we'll part no more.-— M. D. Glasgort
THE CHRISTIAN'S EXPERIENCE.
THEN guilt appals or doubts dismay,
Or fears disturb my breast,
In Christ I've pardon, and on him
With confidence I'll rest.
When grace is weak, corruption strong,
And foes my soul beset,
That Christ, will sanctify my frame
God's truth doth hope beget.
On speculation's boundless sea
Whene'er my heart doth roam,
Christ tender pity takes on me
And brings the wand'rer homę.
When God himself doth hide his face
And on me doth not shine,
In Christ I've faith, that he'll return
And still can call him mine.
When wicked men disturb my peace,
And carnal cares annoy,
In Christ I've peace with God, in him
Unspeakable my joy.
When dread of death doth seize my soul
And fearful thoughts distress,
In Christ I've faith, and hope of an
Eternal share of bless.
Then Christ is mine, and God in Christ,
(What language can define)
Christ died for me, in Christ I live,
With Christ I'll ever reign
NOTES TO CORRESPONDENTS.
BOTH of the INTRODUCTORY PAPERS by TH. N. R. have come safely to hand, and we anticipate with pleasure the entertainment and benefit the Readers of our Second Volume will derive, from the lace brations of such an agreeable writer and able coadjutor.
Our juvenile correspondent D. seems to improve as he gets older. We shall endeavour to insert one of his pieces, in our next.
The favours of A Poet, A Constant Reader, Alexander Selkirk, and W. P. H. are received.
Haddington; Printed and Published by G. Miller & Son.
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