Thus in thy wrath our years we spend, And like a sad discourse they end, Nor but to seventy last;

Or if to eighty they arrive,

We then with age and sickness strive,
Cut off with winged haste.

Who knows the terror of thy wrath,
Or to thy dreadful anger hath
Proportioned his due fear?

Teach us to number our frail days,
That we our hearts to Thee may raise,
And wisely sin forbear.

Lord, oh! how long! at length relent! And of our miseries repent;

Thy early mercy show,

That we may unknown comforts taste;
For those long days in sorrow past
As long of joy bestow.

The works of thy accustomed grace
Show to thy servants; on their race
Thy cheerful beams reflect-
Oh! let on us thy beauty shine!
Bless our attempts with aid divine,
And by thy hand direct.

HANNAH'S

THANKSGIVING.

1 SAMUEL II. .

GOD hath raised my head on high:
O my heart, enlarge my joy!
God hath now my tongue untied,
To retort their scorn and pride.
In thy grace I will rejoice;
Praise Thee while I have a voice.

Who so holy as our Lord!
Who but He to be adored!
Who such wonders can effect!
Who so strongly can protect!
Be no longer arrogant,
Nor in folly proudly vaunt :
God our secret thoughts displays;
All our works his balance weighs.
Giants' bows his forces break ;
He with strength invests the weak.
Who were full, now serve for bread;
Those who served, enfranchised.
Barren wombs with children flow;
Fruitful mothers childless grow.
God frail man of life deprives ;
Those who sleep in death, revives:
Leads us to our silent tombs,
Brings us from those horrid rooms:
Riches sends; sends poverty:
Casteth down and lifts on high.
He, from the despised dust,
From the dunghill, takes the just;
To the height of honor brings;
Plants them on the throne of kings.-
God earth's mighty pillars made;

He the world upon them laid.

He his servants' feet will guide:

Wicked souls, who swell with pride,

Will in endless darkness chain,
Since all human strength is vain.

He shall grind his enemies;

Blast with lightning from the skies : Judge the habitable earth,

All of high and humble birth:

Shall with strength his King renown,

And his Christ with glory crown.

THE LAMENTATION OF DAVID OVER SAUL

AND JONATHAN.

2 SAMUEL I.

THY beauty, Israel, is fled,

Sunk to the dead ;

How are the valiant fallen ! the slain

Thy mountains stain.

Oh let it not in Gath be known,
Nor in the streets of Ashkelon!

Lest that sad story should excite
Their dire delight!

Lest in the torrent of our wo,

Their pleasure flow:

Lest their triumphant daughters ring
Their cymbals, and their Pæans sing.

Yon hills of Gilboa, never may
You offerings pay;

No morning dew, nor fruitful showers,
Clothe you with flowers:

Saul and his arms there made a spoil,
As if untouched with sacred oil.

The bow of noble Jonathan

Great battles wan;

His arrows on the mighty fed,
With slaughter red.

Saul never raised his arm in vain,
His sword still glutted with the slain.

How lovely! O how pleasant! when
They lived with men!

Than eagles swifter; stronger far
Than lions are:

Whom love in life so strongly tied,

The stroke of death could not divide.

Sad Israel's daughters, weep for Saul;
Lament his fall,

Who fed you with the earth's increase,
And crowned with peace;

With robes of Tyrian purple decked,
And gems which sparkling light reflect.

How are thy worthies by the sword
Of war devoured!

O Jonathan! the better part

Of my torn heart!

The savage rocks have drunk thy blood:
My brother! O how kind! how good!

Thy love was great; O never more
To man, man bore!

No woman when most passionate,
Loved at that rate!

How are the mighty fallen in fight!
They, and their glory, set in night!

SIR JOHN BEAUMONT.

SIR JOHN BEAUMONT, elder brother of Francis Beaumont, the dramatist, was the son of Francis Beaumont, one of the judges of the Court of Common Pleas in the time of Queen Elizabeth; he was born in 1581, and was educated at Oxford. Besides an historical poem styled "Bosworth Field," he was the author of "The Crown of Thorns," and other poems on sacred subjects, which, though little known, possess great merit. He was created a baronet in 1626, and died in 1628.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE WORLD, A PILGRIM, AND VIRTUE.

PILGRIM.

WHAT darkness clouds my senses?

Hath the day

Forgot his season, and the sun his way?

Doth God withdraw his all-sustaining might,
And works no more with his fair creature-light,
While heaven and earth for such, alas! complain,
And turn to rude unformed heaps again?
My paces with entangling briers are bound,
And all this forest in deep silence drowned;
Here must my labor and my journey cease,
By which, in vain, I sought for rest and peace,
But now perceive that man's unquiet mind
In all his ways can only darkness find.
Here must I starve and die, unless some light
Point out the passage from this dismal night.

WORLD.

Distressed Pilgrim, let not causeless fear
Depress thy hopes, for thou hast comfort near,
Which thy dull heart with splendor shall inspire,
And guide thee to thy period of desire.

Clear up thy brows, and raise thy fainting eyes;
See how my glittering palace open lies

For weary passengers, whose desperate case

I pity, and provide a resting-place.

PILGRIM.

Oh thou! whose speeches sound, whose beauties shine,
Not like a creature, but some power divine,

Teach me thy style, thy worth and state declare,
Whose glories in this desert hidden are.

WORLD.

I am thine end; Felicity my name;
The best of wishes, pleasures, riches, fame,
Are humble vassals, which my throne attend,
And make you mortals happy when I send :
In my left hand delicious fruits I hold,
To feed them who with mirth and ease grow
Afraid to lose the fleeting days and nights,
They seize on time, and spend it in delights.

old;

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