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not followed cunningly devised fables, when we made known unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus Christ, but were eye-witnesses of his majesty. For he received from God the Father honour and glory, when there came such a voice to him from the excellent glory, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. And this voice which came from heaven we heard, when we were with him in the holy mount." The Evangelist, in company with Peter and James, had been present on this memorable occasion, when heaven bore its resplendent witness to the divine mission of Jesus.

He

had seen "the bright cloud overshadowing Christ""his face shining as the sun"- "his raiment white as the light." He had heard the voice issuing from this heavenly splendour, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." This sublime scene must have made a deep impression upon his mind, and must have been present at all times vividly to his thoughts. It must have been an irresistible proof to him, as well as to his favoured associates on the occasion, that "they had not followed cunningly devised fables." And he must have been filled with it more particularly when he entered upon that record (John xx. 31), which was written, that Christians might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that, believing, they might have life through his name. When, therefore, he says, "We beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father," he refers, I believe, to the glory which he, and Peter, and James saw encircling Jesus at his transfiguration-that glory which proceeded from God, the Father, who said "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." This strengthens and confirms my argument; for God, the Father, is thus identified with the Word; we see the force and propriety of the expression, "The glory as of the only begotten of the Father;" and the Son is clearly distinguished from the Word, from whom he received honour and glory, when there came such a voice to him from the excellent glory." (Mat. xvii. 1-9; Mark ix. 2–9, and Luke ix. 28-36.) In other words, the glory of the Word is not the glory of Jesus Christ; consequently, Jesus Christ is not the Word. We have therefore another instance of distinction between the Word and Jesus Christ.

(To be Continued.)

Stanzas

Suggested on reading in the pages of the Christian Pioneer, an account of the late Persecutions in the Church of Scotland.

SCOTLAND!-alas! that ere should come the hour,

When one, who nursed thy name through boyhood's dream,
And early manhood's conflicts, has to shower
'On thee reproach and scorn. The earliest beam,
Though faint, of sacred Truth, on thee did stream,
And clothe thy rocks and glens in purest hue

Of heaven's own radiance, when the ignoble theme
Of mental bondage, and the homage due

To Rome, roused gen'rous scorn, and made proud priests to rue.
Many have been the hours, frequent of pain,
Since that one, oh the saddest! when farewell
Broke from this aching heart, as o'er the main
I gazed upon thy hills, till ocean's swell
Did rudely intervene, and her waves' knell
Rung a drear requiem o'er departed joys;
Still gazed I yet, till night's dark curtain fell,
And closed the spirit's shrine on all but noise
Of creaking ropes and spars—a night at sea's alloys.
Years freighted full of grief have since rolled by,
The world has wrought wild havoc on the soul;
What boots the retrospect? The heavy sigh,
Is restitution poor,-remorse's toll!
The streams of feeling thicken as they roll.
So has it been, alas! with me and yet,

Though round my path the tempest's thunders growl,
Though the bright promise of my youth has set,

Thee, Scotland! did I not, and never can forget.

Land of the moor and flood! thy hills alike
The hero and the poet generate,

With wit inspire the pen, or nerve the pike;
This son expert to plead, that legislate.
Nor yet for these achievements only, great,
Though round their brows the laurel and the bay;
Boasts, prouder still, thy children may elate

Truth's martyrs, Freedom's bulwarks, once were they,
Now diadem'd on high from Fount of endless day.

Where now Truth's votaries? Ah, degenerate soil!
Where Mental Freedom's bold unflinching band?
The Church, which fierce Inquisitors embroil,
Calls for, once more, her Great Reformer's hand;
Whose stormy eloquence once roused the land
To burst her fetters with resistless might,
And, with a voice of thunder, to demand
The restitution of the Mind's sole right

To Reason's throne, usurp'd in Superstition's night.

Misguided men! less mischievous than weak,
Thank God! The age is fled, when bigot hate
The march of liberty and truth could check;
The axe and brand, and all the tools of State-
Religion, framed to extirpate

The love and fruit of knowledge, blunted prove!
One mode survives, alone, to extricate

From Error's toils-the law of truth and love Breathed from a heart imbued with wisdom from above!

And now, forsooth, the Presbyter must ape
The Great Abomination, whose huge frame
Lies in the throes of death.

See at the gap

In Error's hold, with puny strut and aim,
The sour Calvinist. 'Tis folly, to cry "shame."
The cup his Founder brimm'd, he does but spill;
Who, the Arch-bigot's guilty zeal acclaim,

Do well, the measure of his crimes to fill,

And stifle truth, if not with flame, by worldly ill.

'Tis useless to regret stern deeds, the fruit
Of a stern faith, which Nature doth disown;
Which life's young feelings, withers at their root-
The God of Love plucks impious from his throne-
Yea, paints his revel in the shuddering groan
Of offspring, cursed with immortality,

An immortality of woe.

Alone,

Apart, self-merged, in sullen majesty

Reigns Calvinism's God-no God of sympathy.

Oh, superstitious clouds! foul, murk, and dense,
Could ye not rain your plague on other land,
And spare the soil, rough-bosom'd, true, but whence
Heroes and Martyrs sprung, whose deeds demand,—
And, till Time's wrecks scatter the eternal strand,
Yea, and beyond, through all eternity,—

Whose deeds shall reap from Christ's associate band,
The meed of praise, bought by the infamy

Flung here on those who run Truth's course of charity.

Two shades rise up before my mental sight:
A youth in figure-one, but with an eye
Beaming triumphant with immortal light,
Whose radiance casts even a sombre dye

On those fierce lurid flames, which upward fly,
Remorselessly entwining their rich prey

Within their withering folds; whilst standing by,
Mocking his pangs with scorn's relentless ray,
A base infuriate crowd, child, woman, head of grey.

Ah, noble youth! ah, royal Hamilton!

Thy steadfast, high-toned spirit, does not heed
These hireling tools. Thy soul has fought and won;
Beat down self-aims, and learn'd to toil and bleed

For others' sake. Thine is the Saviour's meed:
Self-government, entailing self-esteem,

The consciousness of Heaven approving deed!—
Flash, sheeted flame! Hate, shoot thy fiercer gleam!
The soul thou canst not quench, now it emits love's beam.
(To be Continued.)

F.

On Self-Knowledge.—No. 1.

WHEN the heathen devotee approached the fane dedicated to Apollo, he found on the temple, the memorable inscription, "Know thyself;" an admonition whose sententious brevity involved, it would seem, an impossibility, even to the most enlightened of the heathen votaries, whose opportunities of acquiring a true knowledge of man's nature, were evidently limited and imperfect.

In the present day, to know what man is, might be supposed interesting to every one of the species, although it must be owned, that it is a subject which never engrossed universal attention. But though the question "What is man?" is seldom asked, its solution involves matters of great importance. There can be no impropriety in assuming, that every one laying claim to rationality, would, if consistent, devote his powers at least occasionally, to the investigation of Self-of his personal and mental constitution and formation-of his present situation and future prospects; but alas, the lamentable truth is but too apparent, that the most important concerns are often neglected and disregarded, especially if the consequences which they involve are remote; and they are generally allowed to remain unnoticed amidst the universal and assiduous pursuit of those glittering objects of attraction, towards which the attention of the world is invariably directed.

When we look around we behold man, a creature of the dust, vaunting in the possession of his capabilities, vain of his acquirements, arrogant in his pretensions, virtually living without a knowledge of the existence of Deity, as if he were himself his own fashioner and creator, and (but for the little thwarting incidents of time and circumstance, which often strangely mar his brightest anticipations), blindly assuming the supremacy of his will, and the omnipotence of his commands.

What then is man? In utter weakness and pitiable helplessness he makes his first appearance on this stage of

F

being; he is indebted for the continuation of his feeble existence, to the attention of others, and depends on the fostering care of foreign aid for nourishment and support. He increases in strength and stature, but still requires to be watched over and protected. The powers of the mind put forth their early shoots, they blossom in wild luxuriance, and the corporeal and mental frame advance together to maturity. But he remains not long in the full possession of his faculties in their unimpaired strength, and brightness, and plenitude. A retrograde movement is soon manifested, which, imperceptibly perhaps, but gradually becomes more and more apparent, till the mansion of pride becomes little more than a worthless ruin. Imbecility pervades the frame, a general decay palsies every organ, and death is invoked as an anticipated blessing.

And is this the consummation of human life? is this all that our existence is capable of effecting? Is to be born, to live, and to die—our being's end and aim? Is this the completion of the purposes for which we were created? "Can it be supposed that we were endued with such noble powers and capacities, only to flutter about like the insect race, and then to disappear for ever-that we were introduced into this grand and beautiful theatre, merely to glance at the works of God, and then to be blotted out from creation?" Are we ushered into life to snatch a momentary blessing in the enjoyment of existence, and then sink into nothingness? What idea can be less congenial to the feelings?-what prospect more abhorrent to the soul?

The infant in the first moments of life, appears to have but a scanty portion of human endowments, save an apparent susceptibility of pain, which is soon followed by the perception of pleasure; but from a very early period, the gradual expansion of an intelligent principle is clearly displayed. To this succeeds the period of youth, when the ardent and inquisitive soul is ever expatiating in the fields of research, finding gratification in every thing, and with unwearied assiduity seeking wherewith to satisfy its yearnings. At length, matured by time and strengthened by experience, man stands forth in the conscious possession of mental powers and muscular strength, exulting in his abilities, vain of his advantages, proud of his superiority, and arrogating to himself all knowledge and all wisdom. Yet in a few short years what does he become?

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