ON THE DEATH OF CATHERINE THOMSON. WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load Of death, called life; which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, Staid not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever! Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes Before the Judge; who thenceforth bade thee rest, And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. ON THE AUTHOR'S BLINDNESS. WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide; And that one talent, which is death to hide, To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning, chide ;— "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?” I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies,-" God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best; his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve, who only stand and wait." SACRED MUSIC. BLEST pair of Syrens, pledges of Heaven's joy, Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne, With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee : Singing everlastingly : That we on earth, with undiscording voice May rightly answer that melodious noise; As once we did, till disproportioned sin Jarred against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music that all creatures made, To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. Oh, may we soon again renew that song, And keep in tune with heaven, till God ere long To his celestial concert us unite, To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light. 46 THE SPIRIT ALSO HELPETH OUR INFIRMITIES." MANY are the sayings of the wise In ancient and in modern books enrolled, With studied argument, and much persuasion sought, But with th' afflicted in his pangs their sound Little prevails, or rather seems a tune Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his conjuring up. Unless he feels within Some source of consolation from above, |