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And yet 'twas long ere I could throughly see This grand impostor's frequent treachery ; Though often fooled, yet I should still dream on, Of pleasure in reversion:

Though still he did my hopes deceive,

His fair pretensions I would still believe;
Such was my charity, that though I knew,
And found him false, yet I would think him true.

But now he shall no more with shows deceive,
I will no more enjoy, no more believe;
The unwary juggler has so often shown
His fallacies, that now they're known.
Shall I trust on? the cheat is plain;
I will not be imposed upon again;
I'll view the bright appearance from afar,
But never try to catch the falling star.

SUPERSTITION.

I CARE not, though it be

By the preciser sort thought popery;
We poets can a license show

For every thing we do:

Hear, then, my little saint, I'll pray to thee.

If now thy happy mind,

Amidst its various joys can leisure find

To attend to any thing so low,

As what I say or do,

Regard, and be what thou wast ever-kind.

Let not the blessed above

Engross thee quite, but sometimes hither rove;

Fain would I thy sweet image see,

And sit and talk with thee,

Nor is it curiosity, but love.

Ah! what delight 'twould be

Wouldst thou sometimes, by stealth, converse with me ! How should I thy sweet commune prize,

And other joys despise;

Come, then, I ne'er was yet denied by thee.

I would not long detain

Thy soul from bliss, nor keep thee here in pain;
Nor should thy fellow-saints e'er know

Of thy escape below;

Before thou'rt missed thou shouldst return again.

Sure heaven must needs thy love

As well as other qualities improve,

Come, then, and recreate my sight

With rays of thy pure light;

"Twill cheer my eyes more than the lamps above.

But if fate's so severe,

As to confine thee to thy blissful sphere, (And by thy absence I shall know Whether thy state be so,)

Live happy, but be mindful of me there.

ISAAC WATTS, D.D.

ISAAC WATTS, an eminent divine, philosopher, and poet, was born at Southampton, in 1674, and became a congregational minister. As a poet he is chiefly known by his "Hebrew Lyrics," "Hymns," &c. They are not very carefully finished; but there is a remarkable sweetness and purity of thought in them. Perhaps the most successful of his poems are his "Hymns for the Young," which are admirably adapted for their purpose. His psalms and hymns have, for half a century, been used in nearly all the churches that worship in the English language; and if popularity were a test of merit, Watts should be ranked with Milton. He died in 1748.

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.

AN ODE ATTEMPTED IN THE ENGLISH SAPPHIC.

WHEN the fierce north wind, with his airy forces,
Rears the Baltic to a foaming fury,

up

And the red lightning, with a storm of hail, comes
Rushing amain down,

How the

poor sailors stand amazed and tremble,
While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet,
Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters,
Quick to devour them!

Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder,
(If things eternal may be like those earthly,)
Such the dire terror when the great archangel
Shakes the creation,

Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven,
Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes.
See the graves open, and the bones arising―
Flames all around them.

Hark! the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches;
Lively bright horror and amazing anguish

Stare through their eyelids, while the living worm lies
Gnawing within them.

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings,
And the smart twinges when the eye beholds the
Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance
Rolling afore Him.

Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver,
While devils push them to the pit wide yawning,
Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong
Down to the centre!

Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid
Doleful ideas:) come, arise to Jesus;

How He sits God-like! and the saints around Him,
Throned, yet adoring.

Oh! may

I sit there when he comes triumphant,
Dooming the nations, then ascend to glory;
While our Hosannas all along the passage
Shout the Redeemer.

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Yet will I seek thy smiling face:
What though a short eclipse his beauties shroud,
And bar the influence of his rays?

"Tis but a morning vapor or a summer cloud;
He is my sun, though He refuse to shine.
Though for a moment He depart,

I dwell forever on his heart,

Forever He on mine.

Early before the light arise,

I'll spring a thought away to God;

The passion of my heart and eyes
Shall shout a thousand groans and sighs,
A thousand glances strike the skies,
The floor of his abode.

Dear Sovereign, hear thy servant pray;

Bend the blue heavens, Eternal King,

Downward thy cheerful graces bring ;

Or shall I breathe in vain, and pant my hours away? Break, glorious Brightness, through the gloomy veil, Look, how the armies of despair

Aloft their sooty banners rear

Round my poor captive soul, and dare

Pronounce me prisoner of hell.

But Thou, my Sun, and Thou, my Shield,

Wilt save me in the bloody field;

Break, glorious Brightness, shoot one glimmering ray ; One glance of thine creates a day,

And drives the troops of hell away.

Happy the times, but ah! those times are gone,

When wondrous power, and radiant grace,

Round the tall arches of thy temple shone,

And mingled their victorious rays:

Sin, with all its ghastly train,

Fled to the depths of death again,

And smiling triumph sat on every face:

Our spirits, raptured with the sight,

Were all devotion, all delight,

And loud Hosannas sounded the Redeemer's praise.

Here could I say,

(And paint the place whereon I stood,)

Here I enjoyed a visit half the day

From my descending God:

I was regaled with heavenly fare,

With fruit and manna from above; Divinely sweet the blessings were, While my Emmanuel was there;

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