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Blest infant! whom his mother taught
Early to seek the Lord,
The day-spring of the word; This was the lesson to her son, -Time is Eternity begun:
Behold that mother's love.
Blest mother! who, in wisdom's path, :
By her own parent trod,
And know the fear of God:
Taught by that mother's love.
That kindles from above
This was that mother's love.
THE TIME-PIECE. Who is He, so swiftly flying,
His career no eye can see? Who are They, so early dying,
From their birth they cease to be? Time :-behold his pictured face! Moments:-can you count their race? Though, with aspect deep-dissembling,
Here he feigns unconscious sleep,
Day and night his symbols creep,
Spring new moments into light;
Sends its moment back to night;
In the highest realms of glory,
Spirits trace, before the throne,
Of each little moment flown;
Thus to mortal sight unrolled,
More of man, might we behold,
Who abide the sudden test?
Hands would cover every breast, Loudest tongues at once be hushed, Pride in all its writhings crushed. Who, with leer malign exploring,
On his neighbour's shame durst look? Would not each, intensely poring
On that record in the book, Which his inmost soul revealed, Wish its leaves for ever sealed ? Sealed they are for years, and ages,
Till,—the earth's last circuit run,
Risen and set the latest sun,-
Swear that time shall be no more:
Men and demons range before That tremendous judgment seat, Where both worlds at issue meet. Time himself, with all his legions,
Days, months, years, since nature's birth, Shall revive,-and from all regions
Singling out the sons of earth, With their glory or disgrace, Charge their spenders face to face.
Every moment of my being
Then shall pass before mine eyes:
Oh! appease them, ere they rise;
HENRY KIRKE WHITE
Was born at Nottingham, A.D. 1785. His parents were in humble circumstances, but from his earliest years he showed an ardent passion for literature, and decided aversion to trade. By the kindness of Mr. Wilberforce and the Rev. Charles Simeon, he was enabled to enter the University of Cambridge, where his too great devotion to study brought on a disease that proved fatal, A.D. 1806. Kirke White's poems contain much promise of future excellency, and are valuable as the outpourings of a noble and virtuous mind.
A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.
And we, a lonely band,
To bless Thy fostering hand.
To praises low as ours?
The song which meekness pours.
As we before Thee pray:
And we are less than they.
And let contention cease;
Thine everlasting peace!
A flock by Jesus led;
In glory on our head.
And Thou wilt bless our way;
The dawn of lasting day.
With self-rewarding toil; thus far have sung
The lyre which I in early days have strung; And now my spirits faint, and I have hung The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour,
On the dark cypress; and the strings which rung With Jesus' praise, their harpings now are o’er, Or, when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard no more. And must the harp of Judah sleep again?
Shall I no more reanimate the lay? O Thou who visitest the sons of men,
Thou who dost listen when the humble pray,
One little space prolong my mournful day;
I am a youthful traveller in the way,
THE SHIPWRECKED SOLITARY'S SONG.
To THE NIант.
Of lonely mariner.
A melancholy song!
That marks thy mournful reign.
A solitary man.
And I have lingered in the shade,
To sing my evening song.
To hymns of harmony.
But never could I tune my reed,
I hailed thy star-beam mild.
The day-spring brings not joy to me; 'The moon it whispers not of peace! But, oh! when darkness robes the heavens,
My woes are mixed with joy.
And then I talk, and often think
A solitary man.
And when the blustering winter winds
And pleasant are my dreams.
And Fancy gives me back my wife;
And all its placid joys.
The same dull sounds again.
The deep-toned winds, the moaning sea,
The condor's hollow scream.