He will redeem our deadly, drooping state,
He will bring home the sheep that go astray,

He will help them that hope in Him alway,
He will appease our discord and debate,
He will soon save, though we repent us late.
He will be ours, if we continue his,

He will bring bale' to joy and perfect bliss;
He will redeem the flock of his elect

From all that is

Or was amiss

Since Abraham's heirs did first his laws reject.

EDMUND SPENSER.

EDMUND SPENSER was born in London about 1553. He was educated at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. He has been styled, by way of pre-eminence, the DIVINE POET OF ENGLAND. This may, perhaps, be somewhat incorrect; his writings have, however, a pure, elevating, and beautiful spirit of humanity; and his "Divine Hymns," it has been well remarked, are indeed divine. Spenser was made Secretary of Ireland, and he obtained a grant of lands forfeited in the county of Cork. On the breaking out of Tyrone's rebellion, he was obliged to abandon his home so abruptly, that one of his children perished in the flames which consumed his dwelling. He died shortly after, it is said of a broken heart, in 1599; and was buried, by his own desire, near the tomb of Chaucer, in Westminster Abbey. Spenser himself describes his great poem, "The Fairy Queen," in a letter to Sir Walter Raleigh, as a continual allegory, or dark conceit; the aim of “all the book” being “to fashion a gentleman or noble person in virtuous and gentle discipline." An edition of all the works of Spenser has recently been published in Boston, edited with great taste and judgment by Mr. George Hillard of that city. There is a discriminating article upon Spenser in the thirty-second volume of The Quarterly Review, by the author of "The Christian Year.”

HEAVENLY LOVE.

LOVE! lift me up upon thy golden wings

From this base world unto thy heaven's height,
Where I may see those admirable things

Which there thou workest by thy sovereign might,
Far above feeble reach of earthly sight,

That I thereof an heavenly hymn may sing
Unto the God of Love, high heaven's King.

Before this world's great frame, in which all things
Are now contained, found any being place,

Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas' wings

About that mighty bound which doth embrace The rolling spheres, and parts their hours by space, That high Eternal power, which now doth move In all these things, moved in itself by love.

It loved itself because itself was fair,

(For fair is loved,) and of itself begot, Like to itself, his eldest son and heir,

Eternal, pure, and void of sinful blot,
The firstling of his joy, in whom no jot
Of love's dislike, or pride, was to be found,—
Whom He therefore with equal honor crowned.

With Him He reigned before all time prescribed,
In endless glory and immortal might,
Together with that Third from them derived,

Most wise, most holy, most Almighty Sprite,

Whose kingdom's throne no thoughts of earthly wight

Can comprehend, much less my trembling verse

With equal words can hope it to rehearse.

Eyas, young, newly fledged; a young hawk not fit for flight.

Yet, O most blessed Spirit! pure lamp of light,
Eternal spring of grace and wisdom true,
Vouchsafe to shed into my barren sprite

Some little drop of thy celestial dew,

That may my rhymes with sweet infuse imbrue,
And give me words equal unto my thought,
To tell the marvels by thy mercy wrought.

Yet being pregnant still with powerful grace,
And full of fruitful love, that loves to get
Things like Himself, and to enlarge his race,

His second brood, though not of power so great,
Yet full of beauty, next He did beget

An infinite increase of angels bright,
All glist'ning glorious in their Maker's light.

To show the heaven's illimitable height,

(Not this round heaven which we from hence behold,) Adorned with thousand lamps of burning light,

And with ten thousand gems of shining gold,

He gave as their inheritance to hold,

That they might serve him in eternal bliss,
And be partakers of those joys of his.

There they in their trinal triplicities

About Him wait, and on his will depend,

Either with nimble wings to cut the skies

When He them on his messages doth send,
Or on his own dread presence to attend,
Where they behold the glory of his light,
And carol hymns of love both day and night.

Both day and night is unto them all one,

For He his beams doth unto them extend,
That darkness there appeareth never none;

Nor hath their day, nor hath their bliss, an end,
But there their timeless time in pleasure spend;

Nor ever should their happiness decay
Had they not dared the Lord to disobey.

But pride, impatient of long-resting peace,

Did puff them up with greedy bold ambition, That they 'gan cast their state how to increase

Above the fortune of their first condition,

And sit in God's own seat without commission:

The brightest angel, e'en the child of light,
Drew millions more against their God to fight.

The Almighty, seeing their so bold assay,
Kindled the flame of his consuming ire,
And with his only breath them blew away

From heaven's height, to which they did aspire,
To deepest hell and lake of damned fire,
Where they in darkness and dread horror dwell,
Hating the happy light from which they fell.

So that next offspring of the Maker's love,
Next to Himself in glorious degree,
Degenering' to hate, fell from above.

Through pride, (for pride and love may ill agree,)
And now of sin to all ensample be.

How then can sinful flesh itself assure,
Sith purest angels fell to be impure?

But that eternal fount of love and grace,

Still flowing forth his goodness unto all,
Now seeing left a waste and empty place

In his wide palace, through these angels' fall,
Cast to supply the same, and to install

A new and unknown colony therein,

Whose root from earth's base groundwork should begin.

Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to naught,

Yet formed by wondrous skill, and by his might, According to an heavenly pattern wrought,

Which He had fashioned in his wise foresight,
He man did make, and breathed a living sprite

Degenerating.

Into his face most beautiful and fair,

Endued with wisdom's riches, heavenly, rare.

Such He him made, that he resemble might
Himself as mortal thing immortal could;
Him to be lord of every living wight

He made by love out of his own like mould,
In whom He might his mighty self behold;
For love doth love the thing beloved to see,
That like itself in lovely shape may be.

But man, forgetful of his Maker's grace,

No less than angels whom he did ensue,'
Fell from the hope of promised heavenly place
Into the mouth of death, to sinners due,
And all his offspring into thraldom threw,
Where they forever should in bonds remain
Of never-dead, yet ever-dying pain.

Till that great Lord of Love, which him at first
Made of mere love and after liked well,

Seeing him lie like creature long accursed

In that deep horror of despairing hell,

Him wretch in dole would let no longer dwell,

But cast out of that bondage to redeem

And

pay the price, all' were his debt extreme.

Out of the bosom of eternal bliss

In which He reigned with his glorious sire,

He down descended, like a most demiss1

And abject thrall, in flesh's frail attire,
That He for him might pay sin's deadly hire,

And him restore into that happy state

In which he stood before his hapless fate.

'Follow.

• Sorrow.

'Although.

• Humble.