The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set,
Where the Lamb and the white-vested Elders are met!
All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on his word!

O Mercy! O Mercy! look down from above,
Creator! on us, thy sad children, with love!

When beneath, to their darkness the wicked are driven,
May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven!

THE MERRY HEART.

I WOULD not from the wise require
The lumber of their learned lore;
Nor would I from the rich desire

A single counter of their store.
For I have ease, and I have wealth,
And I have spirits light as air;

And more than wisdom, more than wealth,-
A merry heart that laughs at care.

At once, 'tis true, two witching eyes
Surprised me in a luckless season,
Turned all my mirth to lonely sighs,

And quite subdued my better reason.
Yet 'twas but love could make me grieve,
And love you know's a reason fair,
And much improved, as I believe,

The merry heart, that laughed at care.

So now, from idle wishes clear,

I make the good I may not find;
Adown the stream I gently steer,

And shift my sail with every wind.
And half by nature, half by reason,

Can still with pliant heart prepare,
The mind, attuned to every season,

The merry heart, that laughs at care.

Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream,
Ye social feelings of the mind,
Give, sometimes give your sunny gleam,
And let the rest good-humor find.
Yes, let me hail and welcome give
To every joy my lot may share,

And pleased and pleasing let me live
With merry heart, that laughs at care.

BISHOP MANT.

DR. RICHARD MANT, one of the editors of a most valuable edition of the Holy Bible, is a living writer of great eminence. After filling for a time the office of Chaplain to the Archbishop of Canterbury, he became rector of St. Botolph, Bishopsgate, and in 1820 was appointed to the see of Killaloe, whence he was translated in 1823 to Down and Connor. Beside an admirable treatise on "The Happiness of the Blessed," some volumes of "Sermons," and a valuable "History of the Church of Ireland," Bishop Mant has published numerous small poems on sacred subjects which have a high degree of merit.

CHRISTIAN CONSOLATION ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS.

OH! come it first, or come it last,
The shadow o'er my passage cast,
Grant it may find me on my guard,
And at thy will, O God, prepared
To welcome the approaching gloom,
The deep dark stillness of the tomb!
"Tis but a transitory night:

The sun shall rise, and all be light!

Sweet thought, and of sweet solace full,

And apt the swelling grief to lull

Of those, beside a parting friend
Constrained in bitterness to bend ;

The form, so cherished once and dear,

To follow on his funeral bier;

And see the grave above it close,

The last "long home" of man's repose.

It has been said, and I believe,

Though tears of natural sorrow start, "Tis mixed with pleasure when we grieve For those the dearest to the heart,

From whom long-lived at length we part;

As by a Christian's feelings led

We lay them in their peaceful bed.

Yet speak I not of those who go

The allotted pilgrimage on earth,
With earth-born passions grovelling low,
Enslaved to honor, avarice, mirth,
Unconscious of a nobler birth :

But such as tread with loftier scope
The Christian's path with Christian hope.

We grieve to think, that they again

Shall ne'er in this world's pleasure share: But sweet the thought, that this world's pain No more is theirs; that this world's care

It is no more their lot to bear.

And surely in this scene below
The joy is balanced by the wo!

We grieve to see the lifeless form,

The livid cheek, the sunken eye:

But sweet to think, corruption's worm
The living spirit can defy,

And claim its kindred with the sky.
Lo! where the earthen vessel lies!

Aloft the unbodied tenant flies.

We grieve to think, our eyes no more

That form, those features loved, shall trace:

But sweet it is from memory's store

To call each fondly-cherished grace,

And fold them in the heart's embrace.

No bliss 'mid worldly crowds is bred,
Like musing on the sainted dead!

We grieve to see expired the race

They ran, intent on works of love :
But sweet to think, no mixture base,

Which with their better nature strove,
Shall mar their virtuous deeds above.
Sin o'er their soul has lost his hold,
And left them with their earthly mould!

We grieve to know, that we must roam

Apart from them each wonted spot:
But sweet to think, that they a home

Have gained, a fair and goodly lot,
Enduring, and that changeth not.
And who that home of freedom there
Will with this prison-house compare?
"Tis grief to feel, that we behind,

Severed from those we love, remain:
'Tis joy to hope, that we shall find,

Exempt from sorrow, fear, and pain,
With them our dwelling-place again.

"Tis but like them to sink to rest,
With them to waken and be blessed.

O Thou, who form'st thy creature's mind

With thoughts that chasten and that cheer,

Grant me to fill my space assigned

For sojourning a stranger here

With holy hope and filial fear:
Fear to be banished far from Thee,
And hope thy face unveiled to see!

There, before Thee, the Great, the Good,
By angel myriads compassed round,
"Made perfect" by the Saviour's blood,
With virtue clothed, with honor crowned,
"The spirits of the just" are found:
There tears no more of sorrow start,
Pain flies the unmolested heart,

And life in bliss unites whom death no more shall part.

WHAT is true knowledge?-Is it with keen eye
Of lucre's sons to thread the mazy way?
Is it of civic rights, and royal sway,
And wealth political, the depths to try?

Is it to delve the earth, or soar the sky;
To marshal nature's tribes in just array;
To mix, and analyze, and mete, and weigh
Her elements, and all her powers descry?
These things, who will may know them, if to know
Breed not vain-glory: but o'er all to scan
God, in his works and word shown forth below;

Creation's wonders; and Redemption's plan; Whence came we; what to do; and whither go: This is true knowledge, and "the whole of man."

THE LORD'S DAY.

HAIL to the day, which He, who made the heaven,
Earth, and their armies, sanctified and blessed,
Perpetual memory of the Maker's rest!

Hail to the day, when He, by whom was given
New life to man, the tomb asunder riven,

Arose! That day his Church hath still confessed,
At once Creation's and Redemption's feast,
Sign of a world called forth, a world forgiven.
Welcome that day, the day of holy peace,

The Lord's own day! to man's Creator owed,
And man's Redeemer; for the soul's increase
In sanctity, and sweet repose bestowed;
Type of the rest when sin and care shall cease,
The rest remaining for the loved of God!

THE HOUSE OF GOD.

Ir is the Sabbath bell, which calls to prayer,

Even to the House of God, the hallowed dome, Where He who claims it bids his people come To bow before his throne, and serve Him there