The lips that loved the truth;

The single eye, whose glance sublime
Look'd to eternity through time;

The soul, whose thoughts were wont to climb
Above the hopes of youth.

Of old *, before the lamp grew dark,
Reposing near the sacred ark,

The child of Hannah's prayer

Heard, midst the temple's silent round,
A living voice; nor knew the sound
That thrice alarm'd him ere he found

A

The Lord, who chose him there.

Thus early call'd, and strongly moved,
A prophet from a child approved,

SPENCER his course began;

From strength to strength, from grace to grace,
Swiftest and foremost in the race,
He carried victory in his face,

He triumph'd while he ran.

How short his day!-the glorious prize,
To our slow hearts and failing eyes,
Appear'd too quickly won:
The warrior rush'd into the field,

With arm invincible, to wield

The spirit's sword, the spirit's shield,
When lo! the fight was done.

The loveliest star of evening's train
Sets early in the eastern main,

* 1 Samuel i. and iii.

And leaves the world in night;
The brightest star of morning's host,
Scarce risen, in brighter beams is lost:
Thus sunk his form on ocean's coast,
Thus sprang his soul to light.

Who shall forbid the eye to weep
That saw him, from the ravening deep,
Pluck'd like the lion's prey?

For ever bow'd his honour'd head,
The spirit in a moment fled,

The heart of friendship cold and dead,
The limbs a wreath of clay.

Revolving his mysterious lot,

I mourn him, but I praise him not;
To God the praise be given,
Who sent him, like the radiant bow,
His covenant of peace to show,
Athwart the passing storm to glow,
Then vanish into heaven.

O Church! to whom the youth was dear,
The angel of thy mercies near,

Behold the path he trod;

A'milky way' through midnight skies!
Behold the grave in which he lies:
Even from the dust the prophet cries,

Prepare to meet thy God.'

MONTGOMERY.

THE FOLLY OF ATHEISM.

DULL Atheist! could a giddy dance
Of atoms lawless hurl'd

Construct so wonderful, so wise,
So harmonized a world?

Why do not Arabe's driving sands,
The sport of every storm,

Fair freighted fleets, the child of chance,
Or gorgeous temples form?

Presumptuous wretch! thyself survey,
That lesser fabric scan;

Tell me from whence the' immortal dust,
The god, the reptile man?

Where wast thou, when this populous earth
From chaos burst its way,
When stars exulting sung the morn,
And hail'd the new-born day?

What, when the embryo speck of life,
The miniature of man,

Nursed in the womb, its slender form
To stretch and swell began?

Say, didst thou warp the fibre woof?
Or mould the sentient brain?
Thy fingers stretch the living nerve?
Or fill the purple vein?

Didst thou then bid the bounding heart
Its endless toil begin?

Or clothe in flesh the hardening bone,
Or weave the silken skin?

VOL. I.

Who bids the babe to catch the breeze,
Expand its panting breast;

And with impatient hands untaught,
The milky rill arrest?

Or who with unextinguish'd love
The mother's bosom warms,
Along the rugged paths of life
To bear it in her arms?

A God! a God! the wide earth shouts,
A God! the heavens reply;

He moulded in his palm the world,
And hung it in the sky.

'Let us make man!' With beauty clad,
And health in every vein;

And reason throned upon his brow
Stepp'd forth majestic man.

Around he turns his wondering eyes,
All Nature's works surveys;
Admires the earth! the skies! himself!
And tries his tongue in praise.

'Ye hills and vales! ye meads and woods,
Bright sun, and glittering stars!

Fair creatures, tell me if you can,

From whence, and what I am?

'What parent power, all great and good,
Do these around me own?

Tell me, Creation, tell me how
To' adore the vast Unknown!'

DR. DARWIN.

TO DEATH.

I COME not, Death! with vain, untimely fears,
Urn-shadowing cypress and the midnight dew,
To offer at thy shrine,
And deprecate thy wrath.

I bring not Fear, in Frenzy's robe array'd,
To own the ruling terrors of thy name,
And feed thy cruel pride

With murmurs of despair.

For what art thou, O Death! that Reason's eye Should shun the menace of thy threatening might; Or turn upon thy form

The gaze of wild dismay?

Or why should Terror arm thy upraised hand With shafts of anger, and the murderer's rage; And throw around thy brows

The lightning's livid fires?

Were life the limit of the spirit's course,
The grave the barrier of her brief career,
Beyond whose loathsome bourn

No star of being gleam'd;

Had Nature to the winds of heaven proclaim'd
No bright reversion that awaits the soul,
When, bursting from her chains,
She seeks her kindred skies;

Did not Religion from thy masked brow
Pluck the vain shadow of a mimic crown,
And lift the veiling cowl,

To show a seraph's smile;