In a safe harbour plac'd, beyond the reach
Of sin's contagion, or of sorrow's pang;

In that salubrious clime where virtue thrives,
Where nought impure shall e'er an entrance find;
Crown'd with immortal youth's unfading bloom;
In full fruition of redeeming love.

Faith without works is like a sapless tree;
But works, depended on, will nought avail.
Her's was a fruitful faith which wrought by love,
Its vital principle, whose influence spread
Through all her practice in a copious stream.
O she was meek and humble, truly kind,
Still happy in diffusing happiness.
She never met you with a hollow smile,
Nor spoke a language foreign to her heart.
I see her now, she rises to my view
Just with the same benignity of look,
That smile of mingled kindness and regret
She wore at parting with her much-lov'd mate..
How tender was the separating scene!
But pleasing hope suppress'd the starting tear,
Held up a false perspective to their view,
Pointing to future scenes of promis'd joy;
Days, months, and years in an harmonious round
Pass in rotation 'fore the mental eye,

Replete with every blessing well-pair'd minds
Find in a constant scene of mutual love;
An unreserved interchange of thought;

One common interest and one common faith;
The union form'd in youth drawn close by time,
Cemented by the strong parental tie ;
Strengthen'd by duties hitherto unknown.
Ah! what a mournful change! Her early fate
Has brought these prospects to a final close!
No dear memento of their union left;
The grave receives the mother and the son!
What cruel pangs must rend the lover's heart,
When the sad tidings break upon his ear!
For her dear sake he cultivates the wild,
Improves the prospect and exerts his skill
To beautify their habitation ;-

Still wisely blending use with ornament,
As emblematic of her well-turn'd mind,
And undepraved taste to nature true.
Perhaps e'en now, unconscious of his loss,
He waits the summons to attend her home.
In vain he waits, in vain he fondly sighs,
For the dear object of his fond regard;
To share with him the fragrance of the spring
She comes no more! The solitary seat

Takes a dark tincture from the master's mind.
Death, in derision of the best-laid plans
Of human bliss, dissolves the pleasing dream:
A dream, indeed, if this vain world were all.
But the strong eye of faith can pierce the cloud
Which veils the world of spirits from our view,
That happy region, where celestial forms
Bask in the rays of uncreated light

Of Godhead, beaming through the spotless lamb.
His blessed presence there illumes and fills
With such a sense of God's unfathom'd love,
His undeserved mercy, sov'reign grace,
As passes all conception here below.
There separated friends again unite
Or rather there's th' indissoluble tie,
Since the triumphant church and militant

Are knit, and form one great harmonious whole.

A SOLILOQUY.

IS fancy dead? Has she forgot her flights?
Is the muse tuneless? Will she mount no more,
And raise my soul on sweet poetic wings?
Has she forgot her notes? It must not be ;---
These notes were wont to sooth my soul to peace,
When sunk in anguish, and oppress'd with grief.
Grief, did I say? Do I complain of grief?
My life how short! that life how pleasant too,
Compar'd with multitudes who sadly pine
From year to year, poor, helpless and forlorn!
Without the tribute of one pitying tear!

Pity them, heav'n, and fix their hopes on thee!
Do I complain of grief? No; rather let
My grateful heart ascend in songs of praise,
To nature's author and preserver too ;
To Him whose bounty liberally supplies
The wants of all his creatures, and to each
With care paternal gives what suits them best;
Still ordering all things for the general good.
Thou gracious source of happiness and life!
Fountain of every blessing! 'tis from thee

The various streams of pleasure take their rise,
Which flow diffusing health and gladness round
Through all creation's channels-

O! condescending goodness, love immense !
Behold! the meanest insect, moth or fly,
This earth sustains, is not forgot by thee,
Tho' trode upon and crumbled into dust,
By man, proud man, his brother of the clay.
What did I say? A worm, a moth, a fly?
And what am I? What my original

But such as their's? We all from nothing came.
And it is owing to distinguish'd grace,

I stand erected thus, and thus assay,
In strains harmonious, my Creator's praise;
And thank the glorious giver for his gifts.
And I will thank thee; yes, I will rejoice
In all the kind effusions of thy love;
For all conspire to raise the grateful soul
To gratitude's best office;

Acting in sweet accordance with thy will,
But conscious of my weakness, O my God!
In thee I trust, to thee I look for aid,

To execute the good resolves I make:
For thou alone art inexhaustible;

Thy magazines of strength are never drain'd;