Hark! heard ye not the golden harps resound
The glorious vict'ry's wou, the conqueror's crown'd ?'
Some bappy spirits, whom he led below,
The Saviour and his wond'rous love to know,
Shout as they see him mount the lofty skies;
The man that winneth souls is truly wise!'
While from the throne he hears the sound Well done,
My faithful servant, my beloved son :
'I call'd thee early, with a sov'reign voice,
To leave thy work below: here to rejoice
In thy reward; nor shall my church complain
While I their Saviour and their Sov'reign reign.'
Ah. Liverpool! thy tears become thee well :
Great was thy loss when the young pastor fell!
Constrain'd by those who love the Saviour's Dame,
He left these scenes of his increasing fame,
Amidst thy sons the gospel to proclaim!
They've seen him stand with ease, and well divide
The portion which his gracious Lord supply'd.
The sacred accents from his fluent tongue
Ran, like a river, clear, and smooth, and strong :
Thy saints rejoic'd, thy sinners were dismay'd,
When he the oracles of God display'd;
While those who self-condemn'd around him stood,
Found peace and pardon preach'd by Jesus' blood!
Hopes of the future age !thy rising youth
Drank from his lips the streams of living truth;
And while they view'd him with admiring eyes,
Learn'd to forsake vain pleasures and be wise.
Success to Zion her own King affords ;
Her tents are widen'd, lengthen'd are her cords;
Her stakes are strengthen'd, and with cheerful voice
Her new-born sons in Liverpool rejoice!
But, lo, the scene is chang'd! What griefs abound,
Where late all eyes with gladness beam'd around!
Well may'st thou mourn; for what's thy golden gain!
What all the riches that thy walls contain!
In vain, from ev'ry clime, thy stores increase,
If Heav'n recall th' ambassadors of peace:
The waves, that waft such treasures to thy shore,
Have robb'd thee of a prize, and made thee poor.
Was it for sins of thine, not wash'd away,
That God appointed such a mournful day?
Hast thou, within thy skirts, the guilt of bloud?
Have Afric's cries rous'd an avenging God?
Or hast thou gifts and talents idoliz'd,
While Christ and his salvation ware despis'd?
Bow then thy knee; while Pastors yet remain,
Who preach salvation, thro' a Saviour slain,
Attend their voice, nor let them preach in vain.
And now, O Lord! throughout this favour'd land,
Thy blessing on thy Ministers command;
Awaken'd, as from slumber, by this call,
Oh, may they yield their time, their strength, their all,
To thy bless'd will, that when the day shall come
To call them, each to his eternal home,
They may rejoice before thy glorious throne,
That they have liv'd and died to Thee alone!
And may the work thy servant well began,
Appear to be of God, and not of man!
Retura, O Lord! Let none the work destroy,
But fill thy people and thy tribes with joy!
To all thy servants shew thy hand divine,
And round their children let thy glory shine!
Establish thou their works, and give them peace!
Whoever dies, thy glory must increase !
TO THE MEMORY OF MR. J. NEWHAM, late Deacon of the Independent Church at Castlegate, Nottingham,
'Tis past, the bitterness of death is o'er :
That voice, so wout to comfort, sounds no more;
Those feet no more in active vigour move
On the kind errands of a brother's love!
Yes; thou who hast so oft our joys improv'd,
Who lovedst much, who was so much belov'd,
Art gone! and Zion 'eils thy mourn'd decease,
Whose course was piety, whose end was peace!
Thou didst shew mercy, thou didst kindly lead,
Didst freely give, ditst patiently attend:
Didst breathe soft solace o'er the child of need;
Didst clothe the naked, and the hungry feed.
Thou wast a peace-maker; and Peace divine
Bade her mild radiance on her vot'ry shine;
Thro' all tby life her downy wing, outspread,
Screen'd from the strifes of earth thy peaceful head.
Well known to thee the sorrow-soothing prayer
And sacred song: how tuneful to thine ear!
Through all thy heart their mingled sweetness stole,
And thence they flow'd to calm the troubled soul.
Unweary'd in the service of thy God,
His work thy joy, His house thy dear abode;
When deathly paleness cover'd all thy frame,
Love led thee there to bless thy Saviour's name.
Oft have I listen'd to thy fervent vows,
Oft have I seen thee in thy Father's house;
- Thine eyes beam'd happiness, and well express'd
The undisturb'd devotion of thy.breast.
When shall the void be fill'd? O painful space!
What child of Heaven shall take thy sacred place?
Look, social spirit, from th' exalted sphere,
And drop thy mantle of compassion here.
For there no scene of sorrow meets thine eye,
Thou see'st no tear, thou hear'st no trembling sigh:
May He whose pow'r, whose love, is all divine,
Give to thy friends and followers hearts like thine!
Nottingham.
EUPHEMIA.
The following Lines, which were much on Mr. SPENCER's Mind for an Time before his Death, are so peculiarly appropriate, that we think it right to insert them.
ONE family, we dwell in Him,
One church, above, beneath;
Though now divided by the stream,
The narrow stream of Death,
One army of the living God,
To his command we bow:
Part of the host have cross'd the flood,
And part are crossing now
Ten thousand to their endless home,
This solemn moment fly;
And we are to the margin come,
And soon expect to die!
Dear Saviour, he our constant Guide;
Then, when the word is giv'n,
Bid Death's cold flood and waves divide,
And land us safe in heav'n.
THE LATE REV. WILLIAM ALDRIDGE,
MINISTER OF JEWRY STREET CHAPEL, LONDON.
To impart, or to impress, profitable instruction, should be the object of every composition; but Biography seems to be the most useful species of literature, especially when the subjects of it have been religious, wise, and useful. These then become models for imitation; and their manner of conducting themselves in the various departments of life which they filled, affords a lesson of wisdom to those who are desirous of instruction it has always been highly extolled; and possesses many important advantages over general history. To record the excellencies of eminent ministers, who were set for the defence of the gospel, and who were burning and shining lights in their generation, is an important duty. Their memory is blessed. To grace alone all their real worth was owing; and grace is honoured in recording their excellencies.
The Rev. W. Aldridge was born at Warminster, in Wiltshire, in the year 1737. His youth appears to have been spent in the pursuit of pleasure and worldly gratifications; and it was not till his 24th year that he received those serious impressions which issued in a saving change of his mind and conduct. At this time he was under great distress of soul; his sins appeared in a most awful light; and it was a considerable time before he experienced deliverance. Having a strong inclination to the Christian ministry, he was introduced to the Countess of Huntingdon's College at Trevecca, in South Wales, and became one of her senior students. Having continued there during the time usually allotted to study, he began to preach in her Ladyship's connection, in which he laboured for several years; and which afforded him an opportunity of visiting various parts of Eugland.
In September, 1771, the Countess of Huntingdon received anonymous letters, requesting her to send a minister to Margate, in the Isle of Thanet, describing it as a licentious place, particularly at the watering season. She made known the contents of these to Mr. Aldridge, giving him the liberty to select any student in the College to accompany aud assist him in this undertaking. Mr. Aldridge fixed upon a Mr. Joseph
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