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fiery shafts of temptation, and invested with the dangerous gift of unbounded power. It were easier for the shivered crystal to unite without a flaw, than for a great prince to pass unspotted by sin into the presence of his God. Yet a time will come, although even the eyes of the Prophet can see it but dimly and darkly at a far distance, when the power
of the Evil One will be fettered and restrained; when a guiding light shall be vouchsafed to the children of men; and when the Kings of the earth will shame to act even as the best of them in these unhallowed days.'
“I dwelt for a few years in the house of Nathan, among the Sons of the Prophets. I became a convert to the Law of Moses, and a poet and musician of great fame; but I dreaded the shoals and quicksands of public life; and, having obtained the hand of thy mother Sheluma, a maiden of Judah whom I loved, I withdrew with the wealth which I had acquired into this fruitful land, where I have dwelt in tranquillity, and hope to die in peace.”
“ FEAR NOT.”
BY JOSIAH CONDER.
"Fear not.--I have the keys of the Grave and of Death.”
Rev. i. 17, 18.
It fills - it soon must sink!
'Tis agony to think
II. Cling not to this
life. Unlock thy clasp Of fleeting, vapoury air. The world, receding, soon will mock thy grasp :
But let the wings of prayer Take Heaven's own blessed breeze, and upward flee, And life from God shall enter thee.
'T is not a Spectre, but the Lord !
Who holds in captive-ward
Let hope not linger here.
Or the transition fear,
The portal, friends stand guard ;
Why, why should it be hard
Into His hands commit thy trembling spirit,
Who gave His life for thine.
To Him thy heart resign.
BY J. F. HOLLINGS.
The beryl, in its secret bed,
As free from stain would shine,
The dark and pathless mine :-
O’er hill and glistening stream,
To hail that sportive beam!
On many an unfrequented shore,
The flowers of beauty rise, And rocks, which flame with golden ore,
And shells like evening's dyes ; Nor smiles the bow of
the less, When parts the storm on high, O’er the green ocean's loneliness,
Or in the desert sky.
Is there no music in the blast,
hear? Sweeps not the breeze as freshly past,
When wastes alone are near ? Shine not as free the sons of night,
In changeless splendour dressed,Though, spread before our wearied sight,
Low hangs the veil of rest?
And on the tempest's bands,
A deathless record stands !
Nor needs our faint acclaim, -
Which robes thine awful Name !
Oh King of endless days !
Have best proclaimed thy praise ;
Shall hymn Thy perfect will;
And man's weak voice is still!