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He who when surrounded by his bitterest enemies could challenge their severest scrutiny, and make the appeal, “Which of you convinceth me of sin?” He who ere he resigned up bis spirit to his Heavenly Father, could say, “I have finished the work thou gavest me to do." -“Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye

, everlasting doors, and the King of Glory shall come in." “Who is the King of Glory?” Behold the cross,

his name is written there, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.” Around that holy sacrifice, bebold mercy and truth, righteousness and peace, shedding their united and hallowed radiance. He died, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God-he descended into the grave, but he arose again-he ascended up on high, and we see him who for a little season was made lower than the angels for the suffering of death, now crowned with glory and with honour, being by the right band of God exalted; we behold him entering into the holy place, but not for himself alone; having obtained eternal redemption for us—“thither the fore-runner is for as entered; even Jesus, made an high-priest for ever, after the order of Melchisedec; (Heb. vi. 20,)-(Melchisedec, King of Salem, Priest of the Most High God, first being by interpretation King of Righteousness, and after that, also King of Salem, which is, King of Peace.) He it is who entering in through the gates of the city, enters not alone—“Open ye the gates that the righteous nation which keepeth the truth may enter in.” (Isaiah xxvi. 2.) “I looked, and lo! a Lamb standing upon Mount Sion, and with him the multitude of his redeemed, having their Father's name written in their foreheads;" they shine as the sun in the kingdom of their Father, for the Sun of Righteousness is ever shining upon them, and they reflect his glory. “Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of glory shall come in. Who is the King of Glory? Jehovah of Hosts, he is the King of Glory; for this is the name whereby he shall be called, JehovAH OUR RIGHT

ROUSNESS;" and in him, that is, in Christ Jesus, his mediatorial works, offices, and kingdom, is manifested the RIGHTEOUSNESS OF GOD.




Is it impossible ?-There grows a tree
Hard by the waters of yon pearly stream,
Where first it issues from the grassy earth;
You'll know it by the smooth and polish'd rind,
And the young freshness of its new-born leaf.
Six months I looked upon that tree, and saw
No chance or change betide its lifeless form.
When the cold snows lay heavy on its boughs,
It did not bend beneath their weight and when
The blasts of midnight wildly whistling played
Their doleful musick through the twining stems,
They played there all unheeded and unfelt;
There was no leaf to rend, no bud to blight.
It never stooped its bare and barren boughs
To sip the stream that trickled at its feet;
So pure, so clear, that well it might have seen
On that fair front its own unloveliness.
I saw the dews of Heaven bathe its brow
I saw the bright beam of the April sun,
Kiss from its bosom what might seem its tears;
And day by day lie sleeping on its stems
As if it would have wooed them into life,
But still no greenness came-no swelling bud,
Impatient to escape its prison-house,
And revel in the luxuries of day.
All else grew fairer as the season grew.
The gentle fountain dressed itself in flowers
The neighbour trees put on their best attire-
First one and then another saw I change
The colouring of sadness and of death,
For hues of hope and promise. But no change
Came to my mourn'd and melancholy tree
Emblem of death mid a new-living world.
Now look for it-It was but seeming dead,

Till the mid-summer's long and brighter day,
Warm'd it again to beauty and to life.

Is it impossible? O Thou to whom The present and the future's secrecy Is all alike! Thou who so long Hast heard the prayer thou hast not seem'd to answer! Whisper the secret word, so often heard In that intensest silence when the soul, Unpledg'a by any human sympathy, Drinks up its cup of bitterness alone So often heard amid the loudest noise That earth can make to drown it-giving the lie Alike to its persuasions and its threats, Its fairy promise and ill-omen'd fears Whisper one word of promise to my souby And let it say to me, “The night is long In which the soul has slept an awful sleep, And dreamt delusion mid surrounding truth In vain eternal misery has stood, And clank'd her heavy chain beside the bed, Where fancy, busy with her scheme of life, Lay revelling in the imagery of earthIn vain the minstrelsy of Sion's harp Has warbled round the chaf'd and throbbing brore, As it lay rack'd, and writhing, and amaz'da Amid its spectres of embodied woes But yet"-Ah! yet, O God, if thou wilt speak, That slumbering eye shall open to the light, And see instead of all that it has dreamed, One lasting vision of eternal truth..

A MARINER stood once at even-tide,

Hard by the ocean that was erst his-home The red, round sun was setting in the west,

Glaring portentous of the storm to come.

The sultry, waters slept upon the shore,

Glazed and transparent as some inland lakemma
Excepting that as far as eye could reach,

wag one narrow, darkly-growing streaka

The ship had rais'd her anchor, and had lower'd,

Well knew he why, the gallant sail she bore And every lighter skiff had urg'd her oars,

To make the deep or hover on the shore.

How did he feel, who from the rock beheld

The pathless waters where he used to dwell, And saw the growing of that dark, dark streak,

Omen of dangers he had known so well ?

Doubtless he thought of many ä begone day,

When he had seen a storm like that arise, And read the horrors of the coming night

In the wild aspect of the evening skies

Perhaps he could remember of the cries

He sometime heard upon the midnight air; Mix'd with the restless splashing of a keel,

That when the morning open'd, was not there.

And then he had no cover but the skies,

Whence came the storm, the lightning, and the rain And then he had no firmer resting-place

Than the unstable waters of the main.

How did he feel? Ah! doubtless e'en as he,

Who from the sheltering promise of his God, Where lately he has turned him to repose,

Looks on the tried and troubled world abroad.

The brilliant colouring of its changeful scene,

Still beautiful, but not deceiving now The gathering of its sorrows, waited for

And watched with pensive but untroubled brow

The memory of the days when that false world

Was all his hope, his pleasure, and his stayAnd heaven's fair canopy was nought to him

But a dark menace that o'erhung his way


Oh! 'tis no more to him than the wild glare

Of the portentous sunset, or the roar
Of coming storms, to one who from the strand,

Looks on the ocean he shall cross no more.

SHINE on, thou peerless misțress of the night,

With beams so pure, and rays so mild;
For well I know, thy shadowy mournful light,

Is welcome still to sorrow's child.

To gaze on thee, he lifts an aching eye,

As if thou could'st his woes beguile;
Fancies he hears thee answer sigh for sigh,

And sees thee greet him with a smile.

Poor wretch, the feverish pulse, the bosom's swell,

The wasted form, the haggard stare,
Whisper a tale, words may not, cannot tell,

Which yet can reach compassion's ear.

And she would fain assuage the scalding tear,

And heal the deeply rankling wound;
But there is woe so deep, it cannot hear,

Nor heed the kindest, gentlest sound.

Well, let him raise his melancholy look,

To pensive night's chaste pitying star;
May he not find some page in nature's book,

To lift his drooping spirit higher far?

For then, and not till then, shall sweetly rise,

The hope that cannot be o'erthrown,
The breeze of peace, which, native of the skies,

Loves her own atmosphere alone.

And should his chastened thoughts pursue their way,

Till his firm faith be fixed on heav'n,
The dawn shall bring to him a brighter day,

The setting sun, a calmer even.



Jerusalem Destroyed; or, the History of the Siege

of that City by Titus, abridged from Josephus, with brief Notices of the Jews since their disper

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