myself to you, O professing Christians, I see no need of an apology: because you all acknowledge that there is but one Lord, one faith, one baptism: and this admission self-indicates one only Spiritual Congregation, all thinking and speaking the same.

As to the style of this Epistle, to the Remnant of Israel, which is almost extemporary, there can be no objection in a case of this nature, if after a kind of resemblance to our "Epistles; " especially as it is most proper to tread as much as possible in the footsteps of the faithful; considering too, that they must have made choice of the best style,and the most likely to convince. And because, in being easy to be understood, and there is not so much danger of the meaning being lost in flowery language, so much oftener delighting the ear than assisting the comprehension;-I see no

objection to my allowing a kind of tune, belonging to the present translation of the Christian Epistles, to muse my mind through the following Chapters. Another reason prevents me from offering an apology for style, because the occasion of the restoration of Israel demands the plainest, the most sacred, and the most strenuous method, either in style of writing to them, or any other exertion for that great end;-that, to overlook the English texture of our Epistles would, even in a literary sense, be almost inexcusable.

The arrangement intends to be, “here a little, and there a little."

From the previous reasons, there would seem to be neither need of, nor a suitable occasion for, making any apologies whatever; which is the best inducement for my here declining to offer them on this very important subject,

relating to the eternal welfare of the Remnant of Israel; and which requires but one apology, that is, Repentance; which they themselves are bound to offer to the Lord God. So let them do.

AUTHOR.

Padstow, the 27th of Kislev, A.D. 1847.

INVOCATION.

DARKNESS from my labouring mind begone!
Lo, in the heavens appears the risen Son!
Ye vapours haste! ye can no longer stay,
Chased by the beams of never-ending day!
Come, favouring light! your every ray diffuse
Through this benighted mind, and 'wake the muse!
Light of mine eyes!—and all my happiness!
O, shine on me,—blest Son of Righteousness!-

Speak not of muses-shaded by the trees;
Speak not of muses-floated by the seas;
Speak not of those of rivers, brooks, and rills;
Nor muses of the valleys, nor-of hills;
Nor mention mountain muses wrapt in clouds;
Nor muses where the dark abyss enshrouds ;
Nor-of the dizzy heights; nor-of the shore;
Nor-of the hollow caverns: speak no more,
Of muses of the pastures wide on plains :—
Of fields, of cities neither: higher strains

My muse melodes, and thrills them through my

heart

When softly touched on string of the sacred harp.

Spirit of truth and love divine! be near!
Attune the heavenly muses to mine ear
In still soft harmony-to swelling note;
Now, near,-far off,—and on for ever float :-
Be mine, blest song, in gratitude to say,
In ravishing sense that will not die away.-
Blest notes!-blest themes!-which are most
dear to me,

Whose living sounds, from living minstrelsey,
Come back,-depart ;-and-lingering in relay,-
Hush to us awhile,-yet on for ever play
As listening ear,-now memory has graspt,
Long since the muse had sweetly toned the last;
Which then as silent,-but the ravished ear-
Hears yet the song, and every note so dear;
Brings to the mind each cadence of its lay,
Still clamouring in the soul, by-how it hushed
away.

Men invoked non-deities uncouth,

Of wood, stone, gold; but I the son of truth,
For how to bring forth these imaginations
Of his great love, for his among all nations