will be made that we prepare to pass over the cold, swelling river. How desirable, then, that we store the mind with those precious truths which will best succour us in the hour of trial, and that we lay in a large stock of grace for use at that awful moment! Whatever attainments we have made in knowledge or experience, we shall stand in need of all to ensure a peaceful entrance into the land of promise: and even these can only promote a holy confidence, and secure a delightful calm, as they lead the soul to an unsuspecting affiance in the finished work of the Saviour, and the truth of his promises.

"That awful hour will soon appear,
Swift on the wings of time it flies,
When all that pains or pleases here

Will vanish from my closing eyes.

Death calls my friends, my neighbours hence,
And none resist the fatal dart;

Continual warnings strike my sense,

And shall they fail to strike my heart?

Think, O my soul, how much depends
On the short period of a day;

Shall time, which heaven in mercy lends,
Be negligently thrown away?

Thy remnant minutes strive to use;
Awake! rouse every active power!
And not in dreams and trifles lose
This little-this important hour!

184

PREPARATION FOR DEATH.

Lord of my life! inspire my heart
With heavenly ardour, grace divine;
Nor let thy presence e'er depart,

For strength, and life, and death, are thine.

O teach me the celestial skill

Each awful warning to improve;

And while my days are short'ning still,
Prepare me for the joys above."

I'

CONCLUSION.

1 N

Then since this world is vain,

And volatile, and fleet,
Why should I lay up earthly joys,
Where rust corrupts and moth destroys,

And cares and sorrows eat?

Why fly from ill

With anxious skill,

When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart lie still?

KIRKE WHITE.

THE subject to which our attention has been directed is one of awful interest. It is impossible to feel our individual concern in the event of death, and forebode the results with which it is connected, without having the heart seriously and deeply impressed. In order to produce this impression, we have contemplated it in its most solemn aspects; have traced its rise and progress; and have anticipated its final destruction. And now what remains but that we deduce from the whole some practical reflections?

boFIRST. In the tendency of every thing around us to decay, we see the vanity of the world.

To a man in full health and prosperous circumstances, the spirit of whose mind has never been renewed by the truth nor disciplined by affliction, the world has many attractions. It presents a fair and gilded scene, specious to the eye, and flattering to the heart, of its heedless votary, promising all that can delight the senses, or gratify ambition. Its verdant fields and stately mansions; its adornings and its equipages; its mines of gold and beds of pearls; its chaplets of fame and statues of honour; together with the advantages of polished society and endeared friendship; are so many marks of distinction, and sources of enjoyment, to the worldling. And yet, in truth, how little are they to be valued, either on account of their own intrinsic excellence, or the happiness which they contribute to their possessors. Mutability is stamped on all sublunary good. Wealth is continually changing its masters; and often, when least expected, it takes to itself wings and flies away as an eagle towards heaven. A storm at sea, or a fire on land; a rash and imprudent speculation, or an unsuspecting confidence placed in those who prove themselves unworthy of it; will, in a few hours, destroy the labours

of many years; and he who to-day is surrounded with abundance, and scattering his favours with a liberal hand, may to-morrow be dependent on the charities of others. How many high in station, and commanding extensive influence, have been suddenly hurled from their pedestal of greatness, and doomed to hear the execrations of those who once lavished on them the acclamations of praise! Even monarchs, while dreaming of security, and in the very endeavour of enlarging their territories, have been obliged to exchange a palace for a dungeon, and have learnt, by sad experience, that thrones and sceptres are but shadows of power, and that crowns are fleeting emblems of regal grandeur.

And what are all the pleasures of sense, but so many instruments and occasions of sin, or sources of bitter disappointment and regret? It is not in the nature of any created good to fill the capacity, and satisfy the desires, of an immortal soul. He that enjoys the most will only seek to open fresh avenues of animal or intellectual gratification; and if he does not increase the keenness of his remorse, he will add to the weight of his sorrow. The sweets of every flower are soon extracted, and the rill of every comfort soon exhausted; and the enjoyment will either leave a sting behind, or produce vexation of spirit. Solomon was raised to the