Ye whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nursed in the downy lap of ease,

Fall prostrate at His throne.

Ye princes, rulers, all adore;

Praise Him, ye kings, who makes your power
An image of his own.

Ye fair, by nature formed to move,
O praise th' eternal source of love
With youth's enlivening fire:
Let age take up the tuneful lay,
Sigh His blessed name-then soar away,
And ask an angel's lyre.

JOHN BARCLAY.

HE founder of the sect of the Bereans, John Barclay, was born at Muthill, Perthshire, in 1734. He studied at St Andrews University, and in 1759 was licensed to preach. As ministerial assistant at Fettercairn, he indicated some peculiar theological opinions, which were condemned by the local presbytery. Among other views opposed to the standards of the Scottish Church, he repudiated the evidence of Natural Religion. He was ordained to the ministry at Newcastle in 1773, and he subsequently laboured in connection with his sect at Edinburgh, London, and Bristol. He died in July 1793. He published a number of theological works. His Spiritual Songs are chiefly, to be remarked for their earnest piety.

THE BLESSEDNESS OF THE BIBLE.

I HAVE seen all the pleasures of hoarded-up treasures,
More fleet than a shadow, fly quickly away;
Instead of a blessing, they are an oppressing,
To have them and hold them, a pitiful day;
But now my breast glowing, with raptures o'erflowing,
I swim in an ocean that knoweth no shore;
An ocean of blessing, the good Word possessing;
I'm full, full of treasures that last evermore.

I well know the present, how balmy and pleasant
Of small honey-workers on fair summer-day;
The honey tastes sweetly, yet not so completely
But mingled with bitter, the sweet will decay.
Unspeakably sweeter, without any bitter,

The pure Word of God is eternally mine;
My heart it delighteth, mine eyes it enlighteneth;
I thereby a diadem of beauty do shine.

Deep shades they enclosed me, and death discomposed me,

When light-flaunting folly my heart did betray; But Jesus the prize won, which I've now my eyes on; The darkness is fled, and is lost in the day. Substantial possessions, perennial blessings,

Are laid up in heaven with Jesus for me; Thy Spirit I feel it; Thy Word is my pilot;

Blow Thy breath in my sails; blow my vessel to Thee.

JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D.

AMES BEATTIE was born at Laurencekirk, Kincardineshire, in 1735. He studied at Marischal College, Aberdeen. In his eighteenth year he was appointed parish-schoolmaster of Fordoun. In 1758 he was elected

one of the Masters of the Grammar School, Aberdeen, and two years afterwards, was promoted to the chair of Moral Philosophy in Marischal College. Declining many subsequent offers of preferment, he remained at Aberdeen till his death, which took place in August 1803. Beattie was the author of various poetical and philosophical works, but his fame rests chiefly on his poem of The Minstrel and his Essay on Truth.

HOPE BEYOND THE GRAVE.

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save: But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave? 'Twas thus by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder and dazzles to blind, My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,

Destruction before me and sorrow behind.

'O pity, great Father of light,' then I cried,

"Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:

From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.'

And darkness and doubt are now flying away,
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn :
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom;

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,

And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb!

MRS BARBAULD.

ENNA LETITIA BARBAULD, daughter of the Rev. John Aikin, D.D., was born at Kibworth, Leicestershire, in 1743. In 1774 she accepted the hand of the Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, who died in 1808.

She printed a volume of poems in the year preceding her marriage, and subsequently devoted herself to literary and educational pursuits. She died at Stoke-Newington in March 1825, in her 82d year.

LOVE, THE NEW COMMANDMENT.

BEHOLD, where, breathing love divine,
Our dying Master stands !

His weeping followers, gathering round,
Receive his last commands.

From that mild Teacher's parting lips
What tender accents fell!

The gentle precept which He gave
Became its author well.

'Blessed is the man whose soft'ning heart

Feels all another's pain,

To whom the supplicating eye

Was never raised in vain.

'Whose breast expands with generous warmth, A stranger's woes to feel,

And bleeds in pity o'er the wound

He wants the power to heal.

'He spreads his kind supporting arms

To every child of grief;

His secret bounty largely flows,

And brings unasked relief.

'To gentle offices of love

His feet are never slow;

He views through mercy's melting eye,
A brother in a foe.

'Peace from the bosom of his God,
My peace to him I give;

And when he kneels before the throne,
His trembling soul shall live.

'To him protection shall be shewn, And mercy from above

Descend on those who thus fulfil

The perfect law of love.'