Imatges de pàgina
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Poetry.

THE SEASONS.

'Tis God who bids the tempest blow,
And robes the earth in fleecy snow;
To fields of stone he turns the plains,
And binds the streams in icy chains.
The piercing winds his word obey,
Sweep o'er the earth and heave the sea,
Cold Boreas roars with vaunting pride,
While on his wings majestic ride
The sable clouds, the hardy swains,
Shiv'ring along the frozen plains,
To some defence with haste repair,
To shun the keen, the piercing air;
There warm their chilly limbs with fire,
While to their stalls the herds retire.
Again he bids a milder ray

Dart from the sun, to cheer the day;
He sends a genial warmth around,
Dissolves the snow, unveils the ground,
Permits the streams again to flow,
And bids the grass revive and grow.
Delightful prospects now are seen,
The fields are cloth'd with lively green,
The lofty groves their pomp resume,
And nature shines in all her bloom.
He then commands the burning sun
To pour his heat impetuous down ;
And ere mid heavens he attains,
With scorching beams he burns the plains;
Flowers, which in morn their bloom display,
Now veil their bosoms from his ray;
The weary swains to shun his fire,
All bath'd in floods of sweat, retire
To some cool shade, some safe retreat,
Which may repel his burning heat.
The lolling herds to fountains haste,
The cool, reviving streams to taste;

The streams are dry: They droop, they faint,
They send to heaven a sad complaint;
Thence falls in floods the baneful fire,
The lowing, famish'd herds expire.
But lest all nature fail and die,
God sends his mandates from on high;
The scene's revers'd; loud thunders roll,
And strike with inward fear the soul;
The rocking clouds o'erspread the skies,
And veil the heavens from mortal eyes;
The trees before the tempest bend,
The floods of rain with hail descend,
Down the steep hills the torrents flow,
And drench the humble vales below.
Meanwhile the forked lightnings fly,
And crinkling dart along the sky;
They spread a vivid gleam around,
And shock the air with deafening sound.

For the Panoplist,

The storms awhile with fury play,
Then leave the sky serene as day;
By thunder clarified, the air
From noxious heats and vapours clear,
Sweet as Arabia's rich perfume,
Or spices that from India come,
Soft breezing o'er surrounding hills,
All nature with new vigour fills.
The earth assumes her verdant hue,
And vegetation springs anew.

Now by alternate rains and shines,
While to its close the year declines,
The various fruits the earth bestows,
Are ripening on the bending boughs,
Or in rich harvests through the land,
Waving, invite the reapers hand;
With shouts of joy the reapers come,
And bear the spoils of Ceres home;
These, they deposit in their store,
And now their tedious toils are o'er.

Let nature join her highest lays,
The great Creator's name to praise;
In all his works his wonders shine,
His works declare his name divine.

HOLEM.

WINTER NIGHT.

[From the Monthly Anthology.]

HAIL Winter! sullen monarch! dark with clouds: Throned on bleak wastes, and fierce and cold with storms; Welcome thy blasting cold and treasured snow!

Thy raving, rending winds do but compose

My soul; and midst thy gloom, my heart

Smiles like the opening spring. Thy long drear nights,
Winter, I hail. The cold receding sun

I love to follow to the cloudy west,

And see thy twilight deepen into gloom

Of thickest darkness. Round my cheering fire,

Of my

How I enjoy the glistening eye, and smile,
And burning cheek, and prattle innocent,
dear little ones; and when they sink
With heavy eyes into the arms of sleep,
Peaceful, and smiling still, and breathing soft;
How pleasant glide the hours in converse pure
With her whom first I lov'd; who long has crown'd
My joys, and soothed me with her gentle voice,
Under a load of sorrows; who has felt
The power of truth divine; and from whose lips
I catch the peace and love of saints in heaven.
Vain world! We envy not your joys. We hear
Your rattling chariot wheels, and weep for you;
We weep that souls immortal can find joy
In forcing laughter, dissipating thought,

In the loose stage, the frisking dance, the pomp,
And forms and ornaments of polish'd life,
In heartless hypocritic show of love,

In giddy nonsense, in contempt of truth,

Which elevates the soul, and swells the heart
With hope of holy bliss. We mourn your waste

Of mind, of strength, of wealth. Think, thoughtless world,

How many fatherless and widows pine
In want; how many shiver in the storm.
Over a dying flame, how many cower

In some poor hovel, pressing to their breasts
Their little ones, to save them from the cold.
Oh think, what aching hearts ye might relieve!

What brooding sorrows ye might cheer! What tears
Of friendless, naked, moaning poverty

Ye might wipe off with lenient sympathy.
Oh Winter, I can bear thy howling storms.
Rise but a few more suns, and all thy blasts

Will soften. Yon waste fields will smile in green;
The branches swell with infant buds; the groves
Resound with nature's melody. But MAN,
MY KIN, lies desolate. A wintry blast
Has chilled his heart, frozen the circling blood
Of sympathy, and blighted the sweet fruits

Of love. How bleak and waste! In vain the Sun
Of Righteousness sheds bright and healing beams.
In vain does HE, who died on Calvary,

Extend his hands, bleeding with wounds of love.
MAN still is cold and wintry; still is hard,
And melts not into mercy.-This vain world
Is colder than the northern skies. But FAITH
Looks o'er the icy mountains, looks beyond
The wintry clouds, and sees unfading bloom
Of paradise, sees peaceful streams of joy,
And warm effulgence of the God of Love.
And hark! a gentle voice now calls, *" Arise
And come away. The winter's past and gone,
The flowers appear; the birds with transport hail
The spring. The turtle's plaintive voice is heard;
The fig-tree bends with figs. The fragrant vine
Presents the tender grape. Arise and see
Millennial happiness, the reign of peace and love.”
* Canticles ii. 10.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

H, on Secrets revealed to those who fear the Lord, is received, and on file for our next number.

The apology of FIDELIS was unnecessary. His communication is very acceptable, and will be read with interest. We shall hope to hear again from this unknown and judicious correspondent.

C. Y. A. will accept our cordial thanks for his luminous remarks on several interesting subjects. The lucubrations of this original and instructive writer will be very acceptable to the editors, and we presume to the readers of the Panoplist. We are happy to find him a favourite of the muses. He will particularly oblige us by contributions to our poetic department.

The subject of P's communication is very important, and requires to be managed with a skilful and delicate hand. The piece before us contains good matter; but it will be necessary to give it a new dress before it can appear with advantage before the public eye.

Our readers shall be gratified with Z, in continuation, on Experimental Religion, in the next number.

PHILO's concluding No. on the Deluge; further remarks on Demons, by BETA; and EUSEBIUS, on the importance of preparation for death, are received and on file for future publication.

As a large proportion of our readers do not understand the dead languages, a lover of sacred poesy will excuse our declining his request, unless he will accompany the Latin text with an English translation.

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You have complied with my wishes, by publishing the ac count of my visit to Theophilus. In the persuasion that every important occurrence in the life of such a character, cannot fail to afford instruction and entertainment to many of your readers, I now send you some fur ther anecdotes respecting him.

Let me first, however, premise, that the flattering hopes which we entertained of his recovery were not disappointed; in a few days after the dispatch of my former narrative, we had the satisfaction to see him restored to our prayers in perfect health. The news of a national victory would scarcely have diffused more joy in the little circle of his friends and admirers.

When Theophilus succeeded to the estate which he now enjoys, he found a living attached to it, in the possession of a clergyman, who was beloved by his parishioners, and generally esteemed for his piety and benevolence. The opinion ΤΤ

Vol. I. No. 8.

entertained of him did not exceed his merits, and Theophilus" was delighted to discover in him, a man of polished manners and elegant conversation, learned, judicious, and intelligent, and he courted an acquaintance with him, which was soon improved into an intimacy. ·

At this period, the religious attainments of Theophilus were of a standard little superior to what mine were when I lately entered his house. In the course of his education at school and the university, he had gone through the usual routine of religious instruction, but the seed was sown among thorns, and the pleasures of this world, "the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things entering in, had choked the word, and it had become unfruitful." He attended, indeed, the service of the church with considerable regularity, but rather for the sake of shewing an example of decent conformity than from conviction, or an anxiety to improve. An affecting occurrence which happened a

bout six months after he had taken possession of his estate, gave a new and profitable turn to his thoughts and views.

The wife of the rector, and mother of four children, died, after an illness of only a few days: Theophilus had too much feeling and humanity not to be deeply affected at this event, and he only waited, according to the established etiquette, until the funeral had taken place, to offer his personal condolence to his friend. Judge of his surprise, when, on the Sabbath following the death of the lady, and the day after her interment, he saw the rector enter the church, with a depressed but composed countenance, and with a firm but submissive voice heard him perform his ministerial functions. The discourse which he addressed to his congregation, naturally had a reference to his own situation; it was pathetic, solemn, and impressive: one passage in it, which was committed to writing at the time, with tolerable accuracy, by a sensible parishioner, has been communicated to me, and was nearly in the following terms.

"You see me, my brethren, with the characters of grief upon my countenance; they are deeply engraven in my heart. To lose a wife, an amiable beloved wife, the tender mother and kind protector of four dear children, is no trivial sorrow; but I should be ashamed to appear before you, if, upon this trying affliction, I were to belie the doctrines which I have taught. I sorrow, but not as one without hope; I know in whom I trust, and I feel his divine support on the present occasion; it is that

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alone which enables me thus to address you. Had I sought for consolation in that worldly wisdom, which men call philosophy, I should not have found it; I should have sunk under the calamity which has befallen me; but the gospel teaches me that the afflictions which Christians suffer here, while they are the deserved punishment of their sins, are also intended to purify their faith, and to prepare them for the enjoyment of that eternal happiness which Christ has purchased for them by his death. In all the dispensations of the Almighty, justice and mercy, where there is room for mercy, are ever united; nor are any of the afflictions to which a believer in Christ is exposed, without abundant sources of consolation. Such an one knows that whom God loveth he chasteneth; and while, therefore, he considers his sufferings as the effect of his sinfulness, and humbles himself under them; he regards them also as proofs of the love of his Creator, who is thus weaning him from earthly attachments. Feeling that "tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope," he says in his heart, it is good for me to be afflicted, and he resigns himself to the disposal of his heavenly Father, in the hope of eternal life through Christ, a hope which elevates him beyond the limits of the world and time.

"When the Christian also calls to mind the sorrows and agonies of his dying Redeemer, and whilst he contemplates, with unutterable gratitude, the stupendous display of divine love, in the atoning sacrifice of the Son

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