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All Nature to him has been blasted and banned,
For the blood of a brother yet reeks on his hand;
And no vintage has grown, and no fountain has sprung,
For cheering his heart, or for cooling his tongue.

The groans of a father his slumber shall start,
And the tears of a mother shall pierce to his heart,
And the kiss of his children shall scorch him like flame,
When he thinks of the curse that hangs over his name.

And the wife of his bosom-the faithful and fair-
Can mix no sweet drop in his cup of despair;
For her tender caress and her innocent breath,
But stir in his soul the hot embers of wrath.

And his offering may blaze, unregarded by heaven;
And his spirit may pray-yet remain unforgiven;
And his grave may be closed-but no rest to him bring:
O the wrath of the Lord is a terrible thing!

THE PROPHETS OF BAAL.

1 Kings xviii. 21--41.

"Ye prophets of Baal! let an offering be laid
On the altar which you to your idol have made.
Let an offering be laid on the altar I rear

To the Lord that I worship, the Lord that I fear:
Pray ye to your god, while to my God I pray;
For the fire of his power to consume it away,
And let Him-the Omnipotent-who hath bestowed
The boon we request, be acknowledged as God."

When Elijah had spoken, an offering was laid
On the altar which they to their idol had made;
And the propets of Baal to devotion were given
From the morn till the noon, from the noon till the even;
But the voice of their prayer passed like winds of the sky
That blow o'er the desert and bring no reply;
And they smote them with lancets, and leapt in despair,
But the god of their worship was deaf to their prayer.

"Ye prophets of Baal! cry aloud, cry aloud,
Perhaps he is wrapped in his thoughts like a cloud;

Cry aloud, cry aloud, with your voices of woe,
Perhaps he is now in pursuit of his foe;
Cry aloud, cry aloud, like a trumpet of war,
Perhaps he is gone on some journey afar;
Cry aloud, cry aloud, in your agony deep,
Perhaps he is laid on his pillow of sleep."

When Elijah had spoken, an altar was reared

To the Lord that he worshipped, the Lord that he feared;
And he bowed him in prayer, and the fire was bestowed,
And the God of his sires was acknowledged as God.
And the prophets of Baal, who had offered in vain,
Were led to the banks of the Kishon, and slain;
For the god of their worship appeared not to save
The blood of the heathen that crimsoned the wave.

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(1771-1854.)

JAMES MONTGOMERY, the son of a Moravian missionary, was born at Irvine, in Ayrshire, in 1771; and was educated at the Moravian school at Fulneck, near Leeds. In 1792, he commenced his connection with the 'Sheffield Iris," a newspaper which he afterwards conducted for the space of thirty years, retiring from his editorial duties in 1825. In January 1794, and again in January 1795, he was prosecuted for alleged political offences, and sentenced the first time to a fine of £20 and three months' imprisonment, and the second time to a fine of £30 and six months' imprisonment. He lived long enough to record that all his political an

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"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto ME."-MATTHEW XXV. 40.

tagonists of those years had, without exception, died at peace with him. In his latter years, he enjoyed a pension of £200 per annum from the discriminating bounty of his sovereign. His death occurred in the year 1854.

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James Montgomery's chief poetical works are, The Wanderer of Switzerland and other Poems" (1806); "The World before the Flood" (1813); "Greenland" (1819); and "The Pelican Island,” which is in many respects the most finished of his productions. His smaller poems exhibit great facility and smoothness, and an unfailing and exquisite amiability and devoutness of feeling.

THE POOR WAYFARER.

A poor wayfaring man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief

That I could never answer, Nay.
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.

Once when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered; not a word he spake :
Just perishing for want of bread;

I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate; but gave me part again:
Mine was the angel's portion then;
For while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.

I spied him where a fountain burst

Clear from the rock; his strength was gone;
The heedless water mocked his thirst,

He heard it, saw it hurrying on:

I ran to raise the sufferer up:

Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipt, and returned it running o'er;
I drank, and never thirsted more.

Y

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