O Lord! fhall the time not be yet

When Thy Church fhall be bleffed and free? Thou who canft not forfake, and who wilt not forget, Come quickly-or take us to Thee!

DALE.

LXVI.

MARTYRDOM.

VENGE, O Lord, thy flaughtered faints, whofe bones

Lie fcattered on the Alpine mountains cold:

Even them who kept thy truth fo pure of old,

When all our fathers worshipped ftocks and stones, Forget not in Thy book record their

groans, Who were Thy fheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontefe, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To Heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes fow O'er all th' Italian fields, where still doth fway The triple tyrant: that from these may grow

A hundred-fold, who, having learned Thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.*

MILTON.

*Written in commemoration of the horrible maffacre of the Proteftants in the valleys of Piedmont, A.D. 1655; for which, together with a hundred fimilar deeds, the Church of Rome, "drunken with the blood of the faints," will one day have to give a fearful account.

LXVII.

A

TIME.

MOMENT is a mighty thing,
Beyond the foul's imagining;
For in it, though we trace it not,
How much there crowds of varied lot;
How much of life, life cannot fee,

Darts onward to eternity!

While vacant hours of beauty roll
Their magic o'er fome yielded foul,
Ah! little do the happy guess
The fum of human wretchedness;
Or dream, amid the foft farewell
That time of them is taking,
How frequent moans the funeral knell,
What noble hearts are breaking,
While myriads to their tombs defcend
Without a mourner, creed, or friend.

ROBERT MONTGOMERY.

LXVIII.

MIDNIGHT CHIMES.

NELL of departed years,

Thy voice is fweet to me;

It wakes no fad foreboding fears,
Calls forth no fympathetic tears,
Time's reftlefs course to fee.
From hallowed ground

I hear the found,

Diffufing through the air a holy calm around.

Thou art the voice of Hope,
The mufic of the spheres,
A fong of bleffings yet to come;
A herald from my future home,

My foul delighted hears.

By fin deceived,

By nature grieved,

Still am I nearer heaven than when I firft believed.

Thou art the voice of Love,

To chide each doubt away;
And as the murmur faintly dies,
Vifions of paft enjoyment rife

In long and bright array.

I hail the fign,

That Love Divine

Will o'er my future path in cloudlefs glory fhine.

Thou art the voice of Life,

A found which seems to say,
O prifoner in this gloomy vale,

Thy flesh may faint, thy heart may fail,
Yet fairer scenes thy spirit hail,

Which fhall not pass away.

Here grief and pain

Thy steps detain ;

There, in the image of thy Lord, fhalt thou with Jefus reign.

LXIX.

THE MILLENNIUM.

HE night is wearing faft away,
A ftreak of light is dawning,
Sweet harbinger of that bright day,
The fair Millennial morning!

Gloomy and dark the night has been,
And long the way and dreary,
And fad the weeping faints are seen,
And faint, and worn, and weary.

Ye mourning pilgrims, dry your tears,
And hufh each figh of forrow,
The light of that bright morn appears,
The long Sabbatic morrow.

Lift up your heads, behold from far
The flood of fplendour streaming,
It is the bright and morning star,
In living luftre beaming.

And fee that ftar-like host around,
Of angel-bands attending;

Hark, hark, the trumpet's swelling found, 'Mid fhouts triumphant blending!

O weeping spouse, arise, rejoice,
Put off thy weeds of mourning;

And hail the Bridegroom's welcome voice,
In triumph now returning!

He comes, the Bridegroom promised long;
Go forth with joy to meet Him,
And raise the new and nuptial fong
In cheerful strains to greet Him.

Adorn thyfelf! the feast prepare,

While bridal strains are swelling,— He comes with thee all joys to share, And make the earth His dwelling.