Hear Thy guilty child implore Thee,
Rolling in the duft before Thee.
Oh, the horrors of that day!
When this frame of finful clay,
Starting from its burial-place,
Muft behold Thee face to face.
Hear, and pity, hear, and aid,
Spare the creatures Thoù haft made.
Mercy, mercy, fave, forgive,

Oh, who fhall look on Thee and live?

MACAULAY.

LXXVII.

THE LAST DAY.

HIS world I deem

But a beautiful dream

Of fhadows that are not what they

feem;

Where vifions rife,

Giving dim furmise

Of the things which fhall meet our waking eyes.

Arm of the Lord,

Creating Word,

Whofe glory the filent fkies record,

Where stands Thy name

In fcrolls of flame,

On the Firmament's high fhadowing frame,

Where Thy hand hath spread

For the waters of Heaven their crystal bed;

And ftored the dew

In its deep of blue,

Which the fires of the fun come temper'd through.

Soft they shine

Through that pure shrine,

As beneath the veil of Thy flesh divine
Beams forth the light,

Which were else too bright

For the feebleness of a finner's fight.

And fuch I deem

This world fhall feem,

When we waken from Life's mysterious dream;

And burst the shell

Where our spirits dwell,

In their wondrous ante-natal cell.

I gaze aloof

On the tiffued roof,

Where time and space are the warp and woof; Which the King of kings

As a curtain flings

O'er the dreadfulness of eternal things.

A tapestried tent,

To fhade us meant,

From the bare everlasting Firmament;

Whence the blaze of the skies

Comes foft to our eyes,

Through a veil of mystical imageries.

But could I fee,

As in truth they be,

The glories of Heaven that encompass me,
I should lightly hold

The tiffued fold

Of that marvellous curtain of blue and gold.

Soon the whole,

Like a parched scroll,
Shall before my amazed fight uproll;
And without a screen,

At one burst be seen,

The Prefence wherein I have ever been.

Ah! who shall bear

The blinding glare

Of the Majesty that shall meet us there?

What eyes may gaze

On the unveiled blaze

Of the light-girdled Throne of the Ancient of

Days?

Chrift us aid!

Himself be our fhade,

That in that dread day we be not dismayed!

WHYTEHEAD.

HO hath this book, and reads it not,
Doth God Himself defpife;

W

Who reads, but understandeth not,
His foul in darkness lies.

Who understands, but favours not,
He finds no reft in trouble;
Who favours, but obeys it not,
He hath his judgment double.

But he who reads, doth underftand,
Doth favour and obey;

His foul fhall ftand at God's right hand
In the great judgment day.

222 Holy Scripture.-The Temple.

II.

HOLY SCRIPTURE.

ITHIN this awful volume lies
The mystery of myfteries;
Happieft they of human race

To whom their God has given grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, to force the way;
And better had they ne'er been born,
Than read to doubt, or read to fcorn.

WALTER SCOTT.

III.

THE TEMPLE ON EARTH.

HEN tower'd the palace, then, in awful

ftate,

The Temple rear'd its everlasting gate:
No workman's fteel, no ponderous axes

rung!

Like fome tall palm the noiseless fabric fprung.

Majestic filence!

BISHOP HEBER.