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Safe-ly thro' a no-ther week, God hath brought us on our way.

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And grant, O, grant thy saving hand, To crush the deathful weed!

T. E

GEN. iii. 17, 18.

Cursed is the groun.l for thy sake: thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee.

AH! go, ye sad remembrancers,
Obedient to the Lord;

And scatter down to future years
The signets of his word.

If whirl'd upon the stormy west,
Or sailing with the breeze,

Or scarce afloat on Eve's calm breast,

Still speaking his decrees.

Hover round infidelity,

Wave slow before his eyes;

Press him to own, fulfill'd in thee,
The message of the skies.

Wing'd by the curse, spread want around!
Preach vengeance as ye fly!

Then bid the troubl'd thought rebound
To peaceful Calvary!

Aloud denounce the righteous woe
On Eden's exiles laid:
But louder yet, where'er ye go,

Proclaim the ransom paid!
Bosom'd in down, lo, curses rove,
On silent pinions borne !
Our least suspected comforts prove
The parents of a thorn.

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JUDG. V. 20, 21.

LORD of the starry hosts,

Let them for Britain fight!

While angels mighty guard our coasts, And put our foes to flight.

If they invade our isle,

Let Nature rise in arms:
In mercy on our navies smile,

And frown on Gallia's swarms.

Stretch out thy pow'rful arm,

And wield the sword of war; Britannia shield from threat'ning harm And spread her commerce far.

Here may religion shine,

And piety increase;

So shall our thankful hearts be thine, And praise the God of Peace.

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My heart, a stranger once to pain,
Now can do nothing but complain
And sigh for thee, and sigh in vain,
My mother.
The Sun emits his golden fire,
And robes the fields in gay attire;
But 'tis thy presence I require,
My m
O, could thine eye behold my fear!
O, might the winds my wailings bear!
Perhaps thy spirit still might hear,
My mother.

And can I thus in vain deplore !
Is thy ondearing form no more?
Art thou not on some happier shore,
My mother?
Yes, thou art there, unfetter'd, free,
Glowing with immortality;
Think of thy child, O think of me,
My mother!

Soon as morn lifts his purple eye
Resplendent in the eastern sky,
I'll speak thy name, and look on high,
My mother.

At noon, reclin'd beneath the shade,
Fancy shall wander where thou'rt laid,
And strew her How'rs around thy head,
My mother.
When eve, in sable garments dress'd,
Invites me to my wonted rest,

i think how richly thou art bless'd, My mother. Ad when I tread the blooming green, With aching heart and pensive mien, I'll think thou'rt with me, tho' unseen, My mother.

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Why boastest thou thyself in mischief, O mighty mán? the goodness of the Lord endureth continually.

AMBITION thro' the human breast,
Infuses oft its madd'ning fire;
And men, with ease and safety blest,
To pow'r unlimited aspire.
Some, uncontrol'd dominion gain,
prostrate slaves exulting view
O'er vanquish'd hosts despotic reign,
And boast the mischiefs which they do.
Man, following thus his impious will,
His soul to wickedness insures;
But God's unbounded goodness still

The same eternally endures."
The countless worlds which roll on high,
Unite his goodness to declare;
And all his wond'ious works supply

Fresh proofs of his paternal care.
The mist events which hourly move,
Unfold his bountiful designs;
But chiefly in redeeming love

His everlasting goodness shines!
Here saints enjoy a rich repast

Cf blessings iu profusion stor❜d:
And here their joyful spirits taste

The fost'ring goodness of the Lord.
Shall Christians then mistrust his aid?
His providential care forget?
Shall they an earthly tyrant dread,

Or tremble at a mortal's threat?
No: God's right hand can conquer those
Whose mad ambition knows no bounds;
And England, midst a thousand foes,

Is safe, if God her shores surrounds. Here let the Christian fix his trust,

Ner fear the Gallic boaster's might; Tho' of his foes have lick'd the dust, And vict'ry crown'd the lawless fight. Tho' foreign lands his conquests feel, Where mischief mark'd his mad career; The Christians' pray'rs for England's weal Shall frustrate all his efforts here. Lord, hear our pray'rs !-on thee alone We fix our hopes in danger's hour; Help us to make thy glories known, And crush the mighty boaster's pow'r I JACQUEST

Printed by G. Auld, Greville Street, London.

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THE Rev. John Clark was the offspring of pious parents, who were members of a Baptist church at Frome, in Somersetshire, under the care of a Mr. Sharp. He was born December 29, 1711, and was put to school to a woman, who taught him to read ; and as soon as he was able, he was set to work. At about fourteen years of age, he was apprenticed to a cooper at Frome, who soon after removed to Axbridge, where he kept a public-house. Here his situation became so uncomfortable, that he was discharged from his master in the fourth year; and returned to his father's house. In consequence of the conversation he witnessed between his parents and their friends, together with what they said to him about eternal things, he was sometimes led to think of the state of his soul; yet stiil he proceeded in the ways of sin, though often reproved by his conscience, and frequently promising amendment.

It pleased God, however, about his nineteenth year, to exert the power of his effectual grace, and to decide the protracted conflict. This will best be expressed in his own words, extracted from a paper which he drew up for the satisfaction of his friends, about two years before his death.

"I was convinced," saith he, " of my sinful ruined state, and was filled with distress, bordering on despair; so that I expected nothing but eternal misery in Hell. I thought the clouds appeared charged with the wrath of God; and feared they would burst on iny head and sink me into endless ruin. In this awful state I continued about eighteen days; but one day, being alone, lamenting my miserable helpless condition, these words occurred to my mind," My grace is sufficient for thec." The impression was so forcible, that I verily thought some one behind me had spoken them, and turned round to sce who it was; but no one was there. I was greatly surprized;

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