soon became apparent. "Were I," he writes, "to paint Fame crowning an under-graduate after the senate-house examination, I would represent her as concealing a Death's head under the mask of beauty." In July, 1807, his health, which had for some time been precarious, became so much worse, that he was advised to make a journey to London for relaxation and change of scene. The fatigue of this journey he never recovered. On his return to his college he was unable to attend the lectures; and when his brother, who was immediately apprized of his alarming illness, came to visit him, he found him delirious. Henry afterwards enjoyed one lucid interval; and then fell into a stupor from which he never recovered. He died on the 9th of October, 1807, in the twenty-second year of his age. A tablet to his memory has been placed in All Saints College by a young American traveller. THE CHRISTIAN PROGRESS. THROUGH Sorrow's night, and danger's path, Amid the deepening gloom, We, soldiers of an injured King, Are marching to the tomb. There, when the turmoil is no more, Our labours done, securely laid Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane, The vital spark shall lie, For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise These ashes too, this little dust, Then love's soft dew o'er every eye A HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP. O LORD, another day is flown, Are met once more before thy throne, And wilt Thou bend a listening ear, Thou wilt! for Thou dost love to hear And, Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deign, For thou didst bless the infant train, O let thy grace perform its part, And shed abroad in every heart Thus chasten'd, cleans'd, entirely thine, And thou wilt turn our wandering feet, Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire! And cradled in the winds. Thee, when young Spring first question'd Winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms Of chill adversity, in some lone walk Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows, And hardens her to bear SONNET. WHAT art thou, MIGHTY ONE! and where thy seat? Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands, And thou dost bear within thine awful hands The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet; Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind, Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dead noon, Or, on the red wing of the fierce Monsoon, Dost thou repose? or in the solitude Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood? Vain thought! the confines of his throne to trace, Who glows through all the fields of boundless space. HYMN. AWAKE, Sweet harp of Judah, wake, We sing the Saviour of our race, The Lamb, our shield and hiding-place. When God's right arm is bared for war, And thunders clothe his cloudy car, Where, where, O where, shall man retire, To escape the horrors of his ire ? 'Tis he, the Lamb, to him we fly, Thus while we dwell in this low scene, While yet we sojourn here below, Yet courage-days and years will glide, Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed, And need no more a hiding-place. |