How often must the Lord have prayed
That still my day might be delayed,
Till all due means were tried ;
Afflictions, mercies, health, and pain,
How long shall these be all in vain
To teach this heart of pride?

Learn, O my soul, what God demands
Is not a faith like barren sands,

But fruit of heavenly hue;

By this we prove that Christ we know,
If in his holy steps we go-

Faith works by love, if true.

August 14, 1834.

2. JEHOVAH TSIDKENU.

66 THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS."

(The watchword of the Reformers.)

I once was a stranger to grace and to God,
I knew not my danger, and felt not my load;
Though friends spoke in rapture of Christ on the tree,
Jehovah Tsidkenu was nothing to me.

I oft read with pleasure, to soothe or engage,
Isaiah's wild measure and John's simple page;
But e'en when they pictured the blood-sprinkled tree,
Jehovah Tsidkenu seem'd nothing to me.

Like tears from the daughters of Zion that roll,
I wept when the waters went over his soul;
Yet thought not that my sins had nail'd to the tree
Jehovah Tsidkenu-'twas nothing to me.

When free grace awoke me, by light from on high,
Then legal fears shook me, I trembled to die;
No refuge, no safety in self could I see,-
Jehovah Tsidkenu my Saviour must be.

My terrors all vanished before the sweet name;
My guilty fears banished, with boldness I came
To drink at the fountain, life-giving and free,—
Jehovah Tsidkenu is all things to me.

Jehovah Tsidkenu! my treasure and boast,
Jehovah Tsidkenu! I ne'er can be lost;
In thee I shall conquer by flood and by field,
My cable, my anchor, my breastplate and shield!

Even treading the valley, the shadow of death, This "watchword" shall rally my faltering breath; For while from life's fever my God sets me free, Jehovah Tsidkenu, my death song shall be.

November 18, 1834.

3. "THEY SING THE SONG OF MOSES."

Dark was the night, the wind was high,

The way by mortals never trod ;

For God had made the channel dry,
When faithful Moses stretched the rod.

The raging waves on either hand
Stood like a massy tott'ring wall,
And on the heaven-defended band
Refused to let the waters fall.

With anxious footsteps, Israel trod
The depths of that mysterious way;
Cheer'd by the pillar of their God,

That shone for them with fav'ring ray.

But when they reached the opposing shore
As morning streak'd the eastern sky,
They saw the billows hurry o'er

The flower of Pharaoh's chivalry.

Then awful gladness filled the mind
Of Israel's mighty ransomed throng;
And while they gazed on all behind,
Their wonder burst into a song.

Thus thy redeem'd ones, Lord, on earth,

While passing through this vale of weeping,

Mix holy trembling with their mirth,

And anxious watching with their sleeping.

The night is dark, the storm is loud,
The path no human strength can tread;
Jesus, be thou the pillar-cloud,

Heaven's light upon our path to shed.

And oh when life's dark journey o'er,
And death's enshrouding valley past,

We plant our foot on yonder shore,
And tread yon golden strand at last,—

Shall we not see with deep amaze,
How grace hath led us safe along;
And whilst behind-before, we gaze,
Triumphant burst into a song!

And even on earth, though sore bested,
Fightings without, and fears within ;
Sprinkled to-day from slavish dread,
To-morrow captive led by sin.

Yet would I lift my downcast eyes
On Thee, thou brilliant tower of fire-
Thou dark cloud to mine enemies-

That Hope may all my breast inspire.

And thus the Lord, my strength, I'll praise,
Though Satan and his legions rage;
And the sweet song of faith I'll raise,
To cheer me on my pilgrimage.

EDINBURGH, 1835.

4. ON MUNGO PARK'S FINDING A TUFT OF GREEN MOSS IN THE AFRICAN DESERT.

"Whatever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. I saw my. self in the midst of a vast wilderness, in the depth of the rainy season, naked and alone, surrounded by savage animals, and men still more savage. I was five hundred miles from the nearest European settlement. At this moment, painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary beauty of a small moss in fructification irresistibly caught my eye. I mention this to show from what trifling circumstances the mind will sometimes derive consolation; for though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsule, without admiration. Can that Being, thought I, who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not. I started up, and disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forward, assured that relief was at hand, and I was not disappointed."-PARK'S TRAVELS.

The sun had reached his mid-day height,
And poured down floods of burning light,
On Afric's barren land;

No cloudy veil obscured the sky,
And the hot breeze that struggled by
Was filled with glowing sand.

No mighty rock upreared its head
To bless the wanderer with its shade
In all the weary plain;

No palm-trees with refreshing green
To glad the dazzling eye were seen,
But one wide sandy main.

Dauntless and daring was the mind
That left all home-born joys behind
These deserts to explore-

To trace the mighty Niger's course,
And find it bubbling from its source
In wilds untrod before.

And ah! shall we less daring show,
Who nobler ends and motives know
Than ever heroes dream-
Who seek to lead the savage mind
The precious fountain-head to find
Whence flows salvation's stream?

Let peril, nakedness, and sword,
Hot barren sands, and despot's word
Our burning zeal oppose-
Yet, Martyn-like, we'll lift the voice,
Bidding the wilderness rejoice,
And blossom as the rose.

Sad, faint, and weary on the sand
Our traveller sat him down; his hand
Covered his burning head,
Above, beneath, behind, around-
No resting for the eye he found;
All nature seemed as dead.

One tiny tuft of moss alone
Mantling with freshest green a stone,
Fixed his delighted gaze-
Through bursting tears of joy he smiled,
And while he raised the tendril wild
His lips o'erflowed with praise.

"Oh, shall not He who keeps thee green, Here in the waste, unknown, unseen— Thy fellow-exile save?

He who commands the dew to feed
Thy gentle flower, can surely lead
Me from a scorching grave!"

The heaven-sent plant new hope inspired-
New courage all his bosom fired,

And bore him safe along;

Till with the evening's cooling shade
He slept within the verdant glade,
Lulled by the negro's song.

Thus, we in this world's wilderness,
Where sin and sorrow-guilt-distress
Seem undisturbed to reign-
May faint because we feel alone,
With none to strike our favorite tone
And join our homeward strain.

Yet, often in the bleakest wild

Of this dark world, some heaven-born child,
Expectant of the skies,

Amid the low and vicious crowd,
Or in the dwellings of the proud,
Meets our admiring eyes.