TO THE MEMORY OF

THE REV. THOMAS SPENCER,

OF LIVERPOOL,

Who was drowned while bathing in the tide, on the 5th of August, 1811, in his 21st year.

"Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters; and thy footsteps are not known."-Psalm lxxvii. 19.

VOL. II.

I WILL not sing a mortal's praise;
To Thee I consecrate my lays,

To whom my powers belong!
These gifts upon thine altar strown,
O GOD! accept-accept thine own;
My gifts are Thine,-be Thine alone
The glory of my song.

In earth and ocean, sky and air,
All that is excellent and fair,

Seen, felt, or understood,

From one eternal cause descends,
To one eternal centre tends,
With God begins, continues, ends,
The source and stream of good.

I worship not the Sun at noon,
The wandering Stars, the changing Moon,
The Wind, the Flood, the Flame;

I will not bow the votive knee

To Wisdom, Virtue, Liberty;
"There is no God but God" for me;
-JEHOVAH is his name.

Him through all nature I explore,
Him in his creatures I adore,

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Around, beneath, above;
But clearest in the human mind,
His bright resemblance when I find,
Grandeur with purity combined,
I most admire and love.

Oh! there was ONE,-on earth a while
He dwelt ;-but transient as a smile
That turns into a tear,

His beauteous image pass'd us by;
He came, like lightning from the sky,
He seem'd as dazzling to the eye,
As prompt to disappear.

Mild in his undissembling mien,
Were genius, candour, meekness seen;
-The lips, that loved the truth;
The single eye, whose glance sublime
Look'd to eternity through time;

The soul, whose hopes were wont to climb
Above the joys of youth.

Of old, before the lamp grew dark,
Reposing near the curtain'd ark,
The child of Hannah's prayer
Heard, through the temple's silent round,
A living voice, nor knew the sound,
-That thrice alarm'd him, ere he found
The Lord, who chose him there.*

Thus early call'd, and strongly moved,
A prophet from a child, approved,
SPENCER his course began;

From strength to strength, from grace to grace,
Swiftest and foremost in the race,

He carried victory in his face;

He triumph'd as he ran.

* 1 Sam. iii.

How short his day!-the glorious prize, To our slow hearts and failing eyes,

Appear'd too quickly won:

-The warrior rush'd into the field,
With arm invincible to wield

The Sprit's sword, the Spirit's shield,
When, lo! the fight was done.

The loveliest star of evening's train
Sets early in the western main,
And leaves the world in night;
The brightest star of morning's host,
Scarce risen, in brighter beams is lost;
Thus sunk his form on ocean's coast,
Thus sprang his soul to light.

Who shall forbid the eye to weep,
That saw him, from the ravening deep,
Pluck'd like the lion's prey ?

For ever bow'd his honour'd head,
The spirit in a moment fled,

The heart of friendship cold and dead,
The limbs a wreath of clay!

Revolving his mysterious lot,

I mourn him, but I praise him not;
Glory to God be given,

Who sent him, like the radiant bow,
His covenant of peace to show ;
Athwart the breaking storm to glow,
Then vanish into heaven.

O Church! to whom that youth was dear,
The Angel of thy mercies here,

Behold the path he trod,

"A milky way" through midnight skies! -Behold the grave in which he lies; Even from this dust thy prophet cries,

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Prepare to meet thy GOD."

THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER.

OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN DEATH OF

THE REV. THOMAS TAYLOR,

After having declared, in his last Sermon, on a preceding evening, that he hoped to die as an old soldier of Jesus Christ, with his sword in his hand.

"SERVANT of GOD! well done,

Rest from thy loved employ ;
The battle fought, the victory won,
Enter thy Master's joy."
-The voice at midnight came;
He started up to hear:

A mortal arrow pierced his frame,
He fell, but felt no fear.

Tranquil amidst alarms,

It found him in the field,

A veteran slumbering on his arms,
Beneath his red-cross shield:

His sword was in his hand,

Still warm with recent fight,
Ready that moment at command,
Through rock and steel to smite.

It was a two-edged blade

Of heavenly temper keen;

And double were the wounds it made,
Where'er it smote between:
'Twas death to sin;-'twas life
To all that mourn'd for sin;
It kindled and it silenced strife,
Made war and peace within.

Oft with its fiery force,

His arm had quell'd the foe,
And laid, resistless in his course,
The alien-armies low:

Bent on such glorious toils,

The world to him was loss;
Yet all his trophies, all his spoils,
He hung upon the cross.

At midnight came the cry,

"To meet thy God prepare !"

He woke, and caught his Captain's eye;
Then strong in faith and prayer,

His spirit, with a bound,

Bursts its encumbering clay :
His tent, at sunrise, on the ground,
A darken'd ruin lay.

The pains of death are past,
Labour and sorrow cease,

And life's long warfare closed at last,
His soul is found in peace.
Soldier of Christ! well done;
Praise be thy new employ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest in thy Saviour's joy.

A RECOLLECTION OF MARY F.,

A YOUNG LADY UNEXPECTEDLY REMOVED FROM A LARGE FAMILY CIRCLE.

Her life had twice been saved, once from the flames, and again from the water, by an affectionate father.

THRICE born for earth and twice for heaven,

A lovely maiden once I knew,

To whom 'tis now in glory given

To grow, as here in shade she grew;
Brief was her course, but starry bright ;
The linnet's song, the lily's white,
The fountain's freshness,-these shall be
Meet emblems of that maid to me.