Co Niagara.

FROM LINES WRITTEN AT THE FIRST VIEW OF THE FALLS, AUG. 13, 1838, BY J. S. BUCKINGHAM.

HAIL! monarch of the world of floods, whose majesty and might,
First dazzles, then enraptures, then o'erawes the aching sight.
The pomp of kings and emperors in every clime and zone,
Grows dim beneath the splendour of thy glorious watery throne.

No fleets can stop thy progress, no armies bid thee stay—
But onward, onward, onward, thy march still holds its way.
The rising mist that veils thee, as thy herald goes before;
The music that proclaims thee, is the thundering cataract's roar.

Thy diadem an emerald green, of the clearest, purest hue, Set round with wreaths of snow-white foam and spray of feathery dew;

While tresses of the brightest pearls float o'er thine ample sheet, And the rainbow lays its gorgeous gems in tribute at thy feet.

And whether, on thy forest banks, the Indian of the wood,
Or since his day, the red man's foe on his father-land have stood;
Whoe'er has seen thine incense rise, or heard thy torrent's roar,
Must have bent before the God of all, to worship and adore.

Accept, Oh thou Supremely Great! Oh Infinite! Oh, God!
From this primeval altar, the pure and virgin sod,

The humble homage that my soul in gratitude would pay

To Thee whose shield has guarded me in all my wandering

way.

For if the ocean be as nought in the hollow of thine hand,
And the stars of the firmament, in thy balance, grains of sand;

TO NIAGARA.

If Niagara's flood seem great to us who humbly bow,
Oh! great Creator of the whole, how passing great art Thou!

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But tho' thy power is far more vast than finite man can scan,
Still greater is thy mercy shown to weak, dependent man-
For him Thou cloth'st the fertile globe with herbs, and fruit, and
seed,

For him the seas, the lakes, the streams, supply his homely need.

Around, on high, or far, or near, the universal whole

Proclaims thy glory, as the orbs in their fixed courses roll;
And from creation's grateful voice the hymn ascends above,
While heaven re-echoes back to earth, the chorus, "God is Love."

Ir is easy to produce sentiments which will fall harmoniously on the ear, and charm the sense, without benefitting the heart or understanding. It is not difficult to repeat axioms of virtue with mathematical precision and undoubted accuracy: but to unite axioms of goodness to beauty of language, and novelty of expression to give invitations to virtue, in originality of thought, and loveliness of language-Oh, this is a talent which good men must desire for its usefulness.

TRUTH is a gem which need not be enchased-which, faultless and cloudless, may be held up to the pure bright light on any side, in any direction, and will everywhere display the same purity and soundness and beauty.

A Memorial of Mary Dyer.

ONE OF THE EARLY WORTHIES AND MARTYRS IN THE SOCIETY OF FRIENDS. BY BERNARD BARTON.

WE too have had our martyrs. Such wert thou,
Illustrious woman! though the starry crown
Of martydom has sate on many a brow,

In the world's eye, of far more wide renown.

Yet the same spirit grac'd thy fameless end,

Which shone in Latimer and his compeers;
Upon whose hallow'd memories still attend

Manhood's warm reverence, childhood's guileless tears.

Well did they win them: may they keep them long!
Their names require not praise obscure as mine;
Nor does my muse their cherish'd memories wrong,
By this imperfect aim to honour thine.

Heroic martyr of a sect despis'd!

Thy name and memory to my heart are dear
Thy fearless zeal, in artless childhood priz❜d,
The lapse of years has taught me to revere.

Thy Christian worth demands no poet's lay,
Historian's pen, nor sculptor's boasted art:
What could the brightest tribute these can pay
To thy immortal spirit now impart ?

Yet seems it like a sacred debt to give

The brief memorial thou mayst well supply;
Whose life display'd how Christians ought to live ;
Whose death-how Christian martyrs calmly die.

Christian Redemption.

THE following concise and beautiful description of the excellency of the plan of Christian redemption, forms the conclusion of the Memoirs of Lindley Murray. It is the testimony of one who had practically felt and experienced the powerful support, the holy consolation, and the final promise of eternal joy and glory, which the religion of Christ, and that alone, can disclose and impart.

"I cannot finish these memoirs of my life, without expressing, still more particularly, my sense of the greatest blessing which was ever conferred on mankind. I mean the redemption from sin, and attainment of a happy immortality, by the atonement and intercession of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. I contemplate this wonderful proof of the love of God to man, as an act of mercy and benignity, which will stimulate the gratitude and love, the obedience, praise, and adoration of the redeemed, through ages that will never end. This high dispensation is, in every respect adapted to our condition, as frail and sinful creatures. In surveying our offences and imperfections it prevents despondence; directs us where to look for relief; and freely offers us, if we are truly penitent, and believe in Christ, pardon and peace in reflecting on our religious attainments, it checks presumption and keeps us humble; and amidst all the trials and troubles of life, it cheers us with the prospect of a merciful deliverance, and of being soon received into those blissful regions, where we shall be secured, eternally secured, from sin and sorrow; where we shall be admitted into the Divine presence, and unceasingly celebrate in joyful anthems, the praises of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, one God blessed for ever. To them who obtain this glorious and happy state, all the afflictions of the longest and most painful life, will then appear to have been, indeed light and momentary as a drop of the ocean, as a grain of sand on the sea shore, compared with the greatness of their felicity, and the endless ages of its continuance."

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Che Death of Chomas Clarkson.

THE good man's arms are folded now—

The great man's race is run—

The warm brave heart, and thought worn brow,
Rest-for their work is done!

"Tis well! the fine gold back we give,
Ere it was changed or dim;
The curtain none can lift and live,

Falls between us and him.

It was not grief, it was not fear,

Feeling, for tears too deep,

Subdued us, when that white haired seer,
Serenely fell asleep.

As the word passed from lip to lip,

Silence upon us fell;

The way worn man laid down his scrip,
Pilgrim his scallop shell.

Age moved more slowly on its way,
Less firm was manhood's tread,
And thousands bore themselves that day,
As present with the dead.

As the word passed from line to line,
Of Freedom's allied host,

The answer came, "For us still shine,
The footprints of the lost.

To us his spirit sayeth still, "Be faithful to the end!"