But we cannot thus mock at the pow'r

Of him we one day must meet.

JEHOVAH our thoughtlessness sees,
And strictly will bring it to light

When we cannot neglect as we please,

But must gaze, tho' we shrink at the sight.

THE PATH OF VIRTUE, OR OF THE VIRTUOUS

CLERGYMAN.

THIS is the peaceful path I love.

"Tis like the blossom of the grove-
'Tis like the dew from Heav'n descends,

Which Providence in kindness lends ;
'Tis like the tear that softly flows

Down Pity's cheek for other's woes :
Sweet Peace from mercy gliding down,
Contentment richer than a crown,
To vice a stranger and the care
Tempestuous passion learns to fear-

Oh virtue, if we obey thy word,

What treasure wilt thou not afford !

PITY'S TEAR.

'TIS like the dropping of a noontide show'r, When summer airs are floating o'er the hills:

"Tis like the softness of an ev'ning bow'r,

When May, from fragrant flow'rs, her sweets distils :

'Tis like the rill that murmurs down the glade :

The pebble kissing stream that smiles along : "Tis like of spring the tender shooting blade : The soothing sweetness of an ev'ning song :

'Tis like the note the Robin gently pours,
Mingl'd with thought of 's innocence so pure :
"Tis like the flow'r that smiles along the shores,
Where lisping waves their gentle currents moor.

'Tis like the beam of Cynthia's silver height:
Like the soft gleam of azure's milky way :
"Tis like Aurora sweet'ning morning light :
'Tis like the ev'ning of a well spent day :

Like the soft murmurs thro' the air that glide,

When Philomel his list'ning love regales :

'Tis like the green on verdant hillock's side: 'Tis like the floating of a fragrant gale.

'Tis like the balm the spicy blossom breathes : Like the pure odor in the rose that dwells: 'Tis like the dew amid the vi'let leaves : 'Tis like the tale the beauteous infant tells.

And what is like? the tear that softly flows Down Pity's cheek at thought of other's woes.

MAN.

MAN is a creature of a curious mould:

The mass of motives, ends, and varying aims,
That seize his soul in diff'rent stations plac'd,
Is strangely heterogeneous and crude—

He needs some hand, some friendly hand, to guide,
To teach him which to love and which t' repel ;
Without this, headlong as adown a steep,

He runs, as will or hasty whim may draw :

Thus, oft we've seen some one, whose mind was great, Ay, who the throng could grasp, and wield around,

Turn all his various powers to making big

His little self-who, from on high, could view
The multitude of minor intellect,

And wave his banner o'er, and horde them all,

The lean low purpose of a narrow breast,
Alone has aided, and himself has made,

A purpled mite, instead of blessing thousands.
Behold the picture Europe rolls to view !

An empire of destruction: nature's ties,