book of Samuel, in order to extract a very beautiful and pathetic elegy, composed by David, upon the death of Saul and Jonathan. It is common for poetical writers, in the fervour of their imagination, to invoke the sympathy of universal nature; to give to woods, seas, and rocks, an imaginary sensibility, to call down lightnings, in the cause of innocence, on the oppressor's head; to bid the mountains rejoice, the vallies sing, and the heavenly orbs to shed their benign influence upon the virtues which they celebrate. Thus, in the poetic eulogium to which we are referred, is Joshua described, as giving a loose to his ardent emotions, on the day of a most signal victory over the Amorites, "when the Lord discomfited them before Israel, and slew them with a great slaughter at Gibeon, and chased them along the way that goeth up to Beth-horon, and smote them to Azekah, and unto Makhedah." Then cried Joshua in the sight of Israel, "Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon, and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon:" Stop, and lengthen out the day, and

point thy beams upon our enemies, that the shades of darkness snatch them not from our avenging arm.-It is the language of the passions, in the midst of a fervid and impetuous career. "Sun, stand thou still," equally exclaim the sons of pleasure, and of ambition: every rank, pursuit, and age joins in the same prayer,

In the morning of our existence, when all things display their freshest and fairest aspect, and, in the midst of a succession of pleasurable scenes, time rolls rapidly along;should a moment of reflection intervene, who does not exclaim, with a sigh, "how brief, how vain is life! how silently, and swiftly, do the hours advance and vanish!" "O sun, stand thou still;" give us a few more of thy bright morning beams; that we may a little longer taste the sweetness of unsullied plea sure; that, by contemplating the path of life, in the pure light of reason, warmed by Nature's unadulterated feelings, our virtuous plans and resolutions may be fixed and matured, before

we are called to struggle with the world's de basing anxieties, and involved in its dangers and its sorrows. When we advance to the noon of the human course; amidst all the weighty cares, the thronging projects and objects of strenuous pursuit, that by turns awaken our ardour and elude our expectation -if, amidst this busy scene, we throw a glance upon the enlarged and enlarging space we have already passed, and the short and shortening limits of that which remaius-how naturally does the heart send forth the involuntary, fruitless wish, "Sun, stand thou still." Hasten not so precipitately to crush our aspiring hopes, and extinguish in untimely darkness our unripened purposes: shine a little longer, in thy meridian brightness, that we may not only exert our strength, but reap some recompence of our toil-then shall we expect cheerfully the soft beam of evening, heightened by the lustre of former triumphs, and endeared by the remembrance of a life, not altogether unprofitable and vain.

Arrived at this period of imaginary tranquillity, though many ties may be loosened

which once bound us to the world, yet new objects of attachment rise; and new motives for wishing that our stay might be prolonged -or if expectation saddens, and all around the prospect grows more dim and desolate; still do we linger fondly on the verge of life, though bereft of its most valued comforts, from that unconquerable dread with which the untried and unknown future strikes the imagination: "Q Sun, stop, stop thy course. Stand thou still in the midst of heaven: yet another year; another day; to soften our removal from the cheerful light; from the society of our fellow beings;-that, with more composed and collected thoughts, we may stand before the tribunal of our Creator; and, supplying what is yet wanting to our obedience, with repentance and humility, may prefer a more satisfactory claim to his pardoning mercy."

Thus various and inexhaustible are the ex

euses of each successive stage, for wishing to lengthen out the brief span of life: and the same sentiment pervades all the different con ditions and circumstances of mankind.

If prosperity smile upon us, we think the sun, which lights us every day to a succession of pleasures, moves too quickly to his setting; "O Sun, stand thou still" in the midst of this fair horizon-hasten not to draw the veil of night over these delightful prospects.-And if adversity oppress our spirits, we complain that the days which are clouded with grief, like those which are illumined with joy, equally pass away never to return. Must we descend into the land of darkness, by a pas sage so dreary and disconsolate? And before we have tasted the sweetness of life, must we be numbered with the departed? "O Sun, stand thou still," let the dark and lowering tempest pass from before thy refulgent orb: let thy sweet and pleasant light again gladden our hearts, that our few remaining hours may glide peacefully to the close,