sun has withdrawn all his light, And rolls a black globe o’er the sky! And hark! what a cry rent the air! Immortal the terrible sound!— The rocks split with honible tear, And fearfully shakes all the ground!

The dead from their slumbers awake, And, leaving their mouldy domain, Make poor guilty mortals to quake As pallid they glide o’er the plain! Sure, Nature’s own God is oppressed, And Nature in agony cries;— The sun in his mourning is dressed, To tell the sad news through the skies!

Yet surely some victory’s gained, Important, and novel, and great, p. 209Since Death has his captives unchained, And widely thrown open his gate! Yes, victory great as a God Could gain over hell, death, and sin, This moment’s achieved by the blood Of Jesus, our crucified King.

p. 209

But all the dread conflict is o’er; Lo! cloud after cloud rolls away; And heaven, serene as before, Breaks forth in the splendour of day! And all the sweet landscape around, Emerged from the ocean of night, With groves, woods, and villages crowned, Astonish and fill with delight!

But see! where that crowd melts away, Three crosses sad spectacles show! Our Guide has not led us astray; Heart! this is the secret you’d know— Two thieves, and a crucified God Hangs awfully mangled between! Whilst fast from His veins spouting blood Runs, dyeing with purple the green!

Behold! the red flood rolls along, And forming a bason below, Is termed in Emanuel’s song The fount for uncleanness and woe. Immerged in that precious tide, The soul quickly loses its stains, Though deeper than crimson they’re dyed, And ’scapes from its sorrows and pains.

This fountain is opened for you:  Go, wash, without money or price; p. 210And instantly formed anew, You’ll lose all your woes in a trice. Then cease, foolish heart, to repine, No stage is exempted from care; If you would true happiness find,  ’Tis on Calvary—seek for it there.

p. 210

WINTER-NIGHT MEDITATIONS.

Rude winter’s come, the sky’s o’ercast, The night is cold and loud the blast, The mingling snow comes driving down, Fast whitening o’er the flinty ground. Severe their lots whose crazy sheds Hang tottering o’er their trembling heads: Whilst blows through walls and chinky door The drifting snow across the floor, Where blinking embers scarcely glow, And rushlight 

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