V.

And such were those of whom I speak above, For of God's grace they every one partook. Their actions sprang from the great Law of Love, So plainly laid down in his Holy Book. All might discover from each kind, sweet look, That they had been unto the Savior's School; That they had seldom Wisdom's paths forsook, But made the Word their only Guide and Rule. This kept their love alive, nor let their ardor cool.

VI.

Yet they did not to this at once attain; Poor human nature in its best estate Has much about it that is truly vain, And these were not exempt from common fate. Some fourteen years before my story's date They had been in the purifying fire Of great affliction; had been led to wait Upon their God who knew their soul's desire, And brought them through, clothed in Humility's attire.

VII.

And gave them for their loved ones taken away, What was more needful for their growth in grace, And led them thus to make His Arm their stay. In all their trials His kind hand to trace. 'Twas this that fitted them for such a place As in these woods the were designed to fill; And hence they always wore a cheerful face, And bowed their own unto their Savior's will, While with the Spirit's sword the showed the greatest skill.

VIII.

And such were needed in that settlement But just reclaimed from the wild wilderness, For its inhabitants appeared content With worldly things, which did good thoughts repress, And cause the Pastor much of sore distress. In truth it seemed a most forbidding field For pastoral labor, and it was no less. But God could make it precious fruit to yield, And be unto his servants constant Strength and Shield.

IX.

Now they had sought the mind of God to know Ere they concluded there to settle down; And this determined they resolved to go To that rough place—quite far from any town, Where rude log huts were very thinly strown, And where hard labor stared them in the face, While gloomy woods appeared on them to frown, To find earth's comforts were but very scarce. For such a step I'm sure they needed special grace.

X.

This they obtained, and providentially Were led to find a very splendid lot, Which fronted on that mighty inland Sea, And is in Summer a most lovely spot; A barren piece of land it sure is not. This might be known from its fine stock of trees. Now their good fortune gratitude begot, Which was poured forth to God upon their knees, While green leaves waved above, fanned by a warm, soft breeze.

XI.

A shabby shanty stood upon the ground, Perhaps erected by a poor red man; Fire-weeds and brushwood thickly grew around, To clear off which they now at once began. Near by the place a charming spring-creek ran; This had its source in a high tree-clad hill, From top of which the country they could scan. The father and two sons with right good will That shanty soon prepare, and they its small space till.

XII.

This proved a wretched shelter at the best, For rain came through the worn-out roof of bark, And for hard laborers was no place of rest, While its small window left it very dark. They speak together of a house, when, hark! A noise they hear—a sound as of great glee— The settlers in their breasts possessed a spark Of sweet good nature, and now came to see If they could not be useful to the family.

XIII.

This as an omen soon was understood, And pressing wants were to each friend made known. With axes armed these quick obtained some wood, Which by strong oxen speedily was drawn To the selected spot that had been shown. The Pastor's wife and daughters then prepare A good, substantial meal, and with kind tone Invite the friends to come and taste their fare, Which they in gratitude had made with nicest care.

XIV.

With this good offer all at once complied; They came to work and therefore needs must eat. The day was fine and beech tree shade supplied A place for table, and each took a seat, Admiring much the dinner spread so neat. And GOODWORTH then gave thanks most rev'rently For such sweet comforts in their wood's retreat, And prayed that each warm-hearted friend might be Rewarded for his kindness in Eternity.

XV.

The dinner o'er, awhile in friendly chat They sat and rested till the cattle fed. Then GOODWORTH freely spoke to them of what He and his family to that place had led, And sweetly mentioned Him that once had bled— The great God-man, who, sinners came to save. These men in silence heard all he had said, And some shed tears, and all looked very grave, Though each rude breast possessed a heart most truly brave.

XVI.

Once more bright axes, wielded by strong arms Make chips fly fast, as they the logs prepare; Such willing work the Pastor's family charms, For they this kindness had not thought to share. A strong foundation now is laid with care; Of ample size, the fabric upward grows; The men take pains to have the corners square, Which to effect the spare nor strength nor blows; And thus, as if by magic, that neat structure rose.

XVII.

Meanwhile, there came some shingles, nails and boards, Brought by two teams, which only now were seen; And this fresh kindness fullest proof affords That GOODWORTH'S object was approved, I ween. Now some for rafters a long way had been; And, as the sun had sunk into the West, The women had prepared their table clean, Well laden, as before, with food; the best Which they had power to furnish in that wild wood-nest.

XVIII.

Warm thanks are given: the workers fall to work To do full justice to that savory meal. No wicked feelings in their bosoms lurk Against the family; but they strongly feel They have an interest in all their weal, And freely speak of coming back next day The house to finish; kindly thus they deal With those dear folks—who wish them still to stay— And they will sing awhile, to cheer them on their way.

XIX.

To this they all consented; then arose Song after song, in praise of Jesus' name! Such songs can lighten e'en our saddest woes, And raise in human hearts a heavenly flame. Six men there were who, from that night, became Quite altered characters—as all might see. For Gospel Truth can e'en a savage tame; Though this to some men seems a mystery— Such have not seen themselves sunk in depravity.

XX.

The singing o'er, the good man said, "Let's pray." All down beside him reverently knelt; It was a proper close for such a day— As all engaged must then have deeply felt. And oh, the language of that prayer did melt Some stony hearts, as I in truth would tell: For GOODWORTH on God's love and mercy dwelt— On coming judgment—and on Heaven and Hell— Till every one seemed bound as by the strongest spell.

XXI.

This done, those neighbors—though reluctantly— Took leave of that most happy household there: And were as pleased as any men could be They were allowed such company to share. 'Twas Spring time, and the still and balmy air Was most refreshing to the wearied frame; And Luna's brightness, though quite free from glare, Enabled them to see which way they came— For staying rather late they would incur no blame.

XXII.

The morning came, and with alacrity Came settlers also, ready as before To help the welcome new-come family Whose strange, deep news had made their hearts so sore. And now the labor of the day each bore As if his own advantage he would seek. Some went to roofing, some to fix the door And windows, and with hearts and arms not weak, They make the work fly fast, scarce leaving time to speak.

XXIII.

The muster, greater this day than the last, Left some hands free to clear a piece of ground; And these, with brush-hooks, o'er two acres passed, Making good riddance of what brush they found. They then cut down some poles and fenced it round. The family, too, were busy all this while, For they were moved with gratitude profound To show their thankfulness in many a smile. Their happy faces do the laborers' hearts beguile.

XXIV.

The meal-times passed with pleasure and some profit; Naught did occur to mar the harmony. If there were whisky every one kept off it, And all confessed they worked more easily. Too often liquor in the woods we see, And much vile mischief is it apt to do When neighbors come to help at Logging-bee, Or to assist each other at the plow. It pleases me to see this practice broken through.

XXV.

The Country would have reason to rejoice If not a drop were as a beverage used, And I would not be slow to raise my voice Till Temperance principles are more diffused. For this by some folks I may be abused, But where's the harm? I seek alone their good, And cannot be by conscience well excused If I refuse my aid to stem the flood Which drowns its thousands of our common brotherhood.

XXVI.

But to return: The work had so well sped, And the new house was so far on the way Toward completion, that the family's head Thought they might safely move that very day, But first enquired what there would be to pay? The neighbors smiled and kept the secret close, And what the bill was none thought fit to say. For satisfaction "he must ask the Boss." To tell who that was every one felt quite at loss.

XXVII.

Is this exaggeration? Witness now, Ye far backwoodsmen—much too oft belied, Are ye inclined these things to disavow? Or will my statements be by you denied? If not they stand for truth both far and wide, And your example may be found of use In leading others quickly to decide That they for ignorance have no excuse In this enlightened age, when Knowledge is diffuse.

XXVIII.

I need not mention every little thing That was required to make the house complete. My humble Muse would now attempt to sing Of subjects which to her are far more sweet. The Pastor happy lived in his retreat, Preaching on Sabbath, in a school-house near. There many came who could not get a seat, And such large audience did the Pastor cheer, Who spoke to them with zeal—for they to him were dear.

XXIX.

I may be asked, "What was this man's persuasion? Was he a Churchman or a Methodist?" I answer make without the least evasion, He owned no "ism," nor yet "ite," nor "ist." But if on further knowledge you insist, I only say that he was glad to own The "Blood-bought Throng" wherever they exist. Nor did he scruple to let this be known, The BIBLE still the Source from which his creed was drawn.

XXX.

From it he gathered that ev'n two or three Met in Christ's name a Church of God do make; That, when so met, they have full liberty On each Lord's Day the Bread and Wine to take. All vain traditions they in this forsake, But get rich blessing from the King of Kings. And in that lonely house near Huron's Lake, The family enjoyed the bliss which springs From means well used, and these afresh each Sabbath brings.

XXXI.

The six of whom I spoke some pages back, Sought early fellowship with that small band. These of great sorrow had displayed no lack, And now as Christians publicly they stand, Unto Christ's work they give each heart and hand, And one of them called Luth, possessed of means, Resolved at once to give a piece of land On which to build a chapel, midst sweet scenes; A very central place, and near two deep ravines.

XXXII.

Nor was this all; he gave some good pine trees And other requisites to build the place; The work he knew would all be done by "Bees." The friends the opportunity embrace To make the matter fully known all round. Strong opposition they had now to face From those who rather would in sin be found, And such cared nothing for the glorious Gospel sound.

XXXIII.

The Minister proposed to wait awhile, Till this grave subject could be well discussed. He wished that none would act from motives vile, For popularity he did not lust, And in his Father he could always trust; Advised to seek God's mind by earnest prayer, In generosity to be still just; By such means only could they hope to share God's constant approbation and His guardian care.

XXXIV.

This prudent course ensured the object sought. Some who opposed did, of their own accord Propose assistance, and with vigor wrought To raise the humble Chapel to the Lord. Dear GOODWORTH wielded skilfully the sword, Which by God's blessing pierced into the souls Of those who came to hear the plain-taught Word, Whose rich Truth, for Sin's pleasures lost, consoles, And cheers and strengthens those whose lust it still controls.

XXXV.

Truly it was a lovely sight to see The opening of that place of worship pure. There was displayed no animosity, All seemed at home in perfect peace secure. Sweet gospel sermons fitted to allure The erring sons and daughters of mankind Were preached that day, and I feel very sure It was no "blind man's leading of the blind," But preaching of that sort which is for good designed.

XXXVI.

The music was by voices rich and clear, The words the language of most grateful hearts, All forming worship void of slavish fear; Most orderly besides in all its parts, Though the performers knew not much of arts On which some pride themselves in this our day; Nor was the singing done by fits and starts, As if God's service were but childish play. They knew His Eye was on their secret thoughts alway.

XXXVII.

I must not fail to mention the chief thing For which all saints should meet on Sabbath day; But first my Muse would boldly spread her wing, For she could always on this subject stay. Your kind indulgence, reader, I would pray, As this sweet topic is most dear to me. Most gracious Savior, who for me didst pay Thy precious blood upon the cursed tree, That I might be redeemed from sin and misery.

XXXVIII.

Grant me Thy Spirit's aid while I attempt A true description of thy "Feast of Love" May I from evil motives be exempt, Nor mention aught but what Thou wilt approve. That small, dear family "born, from above," Just numbering twelve, around the table meet. Each one displays the meekness of the dove, And hopes to share a most delicious treat In joining thus with Jesus in Communion sweet.

XXXIX.

And now the Pastor thought it right to tell What were the principles on which they met; For great misapprehension he knew well Prevailed abroad, and some men's minds beset. He trusted no one present would forget That the pure Bible was their only guide. They had no human system to abet, Nor would they by man's arguments be tried. What say the Scriptures? these alone the case decide.

XL.

He said, "We meet, dear friends, in Jesus' name; By his command who, says, 'Remember me?' As He for us Sin-offering became, It is but right we should obedient be, And O, what wondrous love we here do see! To think we are invited all to feast With Jesus in His glorious majesty. This is a marvel, and 'tis much increased When we reflect we are not worthy in the least.

XLI.

"Here at this table I now humbly stand Upon a perfect level with the rest. We take the Bread and Wine at Jesus' hand, He hath these simple Emblems truly blest. Our love to him by this act is expressed, And though we are indeed a small, weak flock, The Lord makes each a highly honored guest. On His Atonement as our holy rock, We stand secure midst danger, nor fear any shock.

XLII.

"We do this every First Day of the Week, Because of old God's people did the same; This all may learn who will take pains to seek The Word of Truth. All arguments are lame. Men use against it, and not free from blame. Can we, dear friends, remember Christ too often? Ah, no indeed! To save our souls he came! And his vast Love to us our hearts should soften, And plume the, wings, of Faith, which we may soar aloft on.

XLIII.

"We do not wish to hold the servile views To which too many of God's children cling. Oh, why should Christians in this way refuse What to their souls would sweetest comfort bring? 'Remember Me' should make our love to spring Like water gushing from a fountain clear, And tune our hearts each time afresh to sing The praise of Jesus, and should make us rear Our Ebenezer high as we to heaven draw near.

XLIV.

"Some ask us if we have the Lord's command For breaking bread upon each Sabbath day. We ask them in return, have they at hand A plain behest for acting in their way? If such they have let them without delay Spread wide the fact and let the truth be known. I should have nothing further then to say, Except my error thankfully to own. But friends, as yet none ever have such precept shown.

XLV.

"Suppose there were near by a flock of sheep Whose sad, gaunt looks bespoke the pasture bare, While they have left scarce strength enough to creep, From having lacked too long good food and care. Suppose that these were brought to pasture fair, The gate of which was opened wide to them. Would they wait for command to enter there? In truth I think not, and can rightly claim That we in doing this incur not any blame."

XLVI.

This said, he read aloud the Savior's words, Uttered that solemn night before he died. Deep, soul-toned language which quite well accords With his great sufferings for his blood-bought bride. O, let not any this plain feast deride; There ne'er was Ordinance appointed yet That has more comfort to the Saints supplied. 'Tis calculated to make them forget Their sorrows when they view Christ's death and bloody sweat.

XLVII.

And now most grateful thanks are offered up, The Bread is broke, and all in silence eat. Then in like manner they partake the Cup, In fellowship they sit at Jesus' feet, And take from his dear hands refreshment sweet. This done, collection for the Saints is made, And next praise rises to the "Mercy Seat." From right glad hearts and unfeigned lips 'tis paid: The meeting closes and each kind farewell is said.

XLVIII.

Yet this day's joyous service was not o'er; Some met at night with GOODWORTH'S family, And there together searched the hidden store Of Bible truth, the prayer of Faith the key That did unlock each wondrous mystery. All were invited, nay were pressed to speak, And show the light which God gave them to see. This course served well to strengthen what was weak, And all learned much who meekly were inclined to seek.

XLIX.

Nor was pure praise neglected at this time: All were well pleased with that day's exercise. And freely joined in Zion's songs sublime, Thus pouring forth their evening sacrifice. This did but strengthen pre-existing ties, While warmer grew their hearts in Love's soft bands. At nine o'clock reluctantly they rise, To part at last with cordial shake of hands, More fitted for the coming day, with its demands.

L.

I offer the above as a fair sample Of this small Church's worship on First Days, And should be highly pleased if their example Had on our minds an influence always. Their love and zeal are worthy of all praise, Though all they have or are is of God's grace. His love to them they view with deep amaze, And trust ere long to see him face to face In heavenly Regions—His own happy Dwelling Place.

LI.

To spare the Reader risk of long digression, And keep within just bounds my humble tale, I now in order give GOODWORTH'S profession That none to understand his views may fail. Against these views some men no doubt will rail, But let such take the Bible in their hands, And with Truth's weapons only them assail. This the importance of the thing demands, For by the Truth alone his doctrine falls or stands.

LII.

On Scriptural grounds of every Sinner's hope He held no wavering views, for Truth shone clear Into his soul, and gave him power to cope With Error's darkest forms. He had no fear Of man before his eyes. The spiteful sneer Of Antinomians and proud Pharisees Disturbed him not, save to call forth a tear From heartfelt pity for the vagaries Of their perverted judgments touching God's decrees.

LIII.

He held, then, that the Lord, who sees the end From the beginning, did of his own pure grace Choose some with him Eternity to spend, From 'mongst the millions of our fallen race, Determined all such should behold his face In peace at last, in spite of Hell and sin. These would in time his Gospel Truth embrace, Or die incapable for Faith within. Thus did he view the triumphs of God's Grace begin.

LIV.

He saw God's Love—Superlative, Eternal, Gradually unfold the mystery To Man, who by Satanic schemes infernal, Had fall'n from happiness to misery. And he by Faith's keen eye could clearly see Its full development when Jesus came The sinner's Surety and best Friend to be; Who "bore the Cross and still despised the Shame," Nor shrank from God's just wrath—a fiercely burning flame.

LV.

Christ's glorious Resurrection too, he saw To be God's stamp of approbation great On that vicarious work which his just Law Fulfilled—a ground of hope commensurate To man's great needs in every age and state. These truths so filled his warm and generous soul That he on them would oft expatiate Until his feelings seemed beyond control; And this secured attention from his hearers all.

LVI.

Of man's free will he had not any doubt; Yet he as much believed the declaration Of God's own Word—which some men dare to flout— That man's heart is, in every rank and station, "Always deceitful," filled with profanation, "And desparately wicked." This none know But God, who has provided expiation, And sent his Holy Spirit down to show These facts to sinners dead, and on them Life bestow.

LVII.

On final perseverance of all Saints He took the highest stand which man can take, And found in it a balm for most complaints Of Christian souls, to sense of sin awake. This glorious truth to him would often make Light shine in darkness and dispel his fear; Oft led him to endure for Jesus' sake Loss of beloved objects, and appear An ever happy man, 'midst prospects dark and drear.

LVIII.

Besides the views I have already given He held it right that Christians all should use The talents they possess as gifts from heaven. Neglect of this admits of no excuse, Though there are times when men their gifts abuse. As members of the Church all have their place, And none well taught of God should e'er refuse To aid His cause according to the Grace Received since they were led Salvation to embrace.

LIX.

For peaceful rule and needful discipline, He held that churches should call two or more Of members, who well qualified had been, As Elders, by God's Spirit to watch o'er The flock of Christ; men skilled in Bible lore, And "apt to teach; not novices, but such As have seen service in the Truth, and bore Good characters becoming Christians much," For only men like these should that high office touch.

LX.

Two or more Deacons they should also call, Who by the Scripture rule are qualified To keep the Church's funds, and still help all Who may by poverty be sorely tried. By such arrangements Churches should abide, If they would faithful prove unto the Lord. We have no right to set His Laws aside; Such conduct is by our Great Head abhorred, And does with our profession very ill accord.

LXI.

As this Church was but young it was deemed best That they should, as their pastor, him retain. He thanked them much for confidence expressed, And hoped it would not tend to make him vain. He thought it right his views thus to explain, And trusted they would give them due attention. Should his poor life be spared he would remain And labor hard to keep them from declension, Though of their falling off he had no apprehension.

LXII.

The Salary question next came on the board. What should the amount be, how or whence obtained? The Church itself could not the means afford; Perhaps some others might assistance lend— But would the pastor such a course commend? Had they consulted him at first they would Have found they had no cause to apprehend A lack of means to serve intentions good; He wished to labor freely for Christ's brotherhood.

LXIII.

He and his family needed then no aid Except what new-come Settlers might require. And obligation was upon him laid To seek the good of souls from motives higher Than worldly gain. He trusted his desire Was that the Gospel might be free to all. What Christ had done for him his zeal would fire, And make him earnest in the sinner's call; Thus gladly would he forward press toward the goal.

LXIV.

Now let not Christians who from him may differ Suppose this man could no forbearance show. It was his wish to be in nothing stiffer Than Truth required, which God led him to know. From human creeds his conscience said "withdraw!" To stand by such advice he was content. To Pharisaic pride he was a foe, And to ungodliness where'er he went, While to promote true Love his gifts and time were spent.

LXV.

My Muse again of temporal-things would sing, And I her mandate hasten to obey. Upon all farms there's work enough in Spring, And GOODWORTH'S people were not used to play. 'Tis true their farm was small, yet day by day They plenty found to occupy their time; That patch of ground the labor would repay. As for good crops, 'twas in condition prime: Such they all hoped to raise in that fine fruitful clime.

LXVI.

Six acres still lay right behind the two; Doubtless it had an Indian clearance been. This needs not much to fit it for the plow, So they of brush and rubbish rid it clean, And broke it up. Then a rail fence was seen Most speedily to compass it around. Soon spring wheat sown was looking brightly green, While in the garden useful plants were found, And these good prospects made the family's joys abound.

LXVII.

Their live stock was not large, yet they possessed Two milking cows, and yoke of oxen strong, Some turkeys, hogs, and poultry of the best. These all were bought ere they had been there long. For finest fish they could not well go wrong; The lake supplied all that they wished to get. In small canoe they often sailed along The side of lovely isles and cast their net, Or fished with line till glorious Sol had nearly set.

LXVIII.

Sometimes a deer would venture near enough To run the risk of catching lumps of lead, And this well dressed was no unsavory stuff With which to help a meal of wheaten bread. Of bears and wolves they were at first in dread, But soon found out there was no cause for fear; For if such came and mortal showed his head, They soon ran off with a true coward's leer, Which made it seem surprising they should come so near.

LXIX.

To clear against the Fall, the sons marked out Ten acres of the woods well filled with trees. Such work required strong arms and courage stout, And those young men could rightly boast of these. They now with willing hands their axes seize And push the work from early morn till night. Loud sound the strokes, till each brave woodman sees The trees begin to tremble in their sight, And soon with thundering sound upon the ground alight.

LXX.

The chopper's life is not a life of ease— And yet to those who understand it well There's much about it that doth tend to please Their warm, strong minds, as they such monsters fell. I have oft stood as if bound by a spell, When some huge giant swayed awhile in air, And then with crash tremendous shook the dell, While cows from fright would scamper here and there, But soon return to browse its top for lack of fare.

LXXI.

While those in woods were busily employed Swinging their axes in true workman style, Their sisters neatly dressed as much enjoyed The garden work, quite cheered by Nature's smile. Lightening their labor with sweet songs the while, They trained the different plants with skillful hands; A pleasing task well fitted to beguile Such modest, gentle girls, who in Love's bands Were bound together, thus obeying God's commands.

LXXII.

Their gardener skill was not alone confined To what was wanted for their bodily needs. By nature taught, each had a tasteful mind, And this was shown by planting flower seeds. These by some folks are looked upon as weeds, And therefore useless—not e'en worth a straw! From such coarse souls I do not look for deeds Which, in sweet aspect, do our nature show; I envy not their taste nor all they chance to know.

LXXIII.

I love to look on flowers. They to my soul Sincerest pleasure and sweet peace still bring; Their varied charms can wondrously control My troubled spirit—smarting from the sting Of cold neglect and sad, crushed hopes, whence spring Many sore trials to the sons of men. I, midst my flowers, can feel myself a king, Nor envy much the rich and mighty then, With all their pomp and pride, or gorgeous trappings vain.

LXXIV.

And those fair damsels always loved to view Sweet tulips, pinks, and daisies' charms unfold, The peony's blush, the lovely rose's hue, And woodbine's blossoms—lilies like pure gold. All these, and more, were pleasant to behold, And well repaid them for their frequent toil. Their plants throve well in that rich, deep, black mold, And though the work did their nice fingers soil, It kept them ever free from this poor world's turmoil.

LXXV.

The settlers round beheld with much surprise The neat-kept garden in such beauty seen, And oft they looked with rather longing eyes Upon the flowers bedecked in glorious sheen. Sometimes a youth upon the fence would lean And Watch with due respect the sisters fair; Then anxious ask what this and that could mean, Or names of plants which seemed to him so rare. Doubtless it was to see the maidens he came there.

LXXVI.

Of this I could not speak with certainty; But mutual blushes, looks significant, Are very apt to tell strange tales to me. I once was young, so you will therefore grant I should know something of what youths still want When they to such sweet girls quite bashful come, And utter words as if their stock was scant. Well, 'tis but natural, and I would be mum; Of bliss thus sought and gained 'twere hard to tell the sum.

LXXVII.

Often the parents, in their Master's spirit, Would link-armed take a pleasant walk at eve To visit neighbors, and thus seek to merit That just reward which faithful Saints receive From Jesus Christ, who never will deceive Those working well for him. They therefore went Gladly each burdened conscience to relieve, And those assist who were by sickness spent, Or tell to all, the message which their God had sent.

LXXVIII.

On one of these occasions they became Acquainted with a youth to bed confined. From early childhood he was always lame, And for a year or two had been quite blind. His manners were most gentle, and his mind With human knowledge seemed to be well stored. Now these dear people made enquiry kind, If he had in affliction sought the Lord, Or ever gained true comfort from his Sacred Word.

LXXIX.

To them at first he no reply would give, Yet seemed absorbed in thought, and heaved a sigh. At last he said, "I always aimed to live So that I need not fear when brought to die. I feel at present that my end is nigh And should not care ev'n now, if I were dead. Upon my blameless life I can rely, Nor look for harm to fall on guiltless head. A purer life than mine no mortal ever led."

LXXX.

"My dear young friend," the Pastor sweetly said, "Did your own conscience never whisper you That hope like this to ruin always led? If not, let me now tell you it is true! For none may hope the face of God to view In peace unless their sins are washed away By Jesus' blood. Our dearest Savior flew On wings of Mercy man's worst foes to slay, And open wide the gates, to everlasting day!"

LXXXI.

He asked him then if he might read aloud A portion of God's Word, and offer prayer. The youth consented, feeling much less proud Than when these Christians first had entered there. GOODWORTH three chapters read with greatest care, Three which at length dwell on the sinner's state, And then by plainest speech made him aware How he might best escape a sin-cursed fate, Be reconciled to God, and coming Glory wait.

[Footnote: The 3d, 4th, and 5th chapters of Romans]

LXXXII.

The poor blind lad had never heard before The wonders which those chapters do reveal, Self-righteousness he ne'er could think of more, For sense of guilt he now began to feel. This roused up fears he could not well conceal, And made him anxious those two friends should pray. The Pastor made to him one more appeal, Then supplicated God without delay That Grace might be shed forth to lead him in the way.

LXXXIII.

Now bitter tears flow from those sightless orbs, As light breaks in upon his darker soul, Prospect of death his wretched thoughts absorbs, And makes him wish that he could back recall, Those early years which did so fleetly roll, Before he lost his health and precious sight; For no dread visions then did him appal, Nor was he wont to tremble from affright. Oh, that he had but sought Salvation with his might!

LXXXIV.

Our two friends told him plain 'twas not too late; Such burdened souls the Savior had invited, However black their crimes, however great Their mad rebellion; even if they had slighted This Means of Grace—without which man is benighted— He bids them come to him and find sweet rest. Those who have thus obeyed have been delighted With his light yoke, and often have expressed Their sense of such great goodness, feeling truly blest.

LXXXV.

This good instruction had the best effect, And as he seemed composed the friends prepare To start for home, nor in the least suspect How quick the time had fled whilst they were there. They bade "good night" and left him in the care Of their Kind Father, who had bid them go; And in their journey through the woods they share Sweet converse and true joy in constant flow, And reach their neat log house Content afresh to know.

LXXXVI.

The sons and daughters greeted their return With pleasant smiles, then with respect enquired What led to their detention, and now burn To know the cause they look so sad and tired. The parents, nothing both, gave as desired A brief account how they had been employed; And this once more full confidence inspired While each the truly pleasing thought enjoyed, That one soul less would be by Satan's power destroyed.

LXXXVII.

Around the family Altar next they meet To worship God by reading, prayer and praise, Which all ascend like richest incense sweet Before the throne of Him who guides their ways. Surely bright Angels might delight to gaze Upon this happy family at such time, And feel those Christians fit to join in lays That they are wont to sing in heavenly clime; In rapturous devotion to their King sublime.

LXXXVIII.

If e'er a glimpse of heaven is had below, If there is aught of Bliss upon this Earth, A family like this it best can show, For they need not the worldling's boisterous mirth; And yet of social feeling there's no dearth. Each does enjoy true peace and happiness, Which, rightly valued, in their turn give birth To noble deeds designed mankind to bless, To strengthen what is right, and what is wrong redress.

LXXXIX.

I would not undervalue Church connection, For 'tis of God's appointment, and should show True Christian principles in much perfection, And be the sweetest bond of all below. But oh, it happens, I too truly know, There is mixed with it so much worldliness, So man members to vile Mammon bow, That my poor soul is filled with sore distress, And scarce dare hope the Lord will such connection bless.

XC.

Under these circumstances I with others Await most anxiously that day's appearing, When Jesus Christ will with his chosen brothers Dwell in sweet fellowship and love endearing. The hope of this should always be most cheering To every Christian of each state and name; And make them patient hear with the rude jeering Of those who love to glory in their shame; Who for their soul's perdition are alone to blame.

XCI.

This hope was dear indeed to GOODWORTH'S heart, And made him feel a very strong desire Right Knowledge on all subjects to impart, And use but proper means true zeal to fire. He wished not that his hearers should admire His humble teaching, but the truths he taught, And tried to show them how they could acquire The power to judge all subjects which were brought Before their minds, as they with good or ill were fraught.

XCII.

Under such teaching this small Church became An humble, cheerful, happy, loving Band. While they by industry their wild lands tame, They did not oft neglect to lend a hand To him who thus on Scripture took his stand. Their conduct and profession both agree, And every instance of God's goodness fanned Love's flame, and made it burn more steadily; For which they praised the Lord with great sincerity.

XCIII.

Amongst their number there was poor McKan, Weakly in body but yet firm in mind. His means were small when he at first began To clear as wild a bush farm as you'll find. The neighbors round had all to him been kind, Feeling much pity for his family; For he, though toiling hard, had run behind In payment for his lot and soon might be With those dependant on him brought to misery.

XCIV.

While certain ruin stared him in the face, He felt he'd rather die than beg from friends; And so prepared to sacrifice his place— Persuaded that the Lord would make amends. The Pastor hears his case and straight attends Upon him at his house with wish to know The full particulars, and gladly lends An ear attentive to his tale of woe; How the stern creditor would no more mercy show.

XCV.

His case was not a solitary one. Too many find when they have toiled for years, That sweet Hope leaves them when their strength is gone; Which fills their future with alarming fears, And nothing for them but despair appears! O, why is this? Have they imprudent been? Or has great sickness sunk them in arrears? Perhaps it may be these; and yet I ween Another cause of trouble may be clearly seen.

XCVI.

That cause is this: Our Government thought fit To sell their land at far too high a rate, And those who bought thought they could pay for it Within the time, which would be something great. If common-sense had chanced to bid them wait, They mostly had an answer close at hand: "Men whom they knew had bettered much their state By buying on long time that wild bush land, Ami now as able farmers 'mongst their fellows stand."

XCVII.

By pinching work they raise the first installment For lot on which the claim pre-emption right, And from that time they find complete enthralment, As with Adversity they constant fight. Where's now the prospect which was once so bright? "Not quite all gone," may some poor settler say. But health is broken, and no more delight Fills their parental hearts from day to day, While each succeeding month adds something more to pay,

XCVIII.

Until at last the time allowed has fled. More time is granted, but alas, in vain! With aches and pains they now are nearly dead. Such help as they require they can't obtain; And yet perhaps of fortune they complain, Or blame the friends whose "luck" led them out there. But from such course 'tis better to refrain; For, had they been still servants, with due care They might have bought good farms and had some cash to spare.

XCIX.

Just so it was with that poor Christian brother, And this at once the Pastor clearly saw; Yet had no wish in haste to judge another, But felt inclined pure Charity to show. Then, having learned all he now wished to know, Home he returned and sought his Father's ear. From his full heart strong supplications flow, Which cease not till he sees his duty clear, And gains fresh help from God his brethren's hearts to cheer.

C.

He next the matter told to his dear wife, For she was wise and often could suggest What was most useful in affairs of life, Which made her counsel be in much request. Her mind to him she freely then expressed, And mentioned what she heard the day before— How brother Luth, who was of friends the best, Would take the farm and willingly give more Than would the Creditor, if they the land restore.

CI.

GOODWORTH heard this, then spoke to Luth alone— Told him quite plainly how the matter stood, Yet not in harsh, authoritative tone, But meekly, as more likely to do good. By this he showed regard for brotherhood, And led Luth candidly to speak his mind. Then, as both felt in very kindly mood, They deemed it best to try McKan to find And let him know what they in Christian love designed.

CII.

They found him soon and Luth made his proposal, Which filled the humble family with delight. The whole affair appeared as the disposal Of their kind God, who always acted right. Most thankful were they that in His pure sight They found such favor in their hour of need. That brother's kindness they could ne'er requite; His was a noble—a most generous deed, Which could alone from love at any time proceed.

CIII.

Luth took the place, and for improvements paid Beside what to the Creditor was due; "And if the family chose, they might," he said, "Remain his tenants for a year or two, And daily labor he would take in lieu Of money payments for a moderate rent." This plan aroused their gratitude anew, While with the bargain all appeared content, And deemed the time employed most profitably spent.

CIV.

The two on their return called in to see The sick blind youth, who now was sinking fast. He was no longer in despondency, Though he of late had through great suffering passed. On the Atonement all his hopes were cast, And now enjoyed a happy frame of mind. The work of Jesus did appear so vast, He could not doubt but it had been designed By Him whose name is Love, to save poor lost mankind.

CV.

The parents had beheld the change thus wrought By Gospel Truth in their afflicted boy, And called to mind how often they had thought Religion was invented to destroy Whatever mortals have of peace and joy. "But now," they said, "we think it something worth. For our son's happiness has no alloy, Although about to leave the joys of Earth, And all those pleasant things which used to yield him mirth."

CVI.

The Pastor now gave each an exhortation, And kind friend Luth engaged awhile in prayer, Which met, at present, no disapprobation. Much death bed comfort does the sick one share, But soon his eyes assume a brighter glare, The rattle in his throat bespeaks death near. Anon they raise the dying youth with care, Whose smiling face shows plain he has no fear, For Jesus in the valley does his servant cheer.

CVII.

A strong, brief struggle, and now all is o'er! No more the heart will in his bosom beat. His soul triumphant gains Heaven's peaceful shore, And raptured stands to view each scene so sweet; Then joins the thousands tasting Bliss complete, In all the Hallelujahs which they raise Unto the Lamb of God, while at His feet They cast their crowns and ever wondering gaze On Him who sits enthroned as worthy of all praise.

CVIII.

Our friends strove now to cheer the drooping hearts Of that lone couple in their deep distress; For they knew well each promise which imparts To mourners hope and heartfelt happiness. These on their minds they forcibly impress; And their kind efforts are not used in vain, For the bereaved ones readily confess That faith in Jesus brought substantial gain To their dear boy who now is free from grief and pain.

CIX.

The neighbors, apprehending such event, Drop silent in and heartily engage With solemn mien and truly kind intent, The old folks' ardent sorrow to assuage. Some one prepares the needful shroud to wage, While others wash and lay the body out, And in soft tones make observations sage, The truth of which none are inclined to doubt, For all at such a time seem serious and devout.

CX.

Meanwhile the Pastor and his friend take leave, And reach their homes before 'tis very late. The news they take their families receive As fresh inducement on their God to wait, And ever watch by Wisdom's sacred gate. Two days elapse and bring the Sabbath round, And settlers join the humble funeral state, Which reaches soon the new-made burial ground, Where all list to the service with respect profound.

CXI.

Those simple, mournful rites do much impress The minds of all assembling on this day; And now the Preacher lays the greatest stress On danger consequent upon delay In matters of Salvation, when the Way To Everlasting Life, himself stands ready To welcome those who make His blood then stay, However weak their faith, howe'er unsteady Their trembling souls become when tossed in Life's rough eddy.

CXII.

The text [Footnote: The three last verses of Matthew XI.] was one that wonderfully stated The sinner groaning under loads of guilt, And mourning souls have found weak faith recreated, As on its consolations they have built Their stable hopes, against which Hell full tilt Has often run, determined to prevail— And might have done if Jesus, who has spilt His precious blood for them, had chanced to fail. But that can never be, whatever foes assail.

CXIII.

Has any mortal skill to estimate The solid good that such a text has done? Ah, no! the task's so wonderfully great, By finite man it need not be begun. Fit for the work, of Angels there is none. God can alone the glorious secret tell, Or mark the value of the mighty boon To all the souls whom it hath saved from hell, And landed safe in Glory, ever there to dwell?

CXIV.

And at this time the mourners dried their tears, As the Departed's state they realize. Raised were their hopes, abated were their fears, On each new view of Christ's great Sacrifice. Now might be seen joy beaming in their eyes, As they learned acquiescence in God's will. Most precious promises the word supplies, To cheer their hearts and every murmur still, While they together walk adown Life's slippery hill.

CXV.

Others, who long had boon companions been Of that young man in his most joyous days, With tearful eyes are in that Chapel seen, And seem desirous to amend their ways. They never had before beheld Truth's blaze, But, like too many, boasted of their state, Not dreaming that their light was lost in haze Of stupid ignorance and folly great; God grant such may repent before it is too late.

CXVI.

'Tis thus the Lord oft makes most lasting good To flow from what we mortals view as ill; And we pass through each strange vicissitude To find that peace again our souls can fill; While Mercy's shed, not like a trickling rill, But in full streams, with never ceasing flow— Softening our hearts obdurate, and our will Conforming unto God's; until we know It was all needful to keep us from sin and woe.

CXVII.

We now will pass from sad to lively scenes, And bask awhile in July's warmth and smiles; For settlers,' homes can furnish ample means To have a Picnic 'mongst the beauteous isles Bestudding Huron's face for many miles. Why should not those, who live on such wild farms, Enjoy a pleasant pastime, which beguiles The jaded mind: affording many charms To those who wish to flee from anti-social harms?

CXVIII.

The subject some weeks previous had been broached, And this enabled farmers to have care Lest the event on needful work encroached— A thing of which they all should be aware; As they, through Summer, have scarce time to spare For needful recreation in this way. Now, by contrivance, they enjoy a share Of sweet delight, on this auspicious day: When several families make for a most pleasant Bay.

CXIX.

Fine was the day, and settlers' boats were ready To bear their precious cargoes from the shore. The Pastor's presence kept the young folks steady, Though blandest smiles the happy party wore. Strong, manly arms plied well each sturdy oar, To make the boats fly swift o'er sparkling waves. These seemed quite conscious of the freight they bore, And kissed the water which their trim forms laved; While all enjoyed a scene that ne'er the heart depraved.

CXX.

And thus they reach a lovely Isle, tree-clad— At no great distance from their starting place— From whose high front most splendid views are had Of other isles, all clothed in Summer's grace. With rapture they now gaze on Nature's face; See trees bedecked in brightest green attire, Which look well pleased with July's warm embrace— Their forms view in the Lake, and much admire Their fine proportions; and more stateliness acquire.

CXXI.

For camping-ground they had not long to look; A sheltered place, from underbrush quite free, Was known to all as a most charming nook, Where they might rest and eat in privacy. On choice of this they every one agree; Then place the baskets-laden with good things— And now their voices, in sweet melody, Present pure praises to the King of Kings: A truly pleasant service that much blessing brings.

CXXII.

Young GOODWORTH'S then good poetry recited; "Hymn to Mont Blanc," and GRAVES' sweet "Elegy;" While MILTON'S lofty strains each one delighted, And COWPER'S sketches-full of harmony. CAMPBELL and WORDSWORTH yield variety, And BURNS his quota furnished with the rest. WILSON'S good Dramas, too, were deemed to be, By all the company, among the best: And I would find no fault with what was then expressed.

CXXIII.

For lengthening out the pleasure thus obtained, The Pastor undertook to criticise Those pieces heard, and what was dark explained. Next, needful illustration he supplies, Or shows defects not seen by common eyes. Comparing the best with sacred poetry, He unfolds beauties in the Prophecies Of great Isaiah, and quite readily Paints in most glowing terms the Psalmist's minstrelsy!

CXXIV.

Then speaks of Jeremiah's plaintive strain— The "Weeping Prophet" and true Patriot, Who often wept for Zion, and felt pain For her great sins; who, when God's wrath waxed hot Against his country, ne'er her weal forgot, But prayed and wrestled with the Lord of Hosts, If, peradventure, he her crimes would blot From out his Book; and yet he never boasts Of love to country, as some do who seek high posts.

CXXV.

The book of Job—great in poetic lore— He dwells upon, till wonder and delight Seize all his hearers; most of whom before Had not enjoyed a very clear insight Into that Book, which tells of God's great might, His wisdom, goodness and forbearance long With his poor servant, brought to saddest plight Through Satan's eagerness to drive him wrong; When he poured forth his woes in deep impassioned song.

CXXVI.

Next glanced at Moses' song on Red Sea shore— When Pharaoh and his mighty host were drowned— In which the Tribes most gratefully adore Their great Deliverer, who on Egypt frowned. No mortal uninspired could e'er have found Such fitting language for that great event, Those strains sublime, with glorious grandeur crowned, Came forth from heaven, and back were thither sent As worship to the Lord, from hearts, on praise intent.

CXXVII.

'Twas now full time that they should all partake Of the refreshment thither brought with care. While thirst was quenched with water from the lake, They each with each their choicest viands share. But ere they eat of that most ample fate, Due thanks are given in a proper song. Such happy lot with any can compare, So none need marvel if they tarried long, For everything conspired to make Love's bonds quite strong.

CXXVIII.

The dinner o'er the older ones retired To give the Island a complete survey. In doing this they very much admired Sweet scenes thus visited on that fine day. The younger part had no desire to stray, So they remained in that nice shady nook, And joined together in a harmless play, Or read awhile in some delightful book, And thus of purest pleasure old and young partook.

CXXIX.

The sun, quite fast into the West descending, Now warned them all it was full time to go To their dear homes, where sweetest comforts blending, Gave no just cause neglect of them to show. But yet their hearts, with gratitude aglow, Prompt them once more to join in praise each voice And now the Pastor sought from them to know If they of proper hymn have made their choice, As he had one composed, and truly would rejoice

CXXX.

If his attempt to speak the mind of all For this day's pleasure and substantial joy Should meet, with approbation and recall The hours so sweetly spent without alloy. He spoke of this to them with manners coy, Like one not used to boast what he had done. "Perhaps," he said, "They might their time employ To more advantage if he ne'er begun To give to them the Song which he in haste had spun."

PASTOR'S SONG ON LEAVING THE ISLAND.

Soon Sol will sink into the West And Luna shed her silvery beams; Each songster seeks its wild-wood nest To spend the night in love's sweet dreams.

And we, dear friends, prepare to leave This Isle and each delightful scene, And feel we have no cause to grieve That we upon its shores have been.

For all, throughout this lovely day, Have had much pleasure free from pain. Then let us, ere we go away, Lift up our hearts in praise again.

"O Thou who from thy bounteous hand Dost give thy children all they need, Behold us now—a loving band, And all our boats in safety speed

"To yonder bay; then guide us home. Accept our thanks for mercies great We have enjoyed beneath thy dome, In humble, yet contented state."

Farewell, sweet Isle; may thy fair scenes Ne'er witness orgies, vile, profane; For this man's character demeans, And never yields him solid gain.

CXXXI.

With this short song they all were satisfied, And soon agreed that it forthwith be sung. In strong, warm feelyngs then each singer vied, And some gave proof they had no lack of lung. To Duke Street tune were their fine voices strung, And thus verses went off charmingly, While through the distant woods their loud notes rung. The party now, with great alacrity Regain the boats, and push into that deep, blue sea.

CXXXII.

And what a beauteous scene was there presented To their admiring gaze on that fine lake. 'Twas such that they could all have been contented To stay forever; but a something spake And bid them hasten, as life was at stake! This may seem, strange, but they with dread behold Heaven's face grow black, while mighty winds awake. And now 'tis well that men both strong and bold Have charge of those frail boats well filled with young and old.

CXXXIII.

In this their trouble they look up to God, Who bids the angry elements be still; And thus suspends o'er them his chastening Rod, While deepest gratitude their bosoms fill, Inspiring them afresh to do His will. It nerves each heart and arm to ply the oar With ceaseless efforts; working hard until In safety every boat has reached the shore. When the curbed storm at last does all its vengeance pour.

CXXXIV.

The rain comes down in torrents, and the flash Of vivid lightning penetrates the gloom! Loud roars the mighty thunder, and the dash Of angry waves upon the ear doth boom! The friends, escaped as from a watery tomb, All stand together 'neath o'erhanging rock. Somewhat appalled and rather pinched for room, They list in silence each tremendous shock; Yet Christ, their Shepherd, watches o'er his feeble flock.

CXXXV.

The storm subsides, and they not much the worse, Cheered by the bright moon beams haste on their way. God's special mercies warmly they rehearse, Which yields fresh comfort, as so well it may. Upon the whole they had a pleasant day, And ere each separate party leaves the track, The Pastor says, "Dear friends, now let us pray." All gave consent, and forth there rose no lack Of earnest prayer to Him who safely brought them back.

CXXXVI.

Now while they separate and thence pursue The several paths that lead them to their farms, I seize occasion to bid warm adieu To my poor Muse, who lent to me her charms In my adventurous flight; and free from harms Will live in hope the subject to resume As leisure serves me and the topic warms My height and fancy, which may truth illume, That what I have to sing may live beyond the tomb.



BOOK II.

I seek divine simplicity in him Who handles things divine, and all besides, Through learned with labor, and though much admired By curious eyes and judgments ill informed To me is odious Such should still be affectionate in look And tender in address, as well becomes A messenger of Grace to guilty man

Cowper

I.

How strange the various scenes through which we pass In our life's journey—onward to the grave! Sometimes all smiles and sunshine; then alas, Dark clouds hang o'er us, and God's help we crave. Weak in adversity—when prosperous brave, We often act a very foolish part; Forsaking Mercies which our Father gave. To follow our devices, till we smart With self-inflicted pangs sent through our inmost heart.

II.

So I, who many times have sung; of duty, Too oft am led to slight my own, and feel God's chastening hand, until I see the beauty Of all His dealings with me for my weal. And yet the hand that wounds is sure The injured part; designing all in love; And in such manner that He can't conceal The Father's kindly heart. 'Tis thus we prove His earnest wish to have us always look Above.

III.

Some months have fled since I this task began, Bringing to neat completion its first part. Awhile my thoughts in easy measure ran, Which much beguiled an often saddened heart. And made me lay my pleasing task aside. Now, as I write not for an earthly mart, I have a wish that my poor rhymes may bide The test of Scripture Truth by whomsoe'er applied.

IV.

I feel a sacred pleasure warm my breast As I resume my simple tale of love: A tale which is not in rich language dressed, I fain would look for help from God above, To leave a record of my principles; And seek the guidance of the Heavenly Dove, Whose influence the darkest doubt dispels, And fills with purest peace the heart wherein he dwells.

V.

This glorious truth was never more displayed Than in dear GOODWORTH'S every day's employ; Or in the fields or in the woodland shade, His love of duty yielded constant joy; Sweet Heaven-born Peace naught could in him destroy. For why? He had in God most steadfast trust, And things which do so many minds annoy Led him to curb all anger, pride and lust, While in each fresh distress he knew that God was just.

VI.

He also knew that he is merciful And wish in all he does unto mankind. If this we see not we are very dull, And to our soul's best interests truly blind. This to perceive some minds are too refined By false philosophy and learning vain. No wonder then if they are left behind The humble child of God who with disdain Views all these worldly pleasures that he might obtain.

VII.

Just so with GOODWORTH; though he had in schools Learned much of what is termed deep classic lore, He quite preferred to train his life by rules Contained in Scripture; and it grieved him sore To see some Christians—this all should deplore— Neglect Christ's precepts to procure their ends. But seeing this, he never once forbore To speak plain truth and reap what oft attends An upright course—ev'n scorn; but this his walk commends.

VIII.

In his snug home he evermore obtained What flowed from love—a holy reverence. Of harsh commands his children ne'er complained; Wrangling and discord both were banished thence. His much loved wife possessed some rare good sense, And seconded his efforts for their good. She never sought in earnest or pretence To lower him before his flesh and blood; While to increase their comforts she did all she could.

IX.

Nor was it strange if such a home as this Made him content his leisure time to spend Within his family circle; for such bliss Comes not to all, who seek to make an end Of troubles that a single life attend, By entering soon into the marriage state. If such folks would but strict attention lend To Bible teaching, they might share the fate Of these, our friends, on whom true pleasure seemed to wait.

X.

Their constant mutual love became the theme With all who knew them in that Settlement; Domestic bliss was proved no idle dream, For in true happiness their lives were spent. To labor hard they always were content, Regarding Paul's advice and his example: It was their thought they were but thither sent To furnish proof which all might own was ample That they loved Jesus' laws, on which too many trample.

XI.

Let none imagine they e'er built on this A hope of endless happiness in heaven. They deemed it right all men should bow submiss To His Authority, whose life was given For sinners vile; that they might not be driven Away from Him to dwell in endless woe. This oft has cheered them on as they have striven To lead their fellow men God's truth to know; And every day its power did their behavior show.

XII.

The Spring is past and Summer's heat has fled. United diligence hath well supplied A plenteous store of more than needful bread, For they have some choice luxuries beside, By which means different tastes were gratified. The snug ten acre field with wheat is sown, And looks most promising. Should naught betide To hurt their present prospects this alone Will well repay them for the hardships they have known.

XIII.

And now the necessary steps are taken To shield the cattle from dread Winter's rage. Necessity—stern master—does awaken Their full inventive powers, and they engage With ready ardor pens and sheds to wage; And in the absence of commodious barn, They stack with care their straw, and thus are sage Compared with many whom no dangers warn, And who, though often suffering, will not stoop to learn.

XIV.

A good supply of hard wood they obtain, To serve them through the season drawing near, When rude King Frost will hold tyrranic reign, Making the country desolate and drear. But in those woods they have small cause for fear From Winter's howling, fearful, bitter blasts, For they have fuel in abundance near, And the huge wood file constant comfort casts Into the snug log house long as the season lasts.

XV.

All these arrangements made, the Pastor felt He had more leisure now to walk abroad; And in the gorgeous woods he often knelt In fervent prayer before his Father, God. For miles around his feet have pressed the sod Which ne'er was turned by plow up to the sun— Wilds that the foot of white man seldom trod, And where no clearance had as yet begun: Where he could sit and watch some charming brooklet run.

XVI.

Or now and then would wander near the side Of that majestic Lake, whose isles, tree clad And decked in Autumn's tints, appeared to ride With all their splendors quite elate and glad On Huron's silvery surface. Such scenes had A powerful charm to one of GOODWORTH'S mind. They would indeed, if aught had made him sad, Often dispel his gloom and leave behind Precious remembrances of an enduring kind.

XVII.

This was no marvel for his soul was filled With true poetic fire; and oft sweet song Of purest praise spontaneously has welled From his enraptured heart. Then he would long To leave a world where misery and wrong So much prevail, but yet content to stay And sere his master, his poor saints among; Would try to save those led from God astray, That he might aid Christ's cause while it is called "To-day."

XVIII.

Amidst such scenery he would sometimes take In haste his pencil, that he might note down Such thought as gushing from their fountain make The truest poetry that man has known. A specimen or two will now be shown Ere I proceed with my unlettered tale. If I mistake not they have all been drawn From Nature's store, and if so should not fail To claim our deep respect while they our minds regale.



PASTOR'S AUTUMNAL SONG.

Sweet Nature in grandeur Autumnal lies still, And I stand all entranced mid the gorgeous display, While the sun brightly sets o'er yon westermost hill, And soft twilight succeeds to a most balmy day.

It is sweet in our woods a free ranger to wander, And view the bright tints the frost makes on the leaves; To watch day by day, as the colors grow grander, And its garb evanescent each tall tree receives.

'Tis here that I feel my breast heave with emotion, While reflections arise in its deepest recess; And these in their turn fill my soul with devotion, As I trace the Kind Hand for my aid in distress.

These all are thy works, O, Thou glorious Being! Thou art the great Limner with whom none can vie; Yet dim are the splendors as night comes, fast fleeing, Compared with the glories around Thee on high.

Amidst this array comes the solemn thought stealing, That these glowing colors will soon pass away. Each rude blast of wind seems a passing bell pealing, And loudly is calling all Christians to pray.

For full preparation, ere Death comes to call them To lay all earth's cares and sweet pleasures aside; That they may be happy whatever befall them, Still trusting in Jesus, the Lamb who hath died.

HIS SONG TO A RILL.

Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill, Murm'ring softly down this hill, Oft I list thy charming voice, At the bright and early morn, As the Sun comes from the East, While his beams these scenes adorn, To furnish minds like mine a feast.

Sweetly musical, pure Rill, Thou dost me with pleasure fill. As I note thy varied charms Dulcet sounds fall on my ear, Soothing much a saddened heart; Easing me of grief and fear, Till I grieve from thee to part.

Modest, unassuming Rill, Thou art formed by matchless skill. Grace and beauty are displayed In thy ever-smiling face And the objects which surround This thy home; where I can trace Traits to make this hallowed ground.

Lively, joyous, trickling Rill! As I gaze upon thee still, Wanders back my mind afar To those haunts of boyish days, When my young and ardent soul Warbled forth its earnest lays, Gladly following Nature's call.

Glittering, dancing, pearly Rill! Thou dost well thy Maker's will In regarding his behest. Teaching Christians all the way They must take to please their God; Lest in dangerous paths they stray, And bring upon themselves his Rod.

Swiftly flowing, gentle Rill, Murm'ring softly down this hill, I must bid thee now farewell; Other scenes my presence claim. My dear Master's work demands What will bring no earthly fame— The labor of my heart and hands.



XIX.

Upon these songs no farther I comment; They speak a language dear unto my soul; And I could dwell through all my life content To gaze on Nature, who doth never pall A mind well tuned to listen to the call Of her pure minstrelsy, which yields delight Unmixed, enduring, as the seasons roll In quick succession, hymning forth the Might Of their All-wise Creator, who doth all things right.

XX.

'Tis "Indian Summer," and the sun looks down As if afraid to show his blazing face. And now the woods assume a darker brown, While in the weather there is not a trace Of Summer's ardent heat that doth unbrace The nerves of most, and makes one long to feel The cooling breeze as Winter comes apace To scatter forest leaves with savage zeal, Which do the narrow wood-paths by their fall conceal.

XXI.

And now the copious rains come pouring down, Filling the creeks and swamps and rivers full; Or in the woods or in the growing town, Things wear an aspect truly dark and dull. Through deep, stiff mud the stoutest oxen pull With much ado the very smallest load; While many a blow across his patient skull Urges the meek ox slowly on the road, Tiring the settler out ere he reach his abode.

XXII.

Anon the angry northwest winds arise, Bringing dark scowling clouds full fraught with snow. This all discharged, perhaps for months there lies One vast white sheet which screens the plants below From biting frosts, while easier to and fro The settlers move in their convenient sleighs. These heed not cold if they have hearts aglow With friendly feelings, but will speed for days Along the snow-paved roads and on some strange highways.

XXIII.

At such a time Goodworth and eldest son Left home and all its inmates in God's care; But ere they had their first day's journey done A circumstance occurred by no means rare. An English emigrant had settled where The woods were heavy and no neighbors near. He had partaken of the morning's fare And armed with axe dreamt not of cause for fear— Thought he'd be back at noon to wife and children dear.

XXIV.

But noontide came and brought no father fond To take his place and share the frugal meal. They little knew that his loved form beyond In that dark wood could no emotion feel. The loving wife could very ill conceal Dread thoughts which rose within her faithful breast. Should he be dead her own and children's weal Were fled forever. So, with mind distressed She went to search the woods and gave herself no rest.

XXV.

At last she came to where a huge tree lay Athwart the body of the hapless man. By grief distracted there she could not stay, But up the road with frightful speed she ran. Soon she met Goodworths and forthwith began To tell her tale most incoherently. Few words were needful at such a time to fan Love's flame in them or make them prove to be Both Good Samaritans to that poor family.

XXVI.

They took her up and tried to calm her mind Until they came to that soul-harrowing scene. Now all alight; ere long the axe they find, Which had so late the man's companion been. His stiffened corpse was wedged quite fast between The tree and frozen earth, and naught remained But first the widow with sleigh-robes to screen From bitter cold; and this point having gained They soon cut through the tree, so well had they been trained.

XXVII.

It then became their melancholy duty To take the lifeless form from the sad spot. And now the widow in sweet, mournful beauty Directs the new-found friends to her log cot. A tearless eye within that home was not— All felt the dreadful nature of the loss Which had that day occurred, for naught could blot His great worth from their minds. He ne'er was cross To those who clung to him as to the tree the moss.

XXVIII.

To leave this family in such piteous state Was out of question, so young GOODWORTH took The horses out—for now 'twas growing late— To quench their thirst at a clear purling brook, And gave them food within a sheltered nook; Then found some boards and made a coffin rude. Meanwhile the father took God's holy Book And read such portions as teach fortitude To us, that all immoderate grief may be subdued.

XXIX.

'Twas well that mother long had known the Lord, For wondrous strength is now to her imparted; And each clear promise in the Holy Word Proved balm unto her soul, though much she smarted. In both the GOODWORTHS she found friends warm hearted, Friends who could give their love and sympathy; And ere they from her humble home departed They showed such proofs of generosity As did with their profession very well agree.

XXX.

For such a work by sad experience trained, They soon proceeded to lay out the dead; And though fatigued they ne'er of it complained. Nor would they let the widow spread a bed For their joint use, but sat and watched instead. She, much refreshed by prayer and conversation Retired to rest her weaned heart and head. They spent the night in solemn contemplation Or read that precious Book which does unfold Salvation.

XXXI.

When morning came their plans were well matured, And each went off to tell the mournful news. Ere noon appeared assistance they secured, For help at such time who can well refuse? Some brought their tools which they knew how to use, And dug a grave in the selected spot. There round it grew no stately, somber yews, But these and other things it needed not To be fit resting-place for one not soon forgot.

XXXII.

When all was ready GOODWORTH lent support To the bereaved one following the bier. In sweet-toned language he did her exhort To look to Him who "bottles up each tear" His children shed while in deep sorrow here. They reached the grave, where she with firmness stood And felt such comfort as dispelled her fear. Such fruits spring from true Christian Brotherhood To all who rest their hopes on Christ's atoning blood.

XXXIII.

Due rites performed, the settlers flock around The widowed mother and warm offers make Of humble service, with respect profound. This wished the boy and that the girl to take, And treat them well for their dear parents' sake. She heard these offers with much thankfulness, But said to part with them her heart would break— Would miss them, too, in this her sad distress, And they could get along if God their efforts bless.

XXXIV

That night the Pastor ventured to enquire What were her prospects? Did she money need? The answer made he could not but admire: "Her God had ever proved a friend indeed; Cheered by His promises which she could plead, She doubted not He would them still protect, And, make their labors on the farm succeed; Her boy was strong, and had such great respect For what was right that he his work would not neglect."

XXXV.

Next day the friends prepared again to start On their cold journey soon as it was light. Both urged their hostess freely to impart To them from time to time her prospects bright Or the reverse, as she might deem it right. In fervent prayer they her to God commend, Then bade Farewell and soon were out of sight They reached that day their lengthy journey's end, And gained a hearty welcome from their loving friend.

XXXVI.

That friend lived in a village destined soon To show few traces of the times gone past When its fair site was woods where the racoon, The bear, and wolf had munched their stolen repast. In wealth and people 'twas increasing fast, But not in morals—these were very low; Yet some there lived who roused themselves at last And with great vigor met the monster foe— Ev'n vile Intemperance—to give him his death blow.

XXXVII.

This end they hoped for by the simple means Of total abstinence from liquors strong. The frequent use of these gives rise to scenes Which all good men would scorn to be among. Vile oaths, the boisterous mirth, the wanton song, Were constant heard within each horrid den Where these vile drinks were retailed all day long. 'Twas sad indeed to view such filthy pen Filled with poor ruined wretches who once had been men.

XXXVIII.

Throughout the village there were many such, And as a consequence great mischief done. It is surprising and has grieved me much To think our Magistrates have laurels won By doing what all devils view as fun! Why grant a license to each Groggery When it is evident men only run To those low places for iniquity, Till they become as vile as wicked men can be?

XXXIX.

Our Pastor's friend was one among the number That first came forward openly to stand On "total Abstinence," nor did he slumber, But to the work lent willing heart and hand. GOODWORTH knew this, and having at command A little leisure held a meeting there. He spoke with warmth in language bold yet bland, Using such arguments as made men stare Who went for sake of fun, but got some better fare.

XL.

With ready tact he showed the means insidious Used oft by those who sold the drunkard drink. To lure him on by stimulants oblivious, Till he lost self-command, and ceased to think. Then showed him tottering on the fearful brink Of the wide-opening grave and drunkard's hell, And truthfully described how link by link Of sacred ties were severed, as the spell Grew daily stronger, and a sot confirmed he fell.

XLI.

And now he drew as with a master's hand, A vivid picture of sad family woes; The broken-hearted wife oft forced to stand Betwixt her children and their father's blows— He mad with rum, thus trampling Nature's laws; Or gave a life-like sketch where parents vie In drunken riot, every day the cause Of strife and discord, the poor home a sty Where filth and rags surround them, till like beasts they die.

XLII.

And then he gave with most consummate skill A true description of Sobriety, Where man and wife walk up and down Life's hill In sweet conjugal peace and piety; Their love increasing as more years they see, Their children growing up like olive plants To love and cherish much their memory, And if need be in Age supply their wants, Then meet with that reward which God to such still grants.

XLIII.

While he was speaking there was some excitement, And at the meeting's close a number came To sign the Pledge, expressing much delightment. Yet some were there who slunk away in shame, Muttering that they were not a whit to blame For the poor drunkard's fate, although they had Used every means to keep alive the flame Which burned their vitals and made them quite mad. That these escape due punishment is far too bad.

XLIV.

I here would try to speak my mind in brief Upon the Temperance movement ere I pass To other scenes, either of joy or grief, In which our Pastor figures—for alas, "Man's best laid schemes are only like to grass Which springs up for a season and then dies." Just so this question 'mongst the world's great mass Sometimes seems gaining ground, but the Foe plies His sly ensnaring waits and all reform defies.

XLV.

Now why is this? Can any tell me why? Some feel quite sure all we now want's a law To stop the godless traffic. These rely Perhaps too much on man to strike the blow Which is to bring the fell Destroyer low. Others are sure that it is useless quite To curb the monster. These ne'er felt the glow Of pure Philanthropy move them aright Or they would rise and aim to crush this demon's might.

XLVI.

Try this scheme, friends: Let all true Christians stand Fast in one body, and use fervent prayer And self-denial, that the Lord's right hand May be stretched out to break each chain and snare Which binds mankind. Then let it be our care To act consistently in all we do. Of resting on an arm of flesh beware! For in this case our plans will all fall through; We shall be put to shame and feel deep anguish too.

XLVII.

May we no opportunity neglect Of spreading wide the Gospel's joyful sound For those who never do indeed expect That God's rich blessing will their steps surround. Thrice happy shall we be if we are found Engaged still thus when Jesus calls us hence. Rise, Christians, then, and let your zeal abound! The Savior calls! In earnest now commence This Godlike work, and let his name be our defence.

XLVIII.

I now resume my simple narrative, To tell how GOODWORTHS reached their home again. More striking views of them I yet must give, If I may strike my harp and use my pen. To me who rank not 'mongst well learned men 'Twill prove a task of no small magnitude; Yet after hard bench-labor, now and then It gives relief from much solicitude To sit in my arm chair and form my verses rude.

XLIX.

Once more our friends are gliding o'er the road, While their clear bells most lively music make. The sleighing good, and past each log abode They swiftly fly and soon a side-line take To gain an Indian village near the Lake. Here they intend to spend a little time The poor Red Men from sin and death to wake By speaking to them of those Truths sublime, Which can renew the souls of men sunk low in crime.

L.

The Indian Chiefs received them with much pleasure; They saw in GOODWORTH what did suit them well. Of outward charms he had an ample measure, And his fine voice was like a deep-toned bell. These all combined cast as it were a spell Over those haughty rangers of the wood, And made them ponder what he had to tell. It was a sight to see those natives rude List to God's Gospel-message in a serious mood.

LI.

They listened, and the Holy Ghost with power Sent home the word to some of savage heart. These since have seen great cause to bless the hour In which our Pastor visited that part. A few, deep-skilled in blackest "heathen art" Were full of rage and would have done him harm, But lacked the power, which but increased their smart. Meanwhile the others with fresh feelings warm, Pressed hospitable rites and quelled the fierce alarm.

LII.

With these he had some very earnest talk Of that obedience which the Lord requires From his Disciples, to ensure a walk Such as may tend to curb our vain desires And nurture that which to all good aspires. He deemed it proper not to press at first The rite Baptismal; and while one admires His views on this, another seems to thirst For full initiation lest he die accursed.

LIII.

This from an Indian did excite surprise; But soon 'twas known this man had heard before A hint of it from some one he thought wise— One truly skilled in strong Sectarian lore. To try to set him right Goodworth forbore, At least at that time, as too well he knew Men oft in controversy feel more sore On things of which they have but partial view; That they will argue most for what to them is new.

LIV.

Upon the morrow ere they took their leave, It was arranged—God willing—to return Within a week or two those to receive Into strict Fellowship who wished to learn God's will, which all in Scripture may discern, That in Church standing they a light might be To their poor friends whose state required concern. This settled, GOODWORTHS then most cheerfully Resumed their journey home to join their family.

LV.

The first few miles in safety soon they passed, And reach the edge of a most dismal swamp Stretched out before them in dimensions vast; A huge receptacle of gloom and damp. There savage wolves and beasts of such a stamp Might lodge secure and plan most daring deeds. Gloomy the prospect, though the solar Lamp Was full two hours from setting, and the steeds Restive become and faster fly as instinct leads.

LVI.

The men knew well what they had to expect, And sent a prayer into their Father's ear. This done, they did no proper means neglect To meet what danger might be hovering near, And also strove each others' hearts to cheer. Swifter the horses speed o'er the rough logs That form the road, and now some wolves appear Hungry and fierce and fresh from noisome bogs, To pounce upon our friends who lack their faithful dogs.

LVII.

The murderous gang now spring but miss their prey, And plunging in deep snow vent forth their rage In horrid yells, then strive to reach the sleigh. Again they fail; again afresh engage With double fury bloody war to wage! Vain their attempts. A Mighty Hand unseen Aids those two men. This does their fears assuage, And nerves their arms, and keeps their minds serene, Or they had failed to tell how good the Lord had been.

LVIII.

The swamp is cleared, yet on the smoother road Their speed they slack not till they reach the house Of a poor drunken settler then abroad On his nocturnal revels, while the spouse Was left to mourn his oft-indulged carouse, And tremble for his safety from the cold. No sense of danger e'er could him arouse From his sad sunken state. Drink had such hold On his gross appetite he seemed to Satan sold.

LIX.

And yet the wife, the mother of his babes, Ne'er breathed reproach against her low-sunk mate. Such love as her's it is which sometimes saves A wretched husband from a drunkard's fate. 'Tis true such love is oft repaid with hate, And driven to distraction wives may say Hard things of men who bring them to a state Of heartfelt woe, and drive their feet astray From Virtue's paths, until they shun the light of day.

LX.

But here and there a character shines forth, As in this case, most worthy of all praise. For this sweet wife was one of matchless worth, And her dear name should grace my artless lays, If I by that means could her triumphs raise. She was in truth a noble heroine, Whose brow might well have been bedecked with bays; For deeds like hers through every age should shine To show the strength of Love and prove it is divine.

LXI.

O, woman! who has skill of mind or pen Those feelings to portray that fill thy breast? All we yet see are glimpses, now and then, Which make us long the more to know the rest. Self-sacrificing woman! thou'rt possessed Of that which does enable thee to bear A load of misery on thy heart impressed By wrongs from him who should thy sorrows share, And make the daily weal his ever constant care.

LXII.

His home in that far North wild wilderness, Had naught about it which could tell the tale Of what that mother suffered of distress, For hope—fond hope had kept her strong and hale. It was still whispering she would soon prevail Upon her husband to renounce his sin. This cheered her heart although her face grew pale With anxious care how best she could begin And what means to employ that she might victory win.

LXIII.

So GOODWORTH found her on that bitter night With house quite trim and table neatly laid, And hopeful still though in a serious plight, As we have hinted, very much afraid Lest her dear man should freeze. "He is," she said, "As good a husband as I could desire But lot his fault. He always has displayed Such love for me that I will never tire Of loving him, though none my conduct may admire."

LXIV.

And saying this she would have gone alone The absent one upon the road to seek. Her ardent love conspicuously shown On that occasion, and I fain would speak Her praise with trumpet tongue, though she so meek Might blush to hear it and feel half offended. Now GOODWORTHS thought that one whom they deemed weak Was best at home, yet they her love commended, And volunteered to go, by trusty dog attended.

LXV.

'Twas not in vain. Behind a Huge pine tree The man, o'ercome, was lying fast asleep; Nor could they rouse him, so far gone was he, Or from the cold or from potations deep. An unseen Eye did faithful vigils keep O'er that poor sinner though he knew it not; And thoughts of this has since oft made him weep Tears of true penitence in that lone spot, Which gave to him a lesson that he ne'er forgot.

LXVI.

This spot was very near to where he lived, And the kind friends Drink's hapless victim bore To his own home, both feeling truly grieved That his sad state would make his wife's heart sore. And now the faithful dog trots on before, Most clearly glad because his master's found. Anon he whines and scratches at the door, Which makes his mistress' heart within her bound As she peers through the dark and tries to catch some sound.

LXVII.

Each moment seemed an hour as thus she stood In doubt, expecting some great evil near; And when they came the sight nigh froze her blood. She fainting fell, through mingled grief and fear. Meanwhile the children in the chamber hear A noise below, and leave their snug, warm bed, Then in deep sorrow view their parents dear, And big, warm tears each youngling freely shed, For their idea was that both were lying dead.

LXVIII.

Our friends knew better and strove eagerly To still their cries and consciousness restore Unto the sufferers. Soon with joy they see The mother fast recovering; her they bore Into her bed-room that they might give more Attention to the drunken father's case. He in deep stupor did most loudly snore And looked quite frightful with frost-bitten face, Which kept him long in mind of that—his great disgrace.

LXIX.

Next they rub hard with snow the frozen parts, Until the flesh displays a ruddy glow. This task accomplished they with lighter hearts Deeper concernment for the mistress show. She, quite awake, most anxious was to know Their full opinion of her partner's state. The favorable answer made her bow Her heart to God for this his mercy great, In having kept her man from such an awful fate.

LXX.

From bed she rose and pressed on them to eat, But GOODWORTH asked if he might go to prayer. She gave consent, and 'fore the Mercy Seat They poured forth thanks for all their Father's care, And prayed that all within the house might share God's rich forgiving love, and ever be Devoted to his service: so prepare By constant practice of true piety To join the heavenly ranks a happy family.

LXXI.

And now they eat with keenest appetite Of the good things so temptingly displayed— Prime venison with bread both sweet and light; And charming butter as e'er housewife made Were with tea, cream, and rich preserves arrayed In plentiful supply upon the table. These, backed by welcome, all their toil repaid, And they found backwoods cheer indeed no fable; Yet to partake thereof their hostess was not able.

LXXII.

Their noble team they came so near forgetting, Had been provided for with care by one Who gave his parents no just cause for fretting— A rather small but very hopeful son. Around the blazing hearth-fire they begun To draw their chairs to dwell in converse pure Another hour on what the Lord had done; How he had kept them all from death secure And caused their love and faith through trials to endure.

LXXIII.

The guests both slept in peace and early rose, And found their host already stirring round, And suffering much from being badly froze, And strangely nervous at the slightest sound. The elder GOODWORTH spoke to him and found That Conscience was at work within his breast. She made him hear with reverence profound Truths suited to the case of one distressed By sense of heinous guilt, which drives away all rest.

LXXIV.

He also brought most forcibly to view The need there was of "total abstinence" For such as he; and step by step he drew The man along till an o'erwhelming sense Of his great crime made him wish to commence At once a life of strict Sobriety. He signed a pledge and straightway banished thence The fiery fluid, his great enemy,— And did thenceforward keep his pledge most sacredly.

LXXV.

The breakfast o'er, our two friends bade adieu To parents, children, in their kindly way. 'Twas now their wish to push the journey through Before the close of that short Winter day. The Sun was up and made a grand display Upon the trees and shrubs on every hand; These all were clad in silvery array, As if transformed by some Magician's wand, But 'twas the work of Him who counts the grains of sand.

LXXVI.

For through the night a change had taken place— Such as we frequent view without surprise. Rain falls and freezes—this is oft the case—, And trees look pretty to our outward eyes, But is this all that such a view supplies? Can we not trace a Mighty Artist's skill, Which competition from mankind defies? Then let us learn to reverence Him still, Who forms these beauteous scenes according to His will.

LXXVII.

Dear GOODWORTH gazed upon the glittering scene Until his soul was filled with ecstacy. Here he perceived that God indeed had been To clothe dull Winter in great majesty. To him it was so full of poetry That he was led to frame another lay, Which seems to me to breathe such melody I must ev'n give it without more delay, And rest in hope 'twill live far, far beyond my day.

PASTOR'S SONG ON THE FROST-WORK OF A FOREST SCENE.

Last night's air was keen and the snow lay around; All the trees, stript of leaves, were quite naked and black, And naught broke the stillness so very profound Save the jingle of bells as we passed o'er the track.

And little we thought of the sorrowful state Of that fond, loving, wife by whose bountiful cheer Our needs were supplied, nor yet dreamt of the fate Impending o'er one—to her heart ever dear.

As little expected the clouds of despair Hanging terribly pregnant with evils so dire Would all quickly vanish in answer to prayer, And sweet comfort spring forth from the midst of the fire.

As little we thought that the rude rising blast Would bring rain to transform every dark forest scene To richness of splendor by nothing surpassed That we mortals have witnessed of wonders' terrene.

Yon maple trees bend with their silvery load Like the frail sons of earth under ponderous wealth. These feel keen affliction their consciences goad, Yet they heed not the warning till Death comes by stealth.

And those, though they look on this calm, sunny day, To be robed in pure beauty so strikingly grand, Should Boreas arise his least might to display, Would be stript of their charms by his merciless hand.

And yonder dark pines that seem still to aspire To pre-eminence over their comrades below, Which shine in Sol's rays like huge masses of fire, To the earth their proud heads may be soon made to bow.

Yon oaks, which, like kings of the forest appear, With their thick, crooked branches all coated with ice, Never dream that the loss of their splendor is near, That each branch may be broke by the wind in a trice.

Just so we vain mortals indulge foolish pride, When we deck our poor bodies in splendid attire; And oft has the Tempter successfully tried With such means us to lead to most sinful desire.

How seldom we think that the primitive use Of the first suit of clothing by Adam and Eve Was not for adornment with trappings profuse, But as cover for nakedness—guilt to relieve.

This lesson more frequently brought to our view Might preserve all our souls from much sorrow and sin, And make us more anxious each day to renew Those adornings which Christians should all have within.

With reflections like these in true pleasure I gaze On this landscape so fair—so transcendently bright, And utter my heart's feeble tones of sweet praise To my Father who formed it by Wisdom and Might.