therefore, be not offended; I boast of no knowledge that I have not received.

9. "As the sands of the desert drink up the drops of rain, or the dew of the morning, so do I also, who am but dust, imbibe the instructions of the Prophet. Believe then that it is he who tells thee, all knowledge is profane which terminates in thyself; and by a life wasted in speculation, little even of this can be gained. When the gates of paradise are thrown open before thee, thy mind shall be irradiated' in a moment. Here thou canst do little more than pile error upon error: there, thou shalt build truth upon truth. Wait, therefore, for the glorious vision; and in the mean time emulate the eagle.

10. "Much is in thy power; and, therefore, much is expected of thee. Though the Almighty only can give virtue, yet, as a prince, thou mayst stimulate those to beneficence," who act from no higher motive than immediate interest; thou canst not produce the principle, but mayst enforce the practice. Let thy virtue be thus diffused; and if thou believest with reverence, thou shalt be accepted above. Farewell! May the smile of Him who resides in the heaven of heavens be upon thee; and against thy name, in the volume of His will, may happiness be written."

11. The king, whose doubts, like those of Mirza, were now removed, looked up with a smile that communicated the joy of his mind. He dismissed the prince to his government; and commanded these events to be recorded, to the end that posterity may know, "that no life is pleasing to God, but that which is useful to mankind."

HAWKESWORTH.

117. ADDRESS TO THE DEity.

1 OD of my life, and Author of my days,

Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise,

And, trembling, take upon a mortal tongue

That hallow'd name, to harps of seraphs' sung:

'Ir rå' di åt ed, made splendid; enlightened intellectually. Be nef'i cence, the practice of doing good; active goodness, kindness, or charity. Ser 'aphs, highest rank of angels.

Yet here the brightest seraphs could no more
Than vail their faces, tremble, and adore.
Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere,'
Are equal all; for all are nothing here.

2. All nature faints beneath the mighty name,
Which nature's works through all their parts proclaim.
I feel that name my inmost thoughts control,
And breathe an awful stillness through my soul:
As by a charm, the waves of grief subside;2
Impetuous3 passion stops her headlong tide.
At thy felt presence all emotions1 cease,
And my hush'd spirit finds a sudden peace;
Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants' vanish from my eves;
Till all my sense is lost in infinite,

6

And one vast object fills my aching sight.

3. But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke;

My soul submits to wear her wonted' yoke;
With shackled pinions strives to soar in vain,
And mingles with the dross of earth again.
But He, our gracious Master, kind as just,
Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust.
His spirit, ever brooding o'er our mind,
Sees the first wish to better hopes inclined;
Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim,
And fans the smoking flax into a flame.
4. His ears are open to the softest cry,
His
grace descends to meet the lifted eye;
He reads the language of a silent tear,
And sighs are incense from a heart sincere.
Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give;
Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live;

5

Sphère, world; station or rank in life.-Sub side', settle down.— Im pêt' u ous, hasty; orcible. E mo' tions, feelings. Pageants (på'jents), splendid shows -- Infinite (in' fe nit), that which is without bounds' Wonted (wůnt' ed), accustomed; usual. —* In' cense, the odors of spices and gums burned in religious rites; acceptable prayers and praises. Sup' pli ant, one who asks a favor.

From each terrestrial' bondage set me free;
Still every wish that centers not in thee;
Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease,
And point my path to everlasting peace.
5. If the soft hand of winning Pleasure leads
By living waters, and through flowery meads,
When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene,
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,-
Oh! teach me to elude2 each latent snare,
And whisper to my sliding heart, "Beware!"
With caution let me hear the Siren's voice,
And, doubtful, with a trembling heart rejoice.

6 If, friendless, in a vale of tears I stray,

Where briers wound, and thorns perplex my way,—
Still let my steady soul thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on thee;
With equal eye, my various lot receive,
Resign'd to die, or resolute to live;
Prepared to kiss the scepter or the rod,
While God is seen in all, and all in God.
7. I read his awful name, emblazon'd high,
With golden letters, on the illumined sky;
Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flower, inscribed on every tree:
In every leaf, that trembles to the breeze,
I hear the voice of God among the trees.
8. With thee in shady solitudes I walk,
With thee in busy, crowded cities talk;
In every creature own thy forming power,
In each event thy providence adore :
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fear control.
Thus shall I rest unmoved by all alarms,

'Ter res' tri al, belonging to the earth.- E lude', escape.-La' tent, hidden; concealed. Si' ren, a fabled goddess of the ancients who enticed men by singing, and devoured them; hence, an enticing woman.-Em bla' zoned, painted in bright colors.- Mys' tic, not easily understood; used as a sign.

Secure within the temple of thinc arms,

From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent' in thee.

9. Then, when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
And earth recedes2 before my swimming eye;
When, trembling, on the doubtful edge of fate
I stand, and stretch my view to either state;—
Teach me to quit this transitory3 scene
With decent triumph, and a look serene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And, having lived to thee, in thee to die.

MRS. BARBAULD.

1.

118. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

FATHER of all! in

every age, In every clime adored,

By saint, by savage, and by sage,

Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

2. Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined

To know but this, that thou art good,
And that myself am blind;

3. Yět gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And, binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.

4. What conscience' dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,

This' teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.

5

1 Om nip' o tent, all-powerful. -2 Re cèdes', departs; goes back.Trån' si to ry, passing away soon.—a Conscience (kỏn' shens), the fac ulty within us which judges of our conduct with regard to some standard of right or wrong. When this or that are thus used, this means the latter thing spoken of, and that, the former. In this stanza, this means "What conscience warns me not to do;" that, what "Conscience dictates to be done."

5. What blessings thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away;

For God is paid when man receives, —
To enjoy is to obey.

6. Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound;
Or think thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round.

7. Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw,

And deal damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.

8. If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay;

If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart
To find that better way.

9. Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or im'pious discontent

At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness lent.

10 Teach me to feel another's woe;
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.

11. Mean though I am, not whōlly so,
Since quicken'd' by thy breath;
Oh, lead me, wheresoe'er I go,-
Through this day's life or death.

12. This day be bread and peace my lot; All else beneath the sun

Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not.
And let thy will be done.

Quick' ened, made alive.