RETIREMENT. FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee, The calm retreat, the silent shade, There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, There, like the nightingale, she pours Nor asks a witness of her song, Author and Guardian of my life, What thanks I owe Thee, and what love, A boundless, endless store, Shall echo through the realms above, When time shall be no more. JOHN LOGAN. JOHN LOGAN was born at Soutra, in Mid Lothian, in 1748. He was bred to the Scottish Church, and became one of the ministers of Leith. Disagreeing, however, with his congregation, he came to London, and supported himself by his pen. He died there in December, 1788. Logan contributed many of the finest paraphrases to the Collection used in the Scottish Church. His poetry discovers great taste, and delicacy of sentiment. and a fervent imagination, and is written with much elegance. THE COMPLAINT O F NATURE. JOB XIV. FEW are thy days and full of wo, Determined are the days that fly The numbered hour is on the wing, Alas! the little day of life Is shorter than a span; Yet black with thousand hidden ills Gay is thy morning; flattering hope Before its splendid hour the cloud Comes o'er the beam of light; A pilgrim in a weary land, Man tarries but a night. Behold! sad emblems of thy state, When chill the blast of winter blows, The flowers resign their sunny robes, Nipped by the year, the forest fades; The leaves toss to and fro, and streak The winter past, reviving flowers The woods shall hear the voice of spring, But man departs this earthly scene, No second spring shall e'er revive The inexorable gates of death, What hand can e'er unfold? Who from the cerements of the tomb The mighty flood that rolls along The waters lost, can ne'er recall The days, the years, the ages, dark Can never, never be redeemed Back to the gates of light. "So man departs the living scene "Where are our fathers? whither gone The mighty men of old? The patriarchs, prophets, priests, and kings, In sacred books enrolled? "Gone to the resting-place of man, Thus Nature poured the wail of wo, Her voice in agony extreme Ascended to the sky. The Almighty heard: then from his throne. In majesty He rose ; And from the heaven that opened wide, "When mortal man resigns his breath, The soul, immortal, wings its flight "Prepared of old for wicked men, Immortal in the skies." THE PRAYER OF JACOB. O GOD of Bethel! by whose hand Who through this weary pilgrimage, Our vows, our prayers, we now present Before thy throne of grace: God of our fathers, be the God Of their succeeding race. Through each perplexing path of life Oh! spread thy covering wings around, Such blessings from thy gracious hand And portion evermore. |