Then didst Thou through the fields of barren night
Go forth, collected in creating might.
Where Thou almighty vigour didst exert,
Which emicant did this and that way dart
Thro' the black bosom of the empty space :
The gulfs confess th' Omnipotent embrace,
And, pregnant grown with elemental seed,
Unfinish'd orbs, and worlds in embryo breed.
From the crude mass, Omniscient Architect,
Thou for each part materials didst select,
And with a master-hand Thy world erect.
Labour'd by Thee, the globes, vast lucid buoys,
By Thee uplifted float in liquid skies.
By Thy cementing word their parts cohere,
And roll by Thy impulsive nod in air.
Thou in the vacant didst the earth suspend,
Advance the mountains, and the vales extend;
People the plains with flocks, with beasts the wood,
And store with scaly colonies the flood.

Next man arose at Thy creating word, Of Thy terrestrial realms vicegerent lord, His soul more artful labour, more refin'd, And emulous of bright seraphic mind, Ennobled by Thy image spotless shone, Prais'd Thee her Author, and ador'd Thy throne: Able to know, admire, enjoy her God, She did her high felicity applaud.

ADDISON.

BORN 1672-DIED 1721.

JOSEPH ADDISON was born in Wilts on the 1st of May, 1672. His father was a clergyman. Addison was educated in the Charter-House School and at Oxford, where he was distinguished for classical attainments. He obtained the patronage of Lord Halifax; and, after returning from his travels, held several public situations of profit before he became Secretary of State for Ireland. All his writings are distinguished by a high tone of morals and a warm and cheerful piety. These qualities are chiefly displayed in his prose writings in the Spectator and Tatler; but he has left a few pieces in verse which would do honour to any sacred poet.

AN ODE.

How are thy servants blest, O Lord!
How sure is their defence!
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.

In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,

Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,
And breath'd in tainted air.

Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,
Made every region please;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd,
And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.

Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep
In all its horrors rise.

Confusion dwelt on every face,

And fear in every heart;

When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, O'ercame the pilot's art.

Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord!
Thy mercy set me free;
Whilst in the confidence of prayer
My soul took hold on thee.

For though in dreadful whirls we hung
High on the broken wave,

I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.

The storm was laid, the winds retir'd,
Obedient to thy will;

The sea, that roar'd at thy command,
At thy command was still.

In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore;

And praise thee for thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.

My life, if thou preserv'st my life,

Thy sacrifice shall be;

And death, if death must be my doom,

Shall join my soul to thee.

ISAAC WATTS.

BORN 1674-DIED 1748.

THIS excellent and venerable person was the son of a schoolmaster in Southampton. He early distinguished himself as an admirable scholar; and, from his tenderest youth, was remarkable for the piety of his mind and the purity of his life. Watts was bred a dissenter, and on his twenty-fourth birthday he, for the first time, preached as assistant to Dr Chauncey, an independent divine, whom, three years afterwards, he succeeded. A series of feverish attacks left Watts in such a state of debility that he was compassionately received under the roof of Sir Thomas Abney, and there, after a residence of thirty-six years, he died. Sir Thomas Abney died after Watts had been eight years an inmate of his family; but this made no change to his guest. From Lady Abney and her daughter he received that uniform kindness and attention, which contributed so largely to the comfort of his pious, useful, and happy life. It is not many friendships that stand the test of thirty-six years; but the history of Cowper and Watts afford two of these rare examples of constancy in kindness. Both required and deserved "the medicine of life," and, by the goodness of Providence, it was graciously administered. To the close of his days Dr Watts continued to teach his congregation. He was an excellent and even an eloquent preacher; one who, though possessed of all the higher qualifications of his sacred vocation, did not consider himself above those minor accomplishments which contribute to success in the pulpit. His leisure was spent in the composition of his meritorious works. His Logic and Improvement of the Mind are regarded as standard books, the very best of their kind. It may be from early association that,

passing over his more important poetical pieces, we are disposed to regard his little hymns as very delightful verses. None assuredly are more sweetly adapted to the class of little beings for whom they were composed. Though the production of an excellent classical scholar and an acute logician, they possess all the grace and amenity of the female pen.

We feel pleasure in recording, that Dr Watts owed his diploma of Doctor of Divinity to the University of Edinburgh. He is the only dissenter in favour of whom Johnson ever laid aside his High-church prejudices. He has given Watts a place among the poets of Great Britain, and written his life not only with great force and discrimination, but with warm and even cordial feeling.

A SUMMER EVENING.

How fine has the day been, how bright was the sun,
How lovely and joyful the course that he run,
Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun,
And there follow'd some droppings of rain!
But now the fair traveller's come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best ;
He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest,
And foretels a bright rising again.

Just such is the Christian; his course he begins, Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins, And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines, And travels his heav'nly way:

But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace, And gives a sure hope at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array.