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make friends o' all the bonny and sweet things in the world around them; and all the kind hearts in the world make friends o' them. They come to know that God is more especially the father o' them on earth, whose parents he has taken up to heaven; and therefore it is that they, for whom so many have fears, fear not at all for themselves, but go dancing and singing along like children, whose parents are both alive.'-Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life.

Domestick Society.

'Domestick society is the seminary of social affections, the cradle of sensibility, where the first elements are acquired of that tenderness and humanity, which cement mankind together, and which, were they entirely extinguished, the whole fabrick of social institutions would be dissolved. Families are so many centres of attraction, which preserve mankind from being scattered and dissipated, by the repulsive powers of selfishness.'-Robert Hall.

Persecution.

'A state of persecution leads persons to think much of their principles and future expectations, which makes them strongly to feel their importance. And the principles and prospects of Christianity are in themselves so great, and so far overbalance all the things of the present life, that they only require to be sufficiently attended to, to make any person do or bear any thing for their sake. It is only a deficiency of faith, that makes men shrink from persecution and death in the cause of the Gospel. Because, in reality, all the pains of this transitory life are nothing in comparison of that eternal weight of glory, which awaits those, who have faith and patience unto death, with respect to another. This efficacious faith, which makes men superiour to pain and death, is increased by that attention to the great principles of Christianity, which a state of persecution almost enforces. There can be no doubt, therefore, that, if the christian faith should be again tried, as it was at the first promulgation of it, or as it was at the time of the reformation, there would be as many martyrs as ever. Who they would be, it is not for us to say. The probability is, that those, who suspect themselves the most, would be foremost on the glorious list.'-Priestley's Discourses.

Trial.

In the rough school of billows, clouds, and storms, 'Nurs'd and matur'd, the pilot learns his art; Thus fate's dread ire, by many a conflict, forms 'The lofty spirit, and enduring heart!'

Mrs. Hemans.

[The following ennobling and consolatory thoughts are extracted from a letter, addressed by Dr Priestley to his friend Dr Jebb, at a time when the latter was suffering much obloquy and even persecution on account of some efforts he had recently been making in his official capacity as Tutor in the University in Cambridge, England, in favour of a more liberal system of theological instruction.]

'I think myself happy in concurring, as I hope, with your ardent zeal for the cause of civil and religious liberty in their full extent. It is our business, whenever called upon, to bear our testimony to whatever we apprehend to be truth and right, and upon no occasion to swerve from our real principles, whether we see that any good will result from what we may suffer by such a profession, or not. We ought to content ourselves with acting under the express direction of one, who is the proper judge of what is expedient for his interest and his church, as well as our happiness; and we may rest assured, that we can only sustain a temporary loss by such an implicit, but reasonable obedience.

'Could we only, my friend, expand our minds fully to conceive and act up to these great principles, of the truth of which we are both of us convinced, nothing more would be wanting to enable us to exert this and every other effort of true greatness of mind.

This world, we see, is an admirable nursery for great minds. Difficulties, opposition, persecution, and evils of every other form, are the necessary instruments by which they are made, as was even the captain of our salvation, perfect through suffering. A mixture of pleasing events does likewise contribute to the same end. But of the due proportions in this mixture we are no judges. Considering, however, in whose hands are the severest ingredients of the cup of mortal life, we may be assured that it will never be more bitter than will be necessary to make it in the highest degree salutary.'

Poetry.

FROM THE MONTHLY REPOSITORY.

On reading some late intricate Discussions in the Monthly Re pository on the Doctrine of a Particular Providence.

O never, never from thee tear

The simple Faith, whose fruit is Prayer!
Though far beyond the common creed
Thy practis'd eye hath learnt to read;
Though deep and high thy musings be
On heav'n and man's fix'd destiny;
Though earth, and air, and sea, combin'd,
Have brought their treasures to thy mind;
Though the fair tree of knowledge show'r
In rich redundance all her store,
And thou hast look'd and look'd again
At all the springs of joy and pain,
Not deeming heav'n itself too high,
To
pass before thy searching eye;—
Yet to thyself, to others spare

That simple Faith whose fruit is Prayer!

O pause-If 'mid those darker themes,
Where struggling reason scarcely seems
To hold her empire o'er the breast,
And, weary, longs to be at rest,-
If there one spirit mourns her lot,
Her light obscur'd, her trust forgot,
O dearly bought the joy, the pride
Of wisdom, thus to doubt allied;
And better, better far to spare

The simple Faith which causeth Prayer ;-
That faith, which, noiseless, meek, and mild,
The loftiest minds hath reconcil'd;

That faith, which oft in times gone by,

Hath rais'd to heav'n the martyr's eye;

And now in many an hour, will come,
When the heart mourns its martyrdom,
Feels thy cold hand, suspicion, rest
On many a kind and faithful breast,
Feels that the power, which once allied
Its joys to theirs, must now divide.
Yet gathering sweetness out of pain,
Turns back to heav'n and hope again,
Looks through the passing cloud, and there
Breathes out the rising sigh in Prayer.—

That cheering faith whose glories steal,
O'er all we know, or see, or feel,
The grandeur and the beauty give
To earth, and make it life to live;
Whose brightest rays are ever shed,
Upon the dying and the dead;
That in the fellowship of love,
Joins saints below and saints above;
That quickens, elevates, makes wise,
Soothes, cheers, supports, and sanctifies.
O never, never from thee tear,

This simple Faith, whose fruit is Prayer!

HYMN TO THE STARS.

Aye, there ye shine, and there have shone
In one eternal hour of prime,'

Each rolling, burningly alone,

Through boundless space and countless time;

Aye, there ye shine the golden dews

That pave the realms by seraphs trod ;

There through yon echoing vault diffuse
The song of choral worlds to God.

Ye visible spirits! bright as erst

Young Eden's birthnight saw ye shine
On all her flow'rs and fountains first,
Yet sparkling from the hand divine;
Yes, bright as then ye smil'd to catch
The musick of a sphere so fair,
Ye hold yon high immortal watch,
And gird your God's pavillion there.

Gold frets to dust,-yet there ye are;
Time rots the diamond,-there ye roll,
In primal light, as if each star
Enshrin❜d an everlasting soul!

And do they not-since yon bright throngs
One All-enlight'ning Spirit own,
Prais'd there by pure sidereal tongues,
Eternal, glorious, blest, and lone?

how vast!

Could man but see what ye have seen,
Unfold awhile the shrouded past,
From all that is, to what has been,
The glance how rich, the range
The birth of time-the rise, the fall,
Of empires, myriads, ages flown,
Thrones, cities, tongues, arts, worships,-all
The things whose echoes are not gone.

Ye saw rapt Zoroaster send

His soul into your mystick reign; Ye saw the adoring Sabian bendThe living hills his mighty fane! Beneath his blue and beaming sky

He worshipp'd at your lofty shrine,
And deem'd he saw, with gifted eye,
The Godhead in his works divine.

And there ye shine, as if to mock
The children of a mortal sire;
The storm, the bolt, the earthquake's shock,
The red volcano's cataract fire,

Drought, famine, plague, and flood, and flame,
All Nature's ills, (and Life's worse woes,)

Are nought to you-ye smile the same,
And scorn alike their dawn and close.

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