Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright,
It dazzles to lead astray;

Like the meteor's flash it will deepen the night,
When thou treadest the lonely way.

But the hearth of home has a constant flame,

And pure as the vestal fire;

"T will burn, 't will burn, forever the same, For nature feeds the pyre.

The sea of ambition is tempest-tost,

And thy hopes may vanish like foam,

But when sails are shivered and rudder lost,

Then look to the light of home.

And there, like a star through the midnight cloud,

Thou shalt see the beacon bright,

For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quench'd its holy light.

The sun of fame, 't will gild the name,
But the heart ne'er feels its ray;

And fashion's smiles that rich ones claim,
Are like beams of a wintry day.

And how cold and dim those beams would be,
Should life's wretched wanderer come :
But my boy, when the world is dark to thee,
Then turn to the light of home.

DEATH'S angel now, commission'd by the Lord,
O'er the fond infant holds the fatal sword;
From the dread sight the frantic father turns,
And, clad in sackcloth, in his chamber mourns ;
The monitor, within the royal breast,

That long had slept, now roused at length from rest,
Holds forth a mirror to the aching sight,
Seizes the mind that fain would take its flight,
Bids it look in :- and first, Uriah stood,

Arm'd for the fight, as yet unstain'd with blood;
Courage and care were on his brow combined,
To show the hero and the patriot join'd:
Next, pale and lifeless, on his warlike shield,
The soldiers bore him from the bloody field.
"And is it thus?" the Royal mourner said,
"And has my hand perform'd the dreadful deed?
Was I the wretch that gave thee to the foe,
And bade thee sink beneath the impending blow?
Bade every friend and hero leave thy side?
Open, O earth! and in thy bosom hide

A guilty wretch who wishes not to live;
Who cannot, dares not, ask for a reprieve;

So black a crime just Heaven will not forgive!

Justice arrests thy coming mercy, Lord;

Strike then, O strike, unsheath thy dreadful sword: Accursed forever be the hated day,

That led my soul from innocence astray;

O may the stars, on that detested hour,

Shed all their influence with malignant power,
Darkness and sorrows jointly hold their reign,
When time, revolving, brings it round again.
Unhappy man!-ah! whither shall I turn?
Like Cain, accurst, must I forever mourn?
On beds of silk in vain I seek repose,
Uriah's shade forbids my eyes to close;
No bars exclude him-to no place confined,
Eager he still pursues my flying mind:

Not all the crowd that bow at my approach,
Nor guards that thicken round the gilded couch,
Can with their arms, or martial air, affright,
Or drive the phantom from my wearied sight.
O happy day! when, blest with Eglah's charms,
I woo'd no other beauty to my arms;

No court's licentious joys did then molest
My peaceful mind, nor haunt my tranquil breast.
A glitt ring crown! thou poor, fantastic thing!
What solid satisfaction canst thou bring?
Once, far removed from all the toils of state,
In groves I slept - no guards around me wait:
Oh how delicious was the calm retreat!
Sweet groves! with birds and various flowers stored,
Where nature furnished out my frugal board;
The pure, unstained spring, my thirst allayed;
No poisoned draught, in golden cups conveyed,
Was there to dread - Return, ye happy hours,
Ye verdant shades, kind nature's pleasing bowers,
Inglorious solitude, again return,

And heal the breast with pain and anguish torn.

God! let thy mercy, like the solar ray, Break forth and drive these dismal clouds away; Oh! send its kind enlivening warmth on one Who sinks, who dies, beneath thy dreadful frown: Thus fares the wretch at sea, by tempests tost, Sands, hurricanes, and rocks, proclaim him lost; With eager eyes he views the peaceful shore, And longs to rest where billows cease to roar : Of wanton winds and waves I've been the sport, Oh! when shall I attain the wished-for port? Or might I bear the punishment alone, Nor hear the lovely infant's piteous moan; My sins upon the dying child impressed, The dreadful thought forbids my soul to rest. In mercy, Lord, thy humble suppliant hear, Oh! give the darling to my ardent prayer! Cleanse me from sin -oh! graciously forgive; Blest with thy love, oh! let thy servant live: Thy smiles withdrawn, what is the world to me? My hopes, my joys, are placed alone on thee: Oh let thy love, to this desponding heart, One ray, at least, of heavenly love impart."

AGRICULTURE AND COMMERCE.

BY REV.

JOSEPH S.

BUCKMINSTER.

[Born at Portsmouth, May 26, 1784. Died at Boston, June 9, 1812.

No situation in life is so favorable to established habits of virtue, and to powerful sentiments of devotion, as a residence in the country, and rural occupations. I am not speaking of a condition of peasantry of which in this country we know little, who are mere vassals of an absent lord, or the hired laborers of an intendant, and who are, therefore, interested in nothing but the regular receipt of their daily wages; but I refer to the honorable character of an owner of the soil, whose comforts, whose weight in the community, and whose very existence depend upon his personal labors, and the regular returns of abundance from the soil which he cultivates. No man, one would think, would feel so sensibly his immediate dependence upon God, as the husbandman. For all his peculiar blessings, he is invited to look immediately to the bounty of Heaven. No secondary cause stands between him and his Maker. him are essential the regular succession of the seasons, and the timely fall of the rain, the genial warmth of the sun, the sure productiveness of the soil, and the certain. operations of those laws of nature, which must appear to him nothing less than the varied exertions of omnipresent energy. In the country, we seem to stand in the midst of the great theatre of God's power, and we feel an unusual proximity to our Creator. His blue and tranquil sky spreads itself over our heads, and we acknowledge the intrusion of

To

no secondary agent in unfolding this vast expanse. Nothing but omnipotence can work up the dark horrors of the tempest, dart the flashes of the lightning, and roll the long-resounding rumor of the thunder. The breeze wafts to his senses the odors of God's beneficence; the voice of God's power is heard in the rustling of the forest; and the varied forms of life, activity, and pleasure, which he observes at every step in the fields, lead him irresistibly,one would think, to the source of being and beauty and joy.

auspicious such a life to the noble sentiments of devotion! Besides, the situation of the husbandman is peculiarly favorable, it should seem, to purity and simplicity of moral sentiment. He is brought acquainted, chiefly, with the real and native wants of mankind. Employed solely in bringing food out of the earth, he is not liable to be fascinated with the fictitious pleasures, the unnatural wants, the fashionable follies and tyrannical vices of more busy and splendid life.

Still more favorable to the religious character of the husbandman is the circumstance, that, from the nature of agricultural pursuits, they do not so completely engross the attention as other occupations. They leave much time for contemplation, for reading, and intellectual pleasures; and these are peculiarly grateful to the resident in the country. Especially does the institution of the Sabbath discover all its value to the tiller of the earth, whose fatigue it solaces, whose hard labors it interrupts, and who feels on that day the worth of his moral nature, which cannot be understood by the busy man, who considers the repose of this day as interfering with his hopes of gain, or professional employments. If, then, this institution is of any moral and religious value, it is to the country we must look for the continuance of that respect and observance which it merits. My friends, those of you especially who retire annually into the country, let these periodical retreats from business or dissipation bring you nearer to your God; let them restore the clearness of your judgment on the objects of hu