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Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
We tell thy doom without a sigh ;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's,-
That were not born to die!
5. BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, 1809.-Rev. Charles Wolfe. B. in Dublin, 1791; d. 1823.
Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note,
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him: But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow!
Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock tolled the hour for retiring;
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame, fresh and gory! We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory.
1. IN THE TRIAL OF WILLIAMS FOR PUBLISHING "PAINE'S AGE OF REASON."-Thomas Erskine. B. 1750; d. 1823.
In running the mind along the long list of sincere and devout Christians, I cannot help lamenting that Newton had not lived to this day, to have had his shallowness filled up with this new flood of light, poured upon the world by Mr. Thomas Paine. But the subject is too awful for irony. I will speak plainly and directly. Newton was a Christian! Newton, whose
mind burst forth from the fetters cast by nature upon our finite conceptions ;-Newton, whose science was truth, and the foundations of whose knowledge of it was philosophy; not those visionary and arrogant presumptions which too often usurp its name, but philosophy resting upon the basis of mathematics, which, like figures, cannot lie ;-Newton, who carried the line and rule to the uttermost barrier of creation, and explored the principles by which, no doubt, all created matter is held together and exists.
Gentlemen, in the place we now sit to administer the justice of this great country, above a century ago, the never-to-be-forgotten Sir Matthew Hale presided, whose faith in Christianity is an exalted commentary upon its truth and reason, and whose life was a glorious example of its fruits in man, administering human justice with wisdom and purity, drawn from the pure fountain of the Christian dispensation, which has been, and will be, in all ages, a subject of the highest reverence and admiration. But it is said by the author that the Christian fable is but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the world, and may be easily detected by a proper understanding of the mythologies of the heathens. Did Milton understand those mythologies? Was he less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the world? No; they were the subject of his immortal song; and though shut out from all recurrence to them, he poured them from the stores of a memory rich with all that man ever knew, and laid them in their order, as the illustration of real and exalted faith, the unquestionable source of that fervid
genius which cast a sort of shade upon all the other works of man. But it was the light of the BODY only that was extinguished ;-"the celestial light shone inward, and enabled him to justify the ways of God to
Thus you find all that is great, or wise, or splendid, or illustrious, among created beings,-all the minds gifted beyond ordinary nature, if not inspired by its universal Author for the advancement and dignity of the world,—though divided by distant ages, and by clashing opinions, distinguishing them from one another, yet joining, as it were, in one sublime chorus to celebrate the truths of Christianity, and laying upon its holy altars the never-failing offerings of their immortal wisdom.
2. THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.-James Montgomery. B. 1771; d. 1855.
"-Matt. XXV., 40.
"Ye have done it unto me."
A poor wayfaring man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
That I could never answer "Nay:
Whither he went, or whence he came,
That won my love, I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again;
That crust was manna to my taste.
I spied him, where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock: his strength was gone: The heedless water mocked his thirst,
He heard it, saw it hurrying on :
I ran to raise the sufferer up:
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup, Dipped, and returned it running o'er ; I drank, and never thirsted more.
'Twas night; the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof:
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death,