If God is holy Governor supreme, And star-born, earth-born subjects must obey, Or bear the Judge's sentence as they may;―― If they, endow'd with intellect's bright gleam, Free-will, and conscience, see God's Truth outstream, Yet scoff, instead of trembling with dismay, And infidels defiant prove; the day Is nigh, when Christ will say――(it is no dream, They'll hear the trumpet's blast, no soothing lyre――) Unto the devil's proud, poor dupes ensnar'd, No longer bold against God's Son t' conspire, Their sin and all its damage unrepair'd,―― "Depart, ye cursed, into endless fire, For Satan and his angel-hosts prepar'd!" 18. PRAYER. The humble peasant on the mountain's side May feel th' oppressor's gripe, and seem his prey; But in compacted state, of just array, His country's arm will be to his allied. Though trampled on, and justice be denied, Yet let him in his Sov'reign's ear display His wrongs, and quick a just and mighty sway Shall lift him up, and check the spoiler's pride.―― The ear of God is open to our cry: Though high his throne, beyond our feeble sight, He hears from this far world each humble sigh; And swift to do his will, in squadrons bright, From heav'n to earth his mighty angels fly, Outstripping in their course the speed of light. 19. CHRIST'S TABLE. The monarch's table, grac'd with golden plate, With viands loaded, brought from ev'ry clime, Garnish'd with beauty, cheer'd with minstrel's chime, Is poor, compar'd with that, at which I sate. The humble feast outvied all royal state;―― The bread from far beyond where sun doth climb, The wine more ancient than the birth of time,―― Present the King of Kings o'er worlds elate; The guests in purity of heart array'd, Their songs the glad emotions of the soul, Their faces beaming with celestial love.―― Like this no table e'er shall be display'd Till o'er the earth the car of fate shall roll, And bear the worthy to the feast above. 20. DEATH. Job 14. Poor man, of woman born, is child of woe; His days are few and fill'd with bitter grief, With cares and pains, from which is no relief, Till scythe of death shall lay his blossoms low. The gen'rous tree cut down will once more grow, And spread its branches after ruin brief Loaded with fruits almost beyond belief;―― Such pow'r have living roots, that creep below. But man decays, and wastes away, and dies, His noble frame dissolving in the ground, His spirit fled――ah, whither who can say? Beneath the valley's clod in sleep profound He rests, and there the sleeper quiet lies, Till earth shall burn and heav'ns shall flee away. 21. THE STORM ON THE LAKE.