Sing forth Jehovah's praise,

Ye saints that on Him call!

Magnify Him always,

His holy churches all!

In Him rejoice,

And there proclaim

His holy name

With sounding voice.

My soul, bear thou thy part:
Triumph in God above!

With a well-tuned heart,

Sing thou the songs of love!
Thou art His own,

Whose precious blood,

Shed for thy good,

His love made known.

He did in love begin,

Renewing thee by grace,

Forgiving all thy sin,

Show'd thee His pleasèd face ;

He did thee heal

By his own merit :
And by his spirit

He did thee seal.

In saddest thoughts and grief,
In sickness, fears, and pain,

I cried for His relief,

And did not cry in vain.

He heard with speed,

And still I found

Mercy abound

In time of need.

Let not His praises grow

On prosperous heights alone,

But in the vales below

Let His great love be known.
Let no distress

Curb and control

My winged soul,

And praise suppress.

THIS eminent minister of the gospel is best known by his prose writings, in which the truth is so powerfully, plainly, and attractively set forth. His work entitled Husbandry Spiritualized, which he wrote for the benefit of the rural population among whom he laboured, contains many short poems, from which the following extracts are taken. He was the son of a clergyman at Bromsgrove, in Worcestershire, and was himself Minister of Dartmouth, in Devonshire, from which living he was ejected on the passing of the Act of Uniformity. He continued, however, to exercise his ministry in the neighbourhood, as far as was possible under the intolerant laws which were in force, during the greater part of his life. He died at Exeter, June 26, 1691. His body was conveyed to Dartmouth, and buried in the church, amid crowds of mourners, who flocked from all the country near to testify their affectionate remembrance of him.

1

GOD'S HUSBANDRY,

THOU art the Husbandman, and I
A worthless plot of husbandry,
Whom special love did, ne'ertheless,
Divide from nature's wilderness.

Then did the sunshine of Thy face,
And sweet illapses of Thy grace,
Like April showers and warming gleams,
Distil their dews, reflect their beams.
My dead affections then were green,
And hopeful buds on them were seen;
These into duties soon were turn'd,
In which my heart within me burn'd.
O halcyon-days! thrice happy state!
Each place was Bethel, heaven's gate.
What sweet discourse, what heavenly talk,
While with Thee I did daily walk!
Mine eyes o'erflow, my heart doth sink,
As oft as on those days I think.

For strangeness now is come between

My God and me, as may be seen

By what is now, and what was then :

'Tis just as if I were two men !
My fragrant branches blasted be,
No fruits like those that I can see;
Some canker-worm lies at my root,
Which fades my leaves, destroys my fruit;
My soul is banish'd from Thy sight,
For this it mourneth day and night.
Yet why dost thou desponding lie?
With Jonah, cast a backward eye.

Y

That God who made me spring at first,
When I was barren and accurs'd,

Can much more easily restore

My state to what it was before:

A word, a smile on my poor soul

Would make it perfect, sound, and whole.

THE GROWTH OF GRACE.

'Tis justly wondered that an ear of corn
Should come at last in safety to the barn.

It runs through many hazards, threatening harms,
Betwixt the sower's hands, and reaper's arms.

Thus saving grace, that precious seed of joy,
Which hell and nature plot how to destroy,
Escapes ten thousand dangers first and last.
Oh who can say, Now all the danger's past?

'Tis like a crazy bark tossed in a storm,
Or like a taper which is strangely borne,
Without a lantern, in a blustering night;
Or like to glimmering sparks, whose dying light
Is still preserved. The roaring waves swell high,
Like moving mountains in the darkened sky;
On their proud backs, the little bark is even
Mounted unto the battlements of heaven,

From thence, dismounted, to the deeps doth slide,
Receiving water upon every side;

Yet He whose voice the proudest waves obey,
Brings it at last into the quiet quay.