HYMN FOR THE MORNING.

AWAKE, my soul! awake, mine eyes!
Awake, my drowsy faculties!

Awake, and see the new-born light
Spring from the darksome womb of night!
Look up, and see the unwearied sun
Already has his race begun :

The pretty lark is mounted high,
And sings her mattins in the sky.
Arise, my soul! And thou, my voice,
In songs of praise early rejoice!
O great Creator! heavenly King!
Thy praises ever let me sing!

Thy power has made, thy goodness kept
This fenceless body while I slept;
Yet one day more has given me,
From all the powers of darkness free.
O keep my heart from sin secure,
My life unblameable and pure;

That, when the last of all my days is come,
Cheerful and fearless I may wait my doom.

FOR THE EVENING.

SLEEP! downy Sleep! come, close mine eyes,

Tir'd with beholding vanities!

Sweet slumbers, come, and chase away

The toils and follies of the day;

On your soft bosom will I lie,
Forget the world, and learn to die.
O Israel's watchful Shepherd! spread
Tents of angels round my bed;
Let not the spirits of the air,
While I slumber, me ensnare;

But save thy suppliant free from harms,
Clasp'd in thine everlasting arms.

Clouds and thick darkness are thy throne,
Thy wonderful pavilion:

Oh, dart from thence a shining ray,
And then my midnight shall be day!
Thus, when the morn, in crimson drest,
Breaks through the windows of the east,
My hymns of thankful praise shall rise,,
Like incense, or the morning sacrifice!

DEATH.

OH, the sad day

When friends shall shake their heads and say
Of miserable me,

Hark how he groans, look how he pants for breath,
See how he struggles with the pangs of death!
When they shall say of these poor eyes-
How hollow and how dim they be!
Mark how his breast does swell and rise

Against his potent enemy!

When some old friend shall step to my bedside, Touch my chill face, and then shall gently glide, And when his next companions say—

66

How does he do? What hopes!" shall turn

away

Answering only, with uplifted hand,

Who can his fate withstand?
Then shall a gasp or two do more

Than e'er my rhetoric could before

Persuade the peevish world to trouble me no more!

JOHN NORRIS.

BORN 1657; DIED 1711.

In the union of learning, and acuteness, metaphysical and logical, with sublime piety, few have equalled "Norris of Bemerton"-for so he is styled, from having, during many years, held the living of that village, illustrious also as the retreat of the pious and accomplished George Herbert. The catalogue of Mr. Norris's writings is very numerous: among the chief are, "Miscellanies ;""Reason and Religion;" "Christian Blessedness ;" ;" "Practical Discourses," and, "A Philosophical Discourse concerning the Immortality of the Soul."