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“ 'Tis finish'd !" through the realms of woe The hated accents sternly flow : “ 'Tis finish'd !" Man the traitor lives; The ransom's paid, and God forgives.

“ Tis finish'd !"-Yes, the toil is o'er :
The wondrous toil the Saviour bore,
From Death's dread jaws the sting he draws,
And on the Cross achieves his cause.

Sing the Cross :-0, badge of shame!
Be Staff of Glory, now, thy name.
Sing the Cross; for, o'er thy tree,
What triumphs crowd, blest Calvary !

" "Tis finish'd !"-The mysterious plan,
The mighty destiny of man.
Angels had gazed, with baffled skill,
And time but travelled to fulfil.

“ 'Tis finish'd !” all the vision high
That rap't, of old, the prophet's eye;
And still with ecstasy shall break
O'er the last martyr's flaming stake.

«« 'Tis finish'd !” see the Victor rise;
Shake off the grave, and claim the skies,
Ye heav'ns! your doors wide open fling:
Ye angel-quires ! receive your King.

6. "Tis finish'd !” but what mortal dare
In that triumph hope to share ?
Saviour! to thy cross I fee :
Say "'tis finish'd” and for me!

Then I'll sing the Cross! the Cross !
And count all other gain but loss :
I'll sing the Cross, and to thy tree
Cling evermore, blest Calvary !


Composed while watching at Night, and alone, over a very painful Illness

of my dear Wife: Feb. 1820.

“ Peace—be still !"-0 Thou! whose word
The raging sea thus once address'd;
And quelled the tempest as it heard,
And all its fury lulled to rest :

“ Peace—be still!” once more exclaim,
And quell this raging of disease;

that rend a worn-out frame,
That seeks in vain a moment's ease.

“ Peace—be still !"— Tis this alone
Stamps with success the healing art:
No drug can soothe a single groan,
If this withhold its sovereign part.

“Peace-be still !"-0 heavenly charm
For every form of human ill:
Hear it, ye pains ! your rage disarm,
Hear the blest mandate—“Peace—be still !"



O! spot revered !-though thou may'st hold,
Within thy consecrated mould,
Names more familiar to the great,
And wider fam'd for wealth or state;

Yet never, since the hallow'd hour
When Russell rais'd thy walls t'embower
Against the last trump's dread alarm,
The wardrobe of God's saints* from harm.-
No, never hast thou, holy Earth!
Clasp'd in thy bosom gentler worth,
A form more dear to man or God,
Than now reclines beneath thy sod.

Let Cam's green banks, from cell to cell,
Still on the echoing plaudits dwell,
That rang when, in his year, he bore
All the joint wreaths of college lore;
Here in this gloom, be told alone
The higher virtues, often shewn,
When the pure altar and the hearth
Gave new and nobler feelings birth;
And fram'd a pattern none could see,
But love, and laud, and wish to be.

Blest Saint ! I dare not :-thou hast said,
In life, and on the dying bed,
Still meek and lowly, and but dross
Accounting all things, save the Cross,
There only glorying ;-and the verse
That should revere thy simple herse-
The lesson that should be reveal'd

The Muse must drop-her lips are seal'd.
Chiswick Churchyard, Aug. 20th, 1823.

* On the walls of Chiswick Churchyard is engraved the following inscription : “This wall was made at ye Charge of ye Right Honourable & trulie Pious lord Francis Russelle of Bedford, out of pure zeale & care for ye keeping of this Churchyard, & ye wardrobe of God's Saints whose Bodies lay buryed from violating

by Swine & other Prophanation. So witnesseth William Walker. V. A. D. 1623."

Camb. Calend. Year 1812. Senior Wrangler; Chancellor's Medallist. First Smith's Mathematical Prize-Man."


Jesus with an eye of love
Marks little children from above :
And, when on earth for man he bled,
Took them in his arms and said,
“ Little children'! come to me,
And a Saviour's welcome see.
If you love me, you shall share,
While on earth, my tenderest care,
And, in death, shall mount above,
Where your angels live in love,
And their Father's presence view ;
And heaven is form'd of such as you."

A Foot-piece to Sir Joshua Reynolds' Print of


Jesus to little children

“ Those that love me with heart and mind,
I too will love,—and all their days,

Whene'er they seek me they shall find.”

This, little Samuel, when a boy,

Learn'd at his pious mother's side ;
And every day 'twas his employ

To pray that God would be his guide.

This, and the little touching piece that follows it, were addressed by Dr. Good to his grandson, Mason Neale, when he was about five years of age. The reader, while perusing them, will probably be reminded of Johnson's remark (in his Life of Watts) on the difficulty of “a voluntary descent from the dignity of science" to teach children.

He bent his knees, and rais'd his eyes,

And clasp'd his little hands so tight,
And God, that makes the Sun to rise,

Pour'd o'er his mind diviner light.


«Thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people from

their sins."

“ Jesus! Saviour !"—yet again,

Messenger of heavenly love,
O, repeat th' angelic strain;

Strike that name, all names above.

“ Jesus! Saviour!”—at the sound

Can there be a heart asleep?
Through creation's utmost bound

Let the thrilling music sweep.

Lo! he comes his name to attest,

Mighty Saviour of mankind.
Wide as guilt has spread his pest,

Healing, here, the guilty find.

Prince of Peace-Desire of all !

All the nations wait for thee:
Mount thy chariot-rule the ball —

Captive lead captivity.

Save us by thy promis'd birth :

By thy present spirit save:
By thy toils, thy pangs on earth!

By thy conquest o'er the grave.

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