Source of Light! Thou bid'st the sun
On his burning axles run;

The stars, like dust, around him fly,
And strew the area of the sky.

He drives so swift his race above,
Mortals can't perceive him move;

So smooth his course, oblique or straight,
Olympus shakes not with his weight.
As the queen of solemn night
Fills at his vase her orb of light,
Imparted lustre ; thus we see
The solar virtue shines by thee.

Eiresione,* we'll no more,
Imaginary pow'r adore;

Since oil, and wool, and cheerful wine,
And life-sustaining bread, are thine.

Thy herbage, O great Pan, sustains
The flocks that graze our Attic plains;
The olive, with fresh verdure crown'd,
Rises pregnant from the ground;

At thy command it shoots and springs,
And a thousand blessings brings.
Minerva only is thy mind,

Wisdom and bounty to mankind.

The fragrant thyme, the bloomy rose,
Herb and flow'r, and shrub that grows
On Thessalian Tempe's plain,
Or where the rich Sabeans reign;
That treat the taste, or smell, or sight,
For food, or med'cine, or delight;
Planted by thy parent-care,
Spring, and smile, and flourish there.

O ye nurses of soft dreams,
Reedy brooks, and winding streams;
Or murmuring o'er the pebbles sheen,
Or sliding through the meadows green;

* This word (ugeσion from eigos wool) signifies a kind of garland, composed of a branch of olive, wrapt about with wool, and loaded with all kinds of fruits of the earth, as a token of peace and plenty. The poet says, he will no more worship the imaginary power, supposed to be the giver of these things; but the great Pan, the Creator, from whom they all proceed.

Their shipwrecks strew'd the Eubeaa wave,
At Marathon they found a grave.

O ye
blest Greeks who there expir'd,
For Greece with pious ardour fir'd,
What shrines or altars shall we raise
To secure your endless praise ?
Or need we monuments supply,
To rescue what can never die !

And yet a greater hero far
(Unless great Socrates could err)
Shall rise to bless some future day,
And teach to live, and teach to pray.
Come, unknown Instructor, come I
Our leaping hearts shall make thee room:
Thou with Jove our vows shalt share,
Of Jove and thee we are the care.

O, Father, King, whose heav'nly face
Shines serene on all thy race;
We thy magnificence adore,
And thy well-known aid implore;
Nor vainly for thy help we call;

Nor can we want—for thou art All.

Every good judge, we apprehend, will readily allow that the author of these verses did not want talents for poetry. But wherever we fix his standing in the scale of learning and abilities, he still rises higher in our view for genuine piety, and a firm attachment to justice, mercy, and truth, in various trying situations in life. His integrity was conspicuous, and his conduct uniform. As he had chosen God and his service for his own portion, he chose the same for his children also. When two of his sons were pursuing a course of piety at Oxford, which threw their future prospects of preferment into a cloud not likely to be dissipated, he encouraged them in it, choosing rather that he and his children should suffer affliction with the people of God, than enFew men have been joy the pleasures of sin for a season.

so diligent in the pastoral office as he was; none, perhaps, more so. Though his income may be called small, and his family large, he had always something to give to those in distress. In conversation he was grave, yet instructive,

lively, and full of anecdote; and this talent the late Mr. Wesley possessed in a high degree. His last moments were as conspicuous for resignation and Christian fortitude, as his life had been for zeal and diligence. His two sons, Mr. John and Charles Wesley, were both with him when he died, and Mr. Charles has given the following interesting account of his death, in a letter to his brother Samuel, dated April 30, 1735.

"DEAR BROTHER,

"After all your desire of seeing my father alive, you are at last assured, you must see his face no more till he is raised in incorruption. You have reason to envy us who could attend him in the last stage of his illness. The few words he could utter I saved, and hope never to forget. Some of them were, "Nothing is too much to suffer for heaven. The weaker I am in body, the stronger and more sensible support I feel from God. There is but a step between me and death; to-morrow I would see you all with me round this table, that we may once more drink of the cup of blessing, before we drink it new in the kingdom of God. With desire have I desired to eat this passover with you before I die." The morning he was to communicate, he was so exceeding weak and full of pain, that he could not without the utmost difficulty receive the elements, often repeating, "Thou shakest me, thou shakest me; but immediately after receiving, there followed the most visible alteration. He appeared full of faith and peace, which extended even to his body; for he was so much better, that we almost hoped he would have recovered. The fear of death he entirely conquered, and at last gave up his latest human desires of finishing Job, paying his debts, and seeing you. He often laid his hand upon my head, and said, "Be steady! The Christian faith' will surely revive in this kingdom; you shall see it, though I shall not." To my sister Emily he said, "Do not be concerned at my death, God will then begin to manifest himself to my family." When we were met about him, his usual expression was, "Now let me hear you talk of heaven." On my asking him whether he did not find himself worse, he replied, "O, my Charles, I feel a great deal; God chastens

me with strong pain, but I praise him for it, I thank him for it, I love him for it." On the 25th, his voice failed him, and nature seemed entirely spent, when, on my brother's asking whether he was not near heaven, he answered distinctly, and with the utmost of hope and triumph that could be expressed in sounds, "Yes, I am." He spoke once more, just after my brother had used the commendatory prayer; his last words were, "Now you have done all!" This was about half an hour after six, from which time till sun-set, he made signs of offering up himself, till my brother having again used the commendatory prayer, the very moment it was finished he expired. His passage was so smooth and insensible, that notwithstanding the stopping of his pulse, and ceasing of all sign of life and motion, we continued over him a considerable time, in doubt whether the soul was departed or no. My mother, who for several days before he died, hardly ever went into his chamber but she was carried out again in a fit, was far less shocked at the news than we expected, and told us that now she was heard, in his having so easy a death, and her being strengthend so to bear it."

In going through this work, let the reader consider himself as travelling slowly on a pleasant road, where a variety of objects, highly worthy of his attention and regard, present themselves to his view. In passing along this little distance, we have, as it were, stood by, and seen two ministers of the Gospel die; the one a Nonconformist, and the other a High Church-man. As we see them approach the entrance on eternity, the scene becomes interesting, and will suggest to the reader many important reflections. Dropping their singularities of opinion, and all party distinctions, we now view them coalescing, and becoming one in Christ Jesus. Animated with the same spirit of devotion, they look up to God as their common Father, through the same Mediator and Saviour; they praise him for the same mercies, and, looking forward to his kingdom and glory with the same humble confidence, both triumph over death, as he draws nigh to them: they give satisfactory evidence that they were united to Christ, belonging to the same family, and were heirs of the same heavenly inheritance, not