Deduc'd his Maker's praise from age to age,

Through the long annals of the sacred page."

Most of his smaller pieces are excellent. We shall insert the following, both for its intrinsic beauty, and as a specimen of his poetical talents.

EUPOLIS'S HYMN TO THE CREATOR.

THE OCCASION.

Part of a (new) Dialogue, between Plato and Eupolis* the Poet.-The rest not extant.

Eupolis. But is it not a little hard that you should banish all our fraternity from your new Commonwealth? What hurt has father Homer done, that you dismiss him among the rest?

Plato. Certainly the blind old gentleman lies with the best grace in the world. But a lie handsomely told, debauches the taste and morals of a people. Besides, his tales of the gods are intolerable, and derogate, in the highest degree, from the dignity of the Divine nature. Eupolis. But do you really think that these faults are inseparable from poetry? May not the ONE SUPREME be sung without any intermixture of them!

Plato. I must own I hardly ever saw any thing of that nature. But I shall be glad to see you, or any other, attempt and succeed in it. On that condition, I will gladly exempt you from the fate of your brother poets.

Eupolis. I am far from pretending to be a standard; but I will do the best I can.

THE HYMN.

AUTHOR of Being, source of Light,
With unfading beauties bright;
Fullness, Goodness, rolling round
Thy own fair orb without a bound:
Whether thee thy suppliants call
Truth, or Good, or One, or All.
Ei, or Iao; thee we hail,
Essence that can never fail :
Grecian or Barbaric name,

Thy steadfast being still the same.

Thee, when morning greets the skies

With rosy cheeks and humid eyes;

Thee, when sweet declining day

Sinks in purple waves away;

Thee will I sing, O parent Jove,

And teach the world to praise and love.

*Eupolis was an Athenian. He is mentioned several times by Horace, and once by Perseus; and was in high estimation at Athens for his poetical compositions, though he severely lashed the vices of the age he lived in. He was killed in an engagement at sea, between the Athenians and Lacedemonians; and his death was so much lamented at Athens, that they made a law, that no poet should go to battle. He lived about 400 years before Christ.

Yonder azure vault on high;
Yonder blue, low, liquid sky;
Earth, on its firm basis plac'd,
And with circling waves embrac'd;
All creating pow'r confess;
All their mighty Maker bless,
Thou shak'st all nature with thy nod;
Sea, earth, and air confess the God:
Yet does thy powerful hand sustain
Both earth and heav'n, both firm and main.
Scarce can our daring thought arise
To thy pavilion in the skies.
Nor can Plato's self declare
The bliss, the joy, the rapture there.
Barren above thou dost not reign,
But circled with a glorious train:
The sons of God, the sons of light,

Ever joying in thy sight:

(For thee their silver harps are strung)

Ever beauteous, ever young,

Angelic forms their voices raise,

And through heav'n's arch resound thy praise.

The feather'd fowls that swim the air,
And bathe in liquid ether there:
The lark, precentor of their choir,
Leading them higher still, and higher,
Listen and learn; th' angelic notes
Repeating in their warbling throats:
And ere to soft repose they go,
Teach them to their lords below:
On the green turf, their mossy nest,
The ev'ning anthem swells their breast;
Thus like thy golden chain from high,
Thy praise unites the earth and sky.

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;

*This word (Eigerian 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,

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.

ye nurses of soft dreams,

Reedy brooks, and winding streams;
Or murmuring o'er the pebbles sheen,
Or sliding through the meadows green;
Or where through matted sedge you creep,
Trav'lling to your parent deep:

Sound his praise by whom you rose,
That sea which neither ebbs nor flows.

O ye immortal woods and groves
Which th' enamour'd student loves;
Beneath whose venerable shade,
For thought and friendly converse made,
Fam'd Hecadem, old hero, lies,
Whose shrine is shaded from the skies,
And through the gloom of silent night
Projects from far its trembling light;
You, whose roots descend as low,
As high in air your branches grow;
Your leafy arms to heav'n extend,
Bend your heads, in homage bend:
Cedars and pines that wave above,
And the oak belov'd of Jove.

Omen, monster, prodigy,
Or nothing are, or Jove from thee!
Whether varied nature play,
Or re-invers'd, thy will obey,
And to rebel man declare

Famine, plague, or wasteful war.

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.

Laugh, ye profane, who dare despise
The threat'ning vengeance of the skies;
Whilst the pious, on his guard,
Undismay'd, is still prepar'd:"

Life or death, his mind's at rest,

Since what thou send'st must needs be best.

No evil can from thee proceed;

'Tis only suffer'd, not decreed.
Darkness is not from the sun;"

Nor mount the shades till he is gone:
Then does night obscure arise
From Erebus, and fill the skies,
Fantastic forms the air invade,
Daughters of nothing and of shade.

Can we forget thy guardian care,
Slow to punish, prone to spare;

Thou break'st the haughty Persian's pride,
That dar'd old ocean's power deride;

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

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!
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 enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. Few men have been 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 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

am.