How vain the pride of man appears,
How weak the vigour of his years;
But thou one vital spark hast given
To light, and lead his hope to Heaven.

HYMN.SORROW AND SUPPLICATION.
Though dark and deep offences flow,

Be the repentant grief sincere,
Pure as the falling fleece of snow,

Shall the accepted soul appear.
Thine is a pitying Parent's care
God of forgiveness heed our prayer.
If pierced by many an earthly wo,

The breaking heart its peace resign,
On Heaven that breaking heart bestow,

And be its healing mercies thine.
To thee our sorrowing thoughts we raise,
God of compassion hear our praise.

From the bright Heaven's transcendent throne,

Behold the Lord of life descend, Making the sentenced earth his own,

The blessing of his love extend. Saviour and God, from thee we claim The christian's never dying fame.

The mind which rests its hope on high,

Though dark as night, as winter cold, Adoring Hearon's protective eye,

Shall to its glorious light unfold. The breath of worlds, the soul divine Creative Deity are thine.

HYMN.PRAYER AND PRAISE TO GOD.

O thou, who ere the lapse of time
Wert glorious, with unfading prime.
ENDURING God! thy pity give
To me wlio but a moment lire.

Thou Light or worlds! whose quenchless ray
Blooms in the brilliant blush of day
On me, in darkest error blind,
Pervading pour the all-seeing mind.

PARENT OF LIFE! to thee we owe
The nerves that thrill, the veins that glov;
Me, who descend the oblivious grave,
May thy absolving goodness save.

IMMORTAL BEING! God alone,
All-giving Nature is thy own,
To thee her wandered race restore,
And bid her breathing world adore.

In the last hymn the author has, with a feeble attempt, imitated sonie portion of the sublime adoration of the American Indian, is—“O ETERNAL! have mercy upon me, because I am passing away-- Infinite, because I am but a speck-O most MIGHTY, because I am weak–O SOURCE OF LIFE, because I draw nigh to the grave-O OMNISCIENT, because I am in darkness-OALL BOUNTEOUS, because I am poor-O ALL-SUFFICIENT, because I am nothing.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

ODE

On the present degraded state of Sweden. Inscribed to the Revd. Nicholas Col

lin, rector of the Swedish Church, Philadelphia.
Where has that martial spirit fled,
The genius of a proud domain?
Doth Sweden bow her helmed hearl,
And basely wear the conqueror's chain
Once she had statesmen, o how bright
In Fame's unsullied scroll they shine!
She once had warriors, men of might,
And monarchs of the imperial line.

Sc

VOL. y.

To guard his much-lov'd country's weal
From foreign or domestic foes,
Then gleam'd the watchful hero's steel,
And all the patriot's soul arose.
Then princes nobly sought renown
In suffering for the general good:-
How awful is the regal crown
When Valour gems it with his blood!

On Lutzen's plain, at break of day,
Th’imperial Walstein form’d his line:
The foe was nigh in dread array;
And, Sweden, that brave band was thine,
The trumpets sung, the cannon roar'd,
The gallant chargers paw'd the ground-
Led by Adolphus on they pour'd,
And spread destruction all around.

O Lutzen! thou didst drink full deep
The blood of many a soldier bold;
And Sweden's children yet doth weep,
When e'er the mournful tale is told.
Gustavus fell!--the monarch shed
His heart-stream on the fatal plain;
But Glory smooth'd the hero's bed,
And distant ages bless his reign.

Where has that patriot spirit fled
That fir'd the Dalecarlian swain,
When, from their cavern'd hills, he led
His friends against th’ insulting Dane?
Is Charles's blood extinct? ah go
Brave Swede! to Narva-she can say
How felt the Russ the dreadful blow,
How gain’d the royal boy the day.

What dire effect from discord springs,
Unhappy Sweden now can tell;
Gone is her race of noble kings,
On whose great deeds she lov'd to dwell;
Her statesmen, sunk with servile fear,
Cringe at a vile usurper's throne;
Whilst patriots shed the secret tear,
And dare not make their sorrows known.

O grasp thy sword, thou hardy Swede!
Thy country needs thy slumbering might;
In her dear cause tis good to bleed
Then dare th’ intruder to the fight!
Unfurl thy banners, Swedish youth,
A groaning nation liopes in thee;
O tell the world this welcome truth
Great Vasa's sons shall still be free!

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

If the following original lines are worthy of insertion in the Port Folio, they are at your service.

W.

TO MELANCHOI.Y.

Hail Melancholy! here-advance!

In sable robe array'd;
Enwrapt in ever-musing trance-

Obscurity and shade.
Thou scorn'st each glitt'ring, low delight,

To Folly's children dear,
And thrones and sceptres, in thy sight

But vanity appear.
Begone! thou cri'st-fashion, thou gay

And airy phantom, flee!
Fair, silken pleasure, hence-away!

Thou hast no charms for me!
For me, in vain, in trophied pride,

Triumphal arches bend:
With scorn I view gilt temples glare,

And palaces ascend.
I rather prize the lowly cot;

The thick, embower'd glade;

The peaceful, solitary grot,

For Contemplation made.
Where, by the world forsook, forgot,

Thou heav'n-descended maid!
Enlarge, inspire my every thought:

Each virtuous impulse aid.
Assist my sentiments to climb,

My every wish, to risc,
To thy celestial fount sublime!

Beyond thosc vaulted skics;
Oft will I haunt some sacred gloomy

By sober twilight gray;
Or, watch around the silent tomb

At solemn close of day:
Oft at this season will I rove

To grass-grown, mossy seat;
Or, to some spreading, lonesome grove

Tlic hernit's calm retreat!
Or, on some wide extended plain

Entranced will I lie,
And view the splendid, starry train

That light the realms on high:
What awful grandeur strikes the sight!

What grace and order join, 'Midst heaven's immeasurable height!

To speak a Power Divine. Ost, will I wander to the rock

Whose lofty summit braves The fierce tornado's thund'ring shock

And ocean's mountain waves; When on the billowy, boist'rous tide

The trembling moon-beanis beat, Or gild the cliff's rough, rugged side,

The eagle's rude retreat:
And, often near the sandy shore

Will I enraptur'd stray,
To hear the distant surges' roar

In murmurs die away.