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Sin can never taint thee now,
Nor doubt thy faith assail,

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ
And the Holy Spirit fail:

And there thou'rt sure to meet the good,
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

"Earth to earth," and "dust to dust,"
The solemn priest hath said,

So we lay the turf above thee now,
And we seal thy narrow bed:
But thy spirit, brother, soars away
Among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

And when the Lord shall summon us,
Whom thou hast left behind,

May we, untainted by the world,
As sure a welcome find;

May each, like thee, depart in peace,

To be a glorious guest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

REV. GEORGE CROLY.

REV. GEORGE CROLY was born in Ireland toward the close of the last century, and was educated in Trinity College, Dublin, where he took his regular master's degree, and was ordained "deacon and priest" in Ireland. After this he went to England to settle, and was recommended by Lord Brougham (though differing much from him in public views) to the living of St. Stephen's church, Walbrook, London, where he still continues, discharging his duties with assiduity, and with a true zeal for the cause of the truth and the gospel. He is an independent thinker and writer, and prefers freedom of thought and speech to preferment in "the church."

Few authors of the nineteenth century, who have written so much, have written so well as Dr. Croly. His prose style is clear, rich, idiomatic, and at times cloquent; while as a poet he has many great and shining qualities-"a rich command of language, whether for the tender or the serious, an ear finely attuned to musical expression, a fertile and lucid conceptive power, and an intellect at once subtle and masculine. Hundreds of copies of verses from his indefatigable pen, some of them of surpassing excellence, lie scattered about-rich bouquets of unowned flowers-throughout the wide, unbounded fields of periodical literature."'

D. M. MOIR.

The following, I believe, is a full list of Dr. Croly's works. While they are so highly creditable to the learning and talents of their author, they give evidence of an astonishing industry that could accomplish so much, independent of his parochial duties. THEOLOGICAL: "Divine Providence, or Three Cycles of Revelation;" "A New Interpretation of the Apocalypse;" "The True Idea of Baptism;" "Sermons Preached at St. Stephen's, Walbrook;" "Sermons on Important Subjects;""Speeches on the Papal Aggression;" pamphlets on "Marriage with a Deceased Wife's Sister," and on the "Proposed admission of Jews into Parliament." POLITICAL and MISCELLANEOUS: "The Political Life of Edmund Burke;" "The Personal History of George IV.;" "Historical Essays on Luther, &c.;" "Salathiel," (the Wandering Jew,) 3 vols.; "Marston, or the Soldier and Statesman," 3 vols.; "Character of Curran's Eloquence and Politics." POETICAL: "Paris in 1815, and other Poems;" "Catiline, a Tragedy, with other Poems;" "The Angel of the World," an Arabian, and "Sebastian," a Spanish tale; "Poems Illustrative of Gems from the Antique;" "Scenes from Scripture," and a vast body of miscellaneous poetry scattered through the periodical literature of the day.

CONDORCET.

Condorcet had outlived the Brissotines, but he was not forgotten by the bolder traitors. In 1793 he was pursued by the general vengeance that swept the ranks of French faction, in the shape of Robespierre; himself to fill an abhorred grave the moment his task was done. The wretched ex-noble was hidden in Paris for nine months, a period of protracted terror, much worse than the brief pang of the scaffold. At length he fled to the country, in the hope of finding refuge in the house of a friend at Montrouge. This friend happened to be absent, and the fugitive, dreading to discover himself to the neighborhood, wandered into the adjoining thickets, where he lay for two nights, perishing of cold and hunger. At length, compelled by intolerable suffering, he ventured to apply for food at the door of a little inn; there he was recognised as the delinquent named in the decree of arrest, seized and thrown into the village dungeon, to be conveyed next day to Paris. Next morning he was found lying on the floor, dead. As he continually carried poison about him, he was supposed to have died by his own hand! Thus miserably perished, in the vigor of life and understanding, (for he was but fifty-one,) a man of the most accomplished intellect, and possessing every advantage of rank, fortune, and fame. But he wanted a higher advantage still, honesty of heart. He had sacrificed loyalty to popular applause, personal honor to ambition, and the force, grandeur, and truth of religious principle, to the vanity of being the most dexterous scoffer in the halls of infidelity. Grafting irreligion on personal profligacy, and rebellion on both, his death was the natural produce. Living an atheist and a traitor, he consistently finished his course in despair and suicide.

PROGRESS OF EUROPEAN CIVILIZATION.

In the midst of this period Constantinople fell! and a catastrophe which seemed to have crumbled the ramparts of Europe before barbarism, and stooped Christendom to the Turk, was made the primary source of European civilization. By the fall of the Greek empire, its learning and the old stimulant of the human understanding was suddenly spread anew through the West. Then followed the passage to India, which had baffled mankind in all ages; and with it followed all the animation belonging to the most opulent commerce in the world. Then, still rising in the scale, the discovery of America, of which man had never dreamed,— -a discovery which gave him the astonishing donative of a new hemisphere, doubled the world, poured in upon him a tide of gold, and in the fresh resources of that new and boundless region, offered incalculable means of increasing his enjoyments, his uses, and his knowledge. Never before was such a series of brilliant excitements heaped upon the human race. It is well known that they were felt in their full force throughout the whole frame of society. The correspondence of even the most secluded scholars of those days teems with expressions of delight, surprise, and gratitude. But the effect of those discoveries was to be more than the indulgence of an ardent or a learned curiosity; it was to teach men to think on the great subjects of civil and religious freedom; that shower of meteors not only dazzled and delighted the universal eye with descending splendor, but ploughed up the old rigidity of a moral soil, long hardened by the heaviest tread of tyranny and superstition.

THE DEAD SEA.1

The wind blows chill across those gloomy waves;
Oh, how unlike the green and dancing main!
The surge is foul, as if it roll'd o'er graves:
Stranger, here lie the cities of the plain.
Yes, on that plain, by wild waves cover'd now,
Rose palace once, and sparkling pinnacle;
On pomp and spectacle beam'd morning's glow,
On pomp and festival the twilight fell.

Lovely and splendid all,-but Sodom's soul

Was stain'd with blood, and pride, and perjury;
Long warn'd, long spared, till her whole heart was foul,
And fiery vengeance on its clouds came nigh.

And still she mock'd, and danced, and, taunting, spoke
Her sportive blasphemies against the Throne:

It came! The thunder on her slumber broke:

God spake the word of wrath!-Her dream was done.

It occupies the site of the ancient cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Yet, in her final night, amid her stood

Immortal messengers, and pausing Heaven
Pleaded with man; but she was quite imbued,

Her last hour waned, she scorn'd to be forgiven!

'Twas done! down pour'd at once the sulphurous shower,
Down stoop'd, in flame, the heaven's red canopy.
Oh! for the arm of God, in that fierce hour!

'Twas vain; nor help of God or man was nigh.
They rush, they bound, they howl, the men of sin;
Still stoop'd the cloud, still burst the thicker blaze;
The earthquake heaved! Then sank the hideous din!
Yon wave of darkness o'er their ashes strays.

BELLATOR MORIENS.1

In the dim chamber, on his couch of Ind,

Hung round with crest, and sword, and knightly vane,
Was stretch'd a cuirass'd form, that inly pined
With memories keener than his mortal pain;
And oft around his darkening eyes would strain,
As if some evil visitant were come;

Then press his wasted hand upon his brain,
Mutter low words, and beckon through the gloom,
And grasp his couch, as if he saw the opening tomb.
The fearful secret murmur'd from his lips-

'Twas " Murder;" but his voice was now a sigh;
For o'er his spirit gather'd swift eclipse.

He strove to dash the darkness from his eye,
Then smote with nerveless hand upon his thigh;
But there the sword was not; a deeper groan,-
A start, as if the summoner were nigh,-
Told his last pangs; his eye was fix'd as stone;
There lay a livid corse, the master of a throne!

THE ALHAMBRA.2

Where are thy pomps, Alhambra, earthly sun,
That had no rival, and no second?-gone!

Thy glory down the arch of time has roll'd,
Like the great day-star to the ocean dim,
The billows of the ages o'er thee swim,

Gloomy and fathomless; thy tale is told.
Where is thy horn of battle? That but blown
Brought every chief of Afric from his throne;
Brought every spear of Afric from the wall;
Brought every charger barbed from the stall,
Till all its tribes sat mounted on the shore;
Waiting the waving of thy torch to pour

1 Bellator Moriens, the Dving Warrior.

Alhambra, a celebrated palace in the city of Grenada, erected by the Moors in the 13th century, while in possession of Spain.

The living deluge on the fields of Spain.
Queen of earth's loveliness, there was a stain
Upon thy brow-the stain of guilt and gore;

Thy course was bright, bold, treacherous,-and 'tis o'er.
The spear and diadem are from thee gone;
Silence is now sole monarch of thy throne!

EVENING.

When eve is purpling cliff and cave,
Thoughts of the heart, how soft ye flow!
Not softer on the western wave

The golden lines of sunset glow.

Then all, by chance or fate removed,
Like spirits crowd upon the eye;
The few we liked-the one we loved!
And the whole heart is memory.

And life is like a fading flower,
Its beauty dying as we gaze;
Yet as the shadows round us lour,
Heaven pours above a brighter blaze.
When morning sheds its gorgeous dye,
Our hope, our heart, to earth is given;
But dark and lonely is the eye

That turns not, at its eve, to heaven.

JACOB'S DREAM.

The sun was sinking on the mountain-zone
That guards thy vales of beauty, Palestine!
And lovely from the desert rose the moon,
Yet lingering on the horizon's purple line,
Like a pure spirit o'er its earthly shrine.
Up Padan-aram's height abrupt and bare

A pilgrim toil'd, and oft on day's decline
Look'd pale, then paused for eve's delicious air:

The summit gain'd, he knelt, and breathed his evening prayer.
He spread his cloak and slumber'd-darkness fell
Upon the twilight hills; a sudden sound

Of silver trumpets o'er him seem'd to swell;
Clouds heavy with the tempest gather'd round,
Yet was the whirlwind in its caverns bound;
Still deeper roll'd the darkness from on high,
Gigantic volume upon volume wound,
Above, a pillar shooting to the sky,
Below, a mighty sea, that spread incessantly.

Voices are heard-a choir of golden strings,
Low winds, whose breath is loaded with the rose;
Then chariot-wheels-the nearer rush of wings;
Pale lightning round the dark pavilion glows,

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