The Connecticut Observer, And New York Congregationalist

Communicated.

"WHO WILL SHOW US ANY GOOD?"—Ps. 4: 6.

Not the wise ones of earth
Who boast in borrow'd power,
And trifle with immortal worth—
Live for life's fleeting hour;

Nor yet the gilded page
Of strange historic lore,
Of ruthless deeds, of pride and rage,
The distant past explore.

Seek not thy good below,
On earth it scarcely grows,
The deeper man would deign to go
In labyrinthian woes,

The less of good is found,
But in the courts of love,
It flourishes on heavenly ground—
The paradise above.

The flowery paths of life,
Which tempting look, and fair
With dangerous snares are rife—
Seek not thy comforts there,—

Nor yet in Pleasure's round,
Which flatters to deceive,
Alas! no real good is found
Which leaves the heart to grieve.

But come to truths sublime—
To knowledge from the fount
Of living light—O! come and climb
Judea's holy mount :

Come, draw from God alone
Thy only real good—
Come ask of Him who did atone
To sprinkle thee with blood

Come thou to Wisdom's page
Which beams with lustre bright,
Thy thirst for good assuage—
Drink in its living light:

Then shall thy soul secure
That boon which ne'er shall part,
But to eternity endure,
And heal man's erring heart.

Come thou to Zion's gates
Where truth and mercy bend—
Where a kind Saviour waits
To lead thee as a friend;—

And strip thyself complete—
Count thy own work as dross,
Bow down before the mercy seat—
Bow down before the cross.

Come to the Book of Life—
Of mysteries untold,
There let thy name be written out
In characters of gold :

Then shall it ever shine
A fadeless living scroll,
When Earth's famed titles all decline—
The passport of the soul:—

Passport to glittering crowns—
To mansions in the skies—
To golden harps 'mid holy thrones,
Where music never dies.—

Passport to fields of bliss
Which ever vernal bloom—
To uncreated happiness
For saints beyond the tomb.

Can mortals clasp those toys
Which wither soon and fade ?
Forgetting heavenly joys
For holy spirits made?

Nor list to mercy's voice—
The melting strains of love
Which calls to man repent—rejoice,
And seek thy good above!

JUSTITIA.