The Portland Gazette

POETRY.

FROM THE LONDON LITERARY GAZETTE, OF APRIL 22.

A volume of poems, by Bernard Barton, will be published in a few days. We are led to take so early a notice of it, as much on account of its merits, as of the rather peculiar circumstance of its being the production of one of the Society of Friends. We pass over many of shorter poems, and select the following on

SILENT WORSHIP.

Though glorious, O God! must thy temple have been,

On the day of its first dedication,

When the Cherubim's wings widely waving were seen,

On high o'er the ark's holy station;

When even the chosen of Levi, though skill'd

To minister, standing before Thee,

Retir'd from the cloud, which the temple then fill'd,

And thy glory made Israel adore Thee:

Though awfully grand was thy majesty then;

Yet the worship thy Gospel discloses,

Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men,

Far surpasses the ritual of Moses.

And by whom was that ritual forever repeal'd?

But by Him unto whom it was given

To enter the Oracle, where is reveal'd,

Not the cloud, but the brightness of Heaven.

Who, having once enter'd, hath shown us the way,

O Lord! how to worship before Thee:

Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day--

But in spirit and truth to adore Thee!

This, this is the worship the Saviour made known,

When she, of Samaria, found him

By the patriarch's well sitting weary alone,

With the stillness of noon-tide around him.

How sublime, yet how simple the homage he taught

To her, who enquir'd by that fountain,

If Jehovah at Solyma's shrine would be sought,

Or ador'd on--Samaria's mountain.

Woman! believe me, the hour is near,

When he, if ye rightly would hail him,

Will neither be worshipp'd exclusively here,

Nor yet at the altar of Salem.

For God is a Spirit! and they, who aright

Would perform the pure worship he loveth,

In the heart's holy temple will seek, with delight,

That spirit the Father approveth.

And many that prophecy's truth can declare,

Whose bosoms have livingly known it--

Whom God hath instructed to worship him there,

And convinc'd that his mercy will own it.

The temple that Solomon built to his name,

Now lives but in history's story--

Extinguish'd long since is its altar's bright flame.

And vanish'd each glimpse of its glory.

But the Christian, made wise by a wisdom divine,

Though all human fabricks may falter,

Still finds in his heart a far holier shrine,

Where the fire burns unquench'd on the altar.