PSALM XLII.

As pants the hart for cooling streams,
When heated in the chase,

So longs my soul, O God for Thee,
And Thy refreshing grace.

For Thee, my God, the living God,
My thirsty soul doth pine;
Oh, when shall I behold Thy face,
Thou Majesty Divine?

Why restless, why cast down, my
Trust God, and He'll employ

soul?

His aid for thee, and change these sighs
To thankful hymns of joy.

God of my strength, how long shall I,
Like one forgotten, mourn;
Forlorn, forsaken, and exposed
To my oppressor's scorn?

My heart is pierced, as with a sword,
While thus my foes upbraid.

“Vain boaster, where is now thy God?
And where His promised aid?”

Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Hope still, and thou shalt sing
The praise of Him who is thy God,
Thy health's eternal Spring.

FROM PSALM XCV.

OH come, loud anthems let us sing,
Loud thanks to our Almighty King!
For we our voices high should raise
When our Salvation's Rock we praise.

FROM PSALM C.

WITH one consent let all the earth
To God their cheerful voices raise-
Glad homage pay with awful mirth,
And sing before him songs of praise-

For He's the Lord supremely good,
His mercy is forever sure;

His truth, which all times firmly stood,
To endless ages shall endure.

FROM PSALM CIV.

BLESS God, my soul! Thou, Lord, alone
Possessest empire without bounds;
With honour Thou art crown'd, Thy throne
Eternal majesty surrounds.

With light Thou dost Thyself enrobe,
And glory for a garment take;
Heaven's curtains stretch beyond the globe,
Thy canopy of state to make.

God builds on limpid air, and forms
His palace-chambers in the skies;

The clouds His chariots are, and storms
The swift-winged steeds with which he flies.

As bright as flame, as swift as wind,
His ministers heaven's palace fill;
All have their sundry tasks assign'd
All proud to serve their Sovereign's will.

The various troops of sea and land
In sense of common want agree;
All wait on Thy dispensing hand,

And have their daily alms from Thee.

Thus through successive ages stands,
Firm fixed, Thy providential care;
Pleased with the work of Thy own hands,
Thou dost the wastes of time repair.

SELECTIONS FROM PSALMS.

Untimely grave.

- Psalm vii.

And though He promise to his loss,
He makes His promise good.
-Psalm xv.

The sweet remembrance of the just

Shall flourish when he sleeps in dust.

-Psalm cxii.

SELECTION FROM AN ESSAY FOR PROMOTING PSALMODY.

O QUEEN of Sacred Harmony,

How powerful are thy charms!

Care shuns thy walks, Fear kindles with courage,
And joy sublimes into ecstasy.

What! Shall stage syrens sing and Psalmody sleep?
Theatres be thronged and thy temples empty?
Shall thy votaries abroad find heart and voice
To sing in the fiery furnace of persecution,

Upon the waters of affliction,

And our Britons sit sullenly silent
Under their vines and fig trees?

NICHOLAS ROWE.

Born at Little Beckford, Bedfordshire, in 1674. Made laureate in 1715. Died in 1718. (Reign of George I.)

TATE'S successor was a far better poet, and he was also a more prosperous and happy man. His happiness, however, was not due to the gift of the laurel, for he wore it only three short years. Rowe belonged to a good family, and his advent into the world brought great joy to affectionate parents. In the garden adjoining the house where he was born there has been erected a stone to his memory. The boy was clever and fond of books, and won distinction at Westminster School, where Dr. Busby of birchen fame alternately abused and praised his pupils. At sixteen, when Rowe entered the Middle Temple, he plunged with zest into the study of law, but general literature soon proved so alluring and he showed such taste and intellectual superiority in its study, that law soon lost its hold upon him. Then, as always afterward, he showed especial skill in foreign languages. His knowledge was profound and thorough, and this knowledge not only improved his taste and made him a good translator, but was of great service to him as an original worker in the field of dramatic art.

The death of Rowe's father made him not only independent, but wealthy, and he soon gave up his brilliant prospects of fame as a lawyer for the more uncertain rewards of literature. At the age of twenty-five he entered into competition with the brilliant circle of dramatists in London, by publishing a play called "The Ambitious Stepmother." In this we see a great advance upon the work of any dramatist since the death of Davenant. The sentiment of this play is noble and dignified, its moral influence good, while the language is refined and has much grace and beauty. Congreve praised it, and Betterton, Mrs. Barry, and Mrs. Bracegirdle were enthusiastic actors of it. Thus Rowe stepped at once into a successful career. Rowe's handsome face and figure, his vivacious talk, his charming manners soon won him many friends, not only among men of