geance on his enemies.

In hell only are those

who murmur and blaspheme: heaven rings with the triumphant acclamation, "Righteous art thou, O Lord, and true are thy judgments."

But if the ministration of condemnation be glory, the ministration of righteousness exceeds in glory.

In contemplating this part of our subject, also, we may derive some advantage from a reference to human transactions. The condemnation of offenders is an act of the legislature; but the pardoning of them is a pure act of mercy, an exercise of royal prerogative, and justly called the brightest jewel of the crown. A wretched man has been tried for a capital offence, and his guilt proved. Perhaps his youth, his inexperience, his unhappy connexions, his former good character, or his misfortunes, plead for him. But the law knows no pity. The fact is proved, the sentence must pass, and he waits in trembling expectation for the day of execution. But, by one act of sovereign clemency, his condition is wholly changed. His prison doors are opened. He comes forth free. The officers of justice cannot touch him. He takes his place in society again, as if he had not transgressed.

But this glory, amiable as it is, is very imperfect. The royal ear may be abused, so as to pardon the unworthy; or, if popular fury demands a victim, it may not be safe to save the deserving. Besides, wherever mercy is thus

shewn, justice is dispensed with; and therefore it cannot be often shewn without defeating the end of civil government. Thus limited, and thus liable to abuse, is this most glorious attribute of majesty.

But no power can control the exercise of divine mercy; and, as it does not in the least encroach upon justice, it can be extended to multitudes of offenders. Nay, it is actually offered to all, and yet justice is so far from suffering thereby, that it is, in the hishest degree, displayed and honoured. For, though God pardons sinners, he pardons them in such a way as to shew most fully his hatred of sin. He provides a Surety to stand in the place of sinners, in whose person the demands of law and justice may be fully satisfied, before one transgressor be pardoned. The ministration of righteousness is full of wonder, as well as of glory. Will God shew mercy to sinners? He lays their sins upon his Son, and makes "Him to be sin for them, who knew no sin, that they may be made the righteousness of God in Him." Thus has the love of God abounded in all wisdom and prudence; so that he can receive into favour the very chief of sinners, while his holiness remains unquestionable, his justice unimpeached. Here then is a glory, which we may well admire, in the ministration of righteousness; the glory of justice and holiness; and, what is more, the glory of mercy, shining in full agreement with both.

X

ODE ON THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.

J. B. W.

THE "sentinel stars," from the watch-tower of night,

Kept their vigil in silence on Jordan's dark

wave;

When a herald came down from the region of light, To proclaim the Destroyer of hell and the grave. O, sweet were his accents,―the eyelids of morn Seemed to ope in the east at the soul-cheering sound;

At his words was the music of paradise borne
On the air, and its courts with the echo
resound.

Lo! children of Adam, glad tidings I bring,
Of joy to the guilty, the lost, the forlorn;
In the City of David, a Saviour, a King,

The Messiah, the hope of the nations is born.

From the heaven of heavens, he comes in his love, Where the armies of God strike their harps to

his praise;

That the chiefest of sinners may join them above, Their Captain appears as an "infant of days."

He comes,-like the sun from the gales of the east,

To pour upon man immortality's day;

He comes, that the wanderers from Eden may

rest,

And rejoice when life's flowers are fading away.

He comes, the commands of the Law to obey, And die by its sentence, that thus he may ope To his brethren, (long prisoners of death and dismay),

The temple of life and the "stronghold of hope." Hail! thou whom the isles and the gentiles shall trust,

Believing the record-the works of my pride I renounce:-I am silent:-and, humbled in dust, In thy finished salvation alone I confide.

My destinies all I commit to thy hand;

My hopes on thy righteousness only I place; On this pedestal, Lord, I for ever would stand, A pillar inscribed to the praise of thy grace.

VINCIT QUI PATITUR.

J. A. W.

THE warrior's sword is laid aside,

The warrior's helm hangs on the wall;
His voice hath lost its martial pride,
His charger slumbers in the stall:
The arm of strength, the sinewy frame,
No longer now the soldier's boast;

He toils not for the meeds of fame,

He braves no more the hostile host;-
But all unnerved by age he lies,
The film of death upon his eyes.

Yet, dauntless, once his daring soul
Delighted o'er the earth to roam,
In quest of glory's phantom goal;
The fight his pastime, and his home
The camp-the bivouac-the bark
Tossed on the ever-foaming wave:—
But now the hero's soul is dark,-
His spirit hovers o'er the grave,—
And the last mortal strife is nigh,
With him we conquer not, nor fly.

Where are the comrades of his prime,
The gallant sharers of his toil,
When youth aspired to deeds sublime,—
Dreamed of the escalade, the spoil,
The battle won, the laurel wreath,
And lofty rank, and fair renown?-
Alas! they long have ceased to breathe,
All nameless to the dust gone down!
And, lonely, he the wreck outlives,
Of all life's morning promise gives.

Yet, though unnerved the palsied hand, Though beamless now the eagle glance, And rusting in its sheath the brand

That gleams no more where banners dance,