Rich is the treasure: for it gives
To ev'ry needy soul that lives,

The gold of health, for dross-
For trouble, joy-for sorrow, bliss;
And, in a better world than this,
A kingdom for a cross.

'Tis not the merchandize of earth,
Her empires ne'er contain'd its worth;
In realms of heav'n alone,

There, on the Tree of Life, it grows,

Where the full stream of mercy

flows,

Around the ALMIGHTY's throne.

Angels in pity bear it thence,

As mortals seek the prizeThe rich catholicon dispenseIt opens blind-born eyes!

From tongues that never spake before, The deaf now hear loud anthems roar !

The Great Physician's skill,

The tenor of their song;

The same that cures has pow'r to kill,

Or anguish to prolong.

No analyzing pow'r

Its properties require;

No flames refine it, or devour,

Nor hell's eternal fire.

Known in a thousand various climes-
By spurious terms express'd;
Though there the bigot's bloody crimes
Are often with it dress'd;

Yet to apply its genuine pow'r,

How few have found the art

'Tis known-'tis call'd-in death's dread hour, RELIGION—of the heart.

[Sensible that nothing can be added to the beau ty and sublimity of the Scripture, the Author, in the following, has not aimed at any embellishments of style, but merely to give a plain literal versification-not with the hope of improving upon the inspired penman, but with the view of turning the reader's more deep attention to the awful story, as related in the sacred volume of DIVINE TRUTH.]

THE RICH MAN AND LAZARUS.
A CERTAIN rich man, worldly blest,
In purple and fine linen drest,

Liv'd sumptuous ev'ry day;
And lo! a beggar at his doors,
Naked and starving, full of sores,
In humble posture lay;

Craving the scanty crumbs that fell,
Around his table, furnish'd well-

With high, delicious fare;

E'en dogs their sympathy express'd,
And to the way-worn stranger-guest,
Show'd ev'ry tender care:

Their soft and healing tongues applied
Tongues to the use of speech denied,
How eloquently mute!
Proclaiming more than language can,.
The cold benevolence of man,

Contrasted with the brute!

But what an awful sequel flows
From human grandeur-human woes,

And how revers'd the scene!

From earth to heav'n-from heav'n to hell,
The one was call'd-the other fell-
A yawning gulph between !

From regions of eternal pain,
The rich man lifts his eyes in vain,

To realms forever blest

Sees Laz'rus, late his haughty scorn,
Whom glorious vestments now adorn,
In Abram's bosom rest.

Send Laz'rus,' was the fruitless pray'r
From the lost soul of ghast despair,

With flaming tortures wrung,
In water let his finger dip,
And touch, if only with the tip,

And cool my burning tongue."

Remember, son,' the Patriarch cried,
In all the pomp of wealth and pride,
Thou recently didst roll;

Laz'rus, then doom'd to want and pain,
Now in immortal bliss shall reign,
While torments rend thy soul.?

Fraternal feeling, nature's dart,
Pierc'd the hard centre of a heart
Condemn'd to endless woe;
To my five brethren Laz'rus send,
To warn them of my fearful end,
Lest they the like should know."

Thus roar'd the hopeless heir of hell,
Whom sainted Abram deigns to tell;
The prophets and the law
They have; and let them see in those,
How free Almighty mercy flows,
And thence salvation draw.'

"Nay, father Abram,' answer'd he,
But if a ghostly form they see,
On such commission sent,
Surely a message from the dead,

Would strike their souls with quiv'ring dreach

And cause them to repent.

If Moses and the prophets they

Refuse to follow and obey

Believe, (said he)' embrace

Not all the terrors of the grave,

Of death and hell, the wretch shall save,
Who spurns redeeming grace.'

Thus ends the dialogue between
The bless'd and curs'd-tremendous scene,

Hell kindling with the great!
The niggard souls of misers, too,
May take an awful, timely view.
Of their portentious fate.

From the Plough Boy:

MR. RAY'S ODE.

The pious reader will be highly gratified in the perusal of Mr. RAY's ode, in our columns of this day. We understand Mr. R. contemplates publishing a revised and corrected edition of his poems. If so, we cannot but wish him success. The most of them are pious effusions, and many of them written in the true spirit of poetry, and the fervor of genius.

DEATH OF THE CHRISTIAN-AND THE PRAYER OF FAITH.

"O that I might die the death of the Righteous,"

1.

JOYFUL, and yet tremendous hour,

When from the dungeon cell of clay,