are usually shown as his bible, and have received that designation. These volumes consist of a collection of poems on select subjects in Scripture history, such as that of Josiah, Jephtha, David and Goliah, &c. rendered into the dramatic form, in which various 'speakers' are introduced, and where the prominent facts of the Scripture narrative are brought forward, and amplified. We have a pretty close parallel to these poems, in the "Ancient Mysteries" of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and in the sacred dramas of some modern writers."
The preceding criticism and facts which we have taken the liberty to borrow from Mr Neil,[1] form an able and judicious defence of the memory of this distinguished man. As some curiosity, however, may reasonably be entertained respecting compositions which excited so much vulgar and ridiculous misrepresentation, we shall make no apology for introducing some specimens of Mr Boyd's poetry both of that kind which seems to have been dictated when his Pegasus was careering through " the highest heaven of invention," and of that other sort which would appear to have been conceived while the sacred charger was cantering upon the mean soil of this nether world, which it sometimes did, I must confess, very much after the manner of the most ordinary beast of burden. The following Morning Hymn for Christ, selected from his work entitled, "The English Academic," will scarcely fail to convey a respectful impression of the writer:—
O Day Spring from on high,
Cause pass away our night;
Clear first our morning sky,
And after shine thou bright.
O, of all lights the light,
The Light that is most true,
Now banish thou our night,
And still our light renew.
Of lights thou art the light,
Of righteousness the sun;
Thy beams they are most bright,
Through all the world they run.
Thy face now to us show
O son of God most dear;
O Morning Star, most true,
Make thou our darkness clear.
The day thou hast begun
Thou wilt it clearer make;
We hope to see this Sun
High in our Zodiak.
Nothing at all is here,
That with thee may compare;
O unto us draw near,
And us thy children spare!
O make thy morning dew
To fall without all cease;
Do thou such favour show
As unto Gideon's fleece.
Thy mercies they are rare,
If they were understood;
Wrath due to us thou bare,
And for us shed thy blood.
O do thou never cease
To make that dew to fall—
The dew of grace and peace,
And joys celestial.
Like beasts they are most rude,
Whom reason cannot move
Thou most perfytely good,
Entirely for to love.
This morning we do call
Upon thy name divine.
That thou among us all
Cause thine Aurora shine.
Us make mind things above,
Even things that most-exec!!;
Of thine untainted love,
Give us the sacred seal.
Let shadows all decline,
And wholly pass away,
That light which is divine,
May bring to us our day.
O that we light could see
That shinelh in thy face!
So at the last, should we
From glory go to grace.
A day to shine for aye,
A day that is most bright,
A day that never may
Be followed with a night.
Within thy sacred place
Is only true content,
When God's seen face to face,
Above the firmament.
- ↑ Life of Zachary Boyd, prefixed to the new Edition of his "Last Battell of the Soule."
