The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1844-02-27 00:00:00

POETRY

MY PAS: oR'S VOICE

(For the Liverpool Standard )
I love to hear my p tst,r's voice the sound is truly sweet,
This message from the Lord he briogs,—`• Prepare the Truth to

meet."
Away with vain and foolish thoughts, begone thou drowsy feel
Fill me, my God! with faith and love, with hope and ferven
zeal.

I love to hear my pasto'r's voice, the sound is very dear,
I hail it as the voice of God, and feel that Christ is near,
A dying Saviour is his theme. `• the risen Lord" his song,
And every new-born babe in Christ, the music shall prolong

I love to hear my pastor's voice, through him, as from above
A Saviour speaketh words of peace, of never dying love
0, Lord of Life ! to thee I cling, thou art my only stay,
And ne'er I trust shall Satan draw my heart from thee away.

I love to hear my pastor's voice, proclaiming Israel's rest,
"Though scatter'd and benighted now, that nation shall be
bless'd."
This Truth divine, his spirit loves, my soul caught up the strain,
And longs to see those outcast tribes restor'd to God again,

I love to r.car my pastor's voice the gospel trumpet sound,
For till those words of peace I heard. my heart was error bound;
I love to hear the Truth from him. glad tidings doth he bring,
Glad tidi gs of great joy from thee our Prophet, Priest, and
King.
Roscommon-street

E.M.

he following beautiful and affecting lines, by COWPER, the bard
of freedom, morality, and re:igion, have not been generally
printed in the edition of his works. They derived au increased
interes' from the fact, considered to be authentic, that they
were written after one of those attacks that temporarily be-
reft him of reason, and with allusion to a similar and final
catastrophe that might befal him.—[En, L. S.]
THE CASTAWAY.

Obscurest night involved the sky;
The Atlantic billows roar'd ;
When such a destined wretch as I,

Wasted headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.

No braver chief could Albion boast

Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast
With warmer wishes sent;
He loved them both, but both in vain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.

Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay:
Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away ;
But waged with de;ith a lasting strife,
Supported by (E.:..p,0r or life.

He shouted : t:or his friends had failed
To check the vessel's course,
But so furious the blast prevail'd
.

That, pitiless per force%
They left their outeftst mate behind,
And scudded stilt jefore the wind.

Some succour yet they c,uld afford,
And such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delay'd not to bestow •
Bat he, they knew, nor ;hip, nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he

Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;
Yet bitter felt It still to die

Deserted, and his frierid;;o nigh

He long survives who lives an hour
In ocean, self upheld,
And so long he, with unspent power,
His destiny repell'd ;
And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried—" Adieu!"

At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before
Had heard his v, ice in every blast,
Could catch the sound no more;
For then by toil subdued, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.