■/A l?6'?S 
 
YP6?S 
 
 MzZt 
 
 THE 
 
 PROMISSORY NOTE. 
 
 THE STEAM SHIP; 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE REV. G. G. COOKMAN. 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
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 THE 
 
 IPIEOMnSS®]!"!' KOl'E. 
 
 "He that has pity on the poor, lendeth to the Lord, 
 and that which he hath given, will he pay unto him 
 again." — Prov. xix. 17. 
 
 Friends and Brethren — 
 
 You hear the terms of this loan, if you Hke the 
 security, down with your dust. 
 
 Dean Swift's Charity Sermon. 
 
 "Then let our masters gladly find, 
 
 "A good man works the faster, 
 "Who serves his God with willing mind, 
 
 "Will better sen'e his master." 
 
 Miss H. More. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Who will not admit with the author of the Task, that 
 "the town has tinged the country," when told, that the 
 coloured people of this neighbourhood, intend holding a 
 fair, during the ensuing holidays, for the purpose of 
 finishing a small place of worship, for the completion of 
 which they have, as yet, been unable to procure the 
 necessary means. 
 
 As the object is most praiseworthy, so the place in 
 which it will be held is most appropriate — even a to- 
 bacco-house. Let this produce no disdainful smile, at 
 the glittering tables in the city saloons; the articles 
 offered, will neither be as tasty, as rich, or as elegant, 
 as those which are piled in those beautiful bazaars, but 
 that which is not best, may be yet very far from bad ; 
 and be it known, that fair hands have worked for it, 
 bright eyes will witness it, and pious and gentle hearts 
 pray for its success. 
 
 jMow the Muse would fain contribute her mite, and so 
 as of silver and gold the Muses have proverbially none, 
 such as she has she gives, or rather, after the fashion of 
 the day, issues a Promissory Note; as it is drawn on 
 a bank which will never fail, it is hoped it will be freely 
 taken. 
 
 It may be well to add, that it differs from other notes 
 in this particular, that its value does not depend on the 
 soundness of the bank, for that is undisputecl, but on the 
 loill and disposition of the holder to receive payment. 
 
 West River, May ISth, 1841. 
 
A PLEA FOR CHEW'S CHAPEL. 
 
 Our Masters and Mistresses all ? 
 
 Will you say ? 
 When sorrows and crosses lie thick in your way ; 
 When dark disappointments, come linked like a chain, 
 And the sun of your hope sets to rise not again. 
 When pain, and when sickness, has robbed you of rest, 
 And death from your house, takes your dearest and best, 
 Do you look to your woodlands, or meadows, or hills, 
 Or your barns, or store-houses, as cures for these ills 1 
 O no ! when your wishes are blighted or crossed. 
 The pleasure they gave to your vision is lofet. 
 
 It cannot cure sickness, it does not ease pain, 
 To know you are fond of the field and the plain, 
 There's no trust in horses or chariots, for they. 
 From the woes you are heir to, can't take you away ; 
 And you well know, you cannot by power or wealth, 
 Force back to its channel the current of health. 
 
 What then, when misfortunes are settling around ? 
 What then, is the refuge, which wisdom has found '( 
 O, it tells you to lift o'er this valley your eyes. 
 And beyond its dark frowning, see lovelier skies ; 
 Yes, prospects more radiant, by faith you survey. 
 And your souls mount above the distress of your day. 
 
 Believe us ! the miseries, the woes of this world, 
 Alike on the master and servant are hurled, 
 When a flash from the bolt of misfortune, shall strike 
 The great and the small, they must feel it alike. 
 
'1 A PLEA FOR CHEW S CHAPEL. 
 
 O bethink you when anguish is wreathing the brow, 
 And to sickness, and sorrow, the servant must bow, 
 And the scroll, like to that, which Ezekiel saw flow. 
 Writ within, and without, with affliction and woe, 
 Shall wind round his dwelling, and darken his door, 
 Though the inmates be humble, and lowly, and poor, 
 Yet sorrow and sickness, are easy to bear. 
 In the gloom of the cabin, if Jesus is there. 
 
 If you, honoured masters, look upwards for bliss. 
 
 And depend on a world that is better than this, 
 
 O what must the hope be to us, when distressed. 
 
 That a rest is remaining, — a heaven of rest, 
 
 Where the wicked cease troubling, where labour is o'er, 
 
 And the bond and the free are at variance no more. 
 
 Yes ! the hope that's set forth in the Gospel to them, 
 Is the pearl that is priceless, the far shining gem. 
 That gilds with its radiance, the deep spreading gloom, 
 Which now palls in darkness, the African's doom. 
 
 If Religion can brighten your path to the grave, 
 O it surely must do something more for the slave ; 
 'Tis the sun and the shield of his life, and with this, 
 E'en the dregs of his cup, will be mingled with bliss. 
 
 Then rear up the dweUing, and furnish a house, 
 Where servants may gather, and offer their vows. 
 Where knees may be bowed, in the concert of prayer. 
 And praise of their Saviour rise high on the air ; 
 And the word be divided, in season, to those, 
 Who the bands of the lame, bhnd, and halting compose. 
 Where the weary and laden their plea may prefer, 
 And the wayfaring man, the' a fool, need not err. 
 
JOHN WESLEY. O 
 
 O mercy and grace! let it be your abode, 
 The refuge of sinners, the temple of God ! 
 
 When the saint is dissolved, in the rapture of praise, 
 When the sinner comes home, from the pride of his ways. 
 When the ransomed shall shout that his sins are forgiven. 
 And pardon and peace give a foretaste of heaven ; 
 Then, then, shall your boon, be remembered, and there. 
 Your names shall go up, in the breathings of prayer ; 
 And what you now cast on the waters be more, 
 Tho' your barns may be bursting, your bins running o'er. 
 Than all you had hoarded, or treasured before. 
 
 JOHN WESLEY. 
 
 "from musings around mount zion." 
 
 "A sect of yesterday?"* allow it may be so ; 
 It owns not yet, one persecutor's name, 
 
 It has not yet, caused any blood to flow, 
 Nor can it yet, within its paling claim 
 
 One bigot doom'd to everlasting fame ; 
 Round Wesley's urn, no sanguine laurels bloom, 
 
 Power to destroy, was far below his aim, 
 No martyrs murmur o'er his peaceful tomb, 
 No blood stain'd ghost walks there, to taunt him with his 
 doom. 
 
 In a dark age, he spread the illuming ray. 
 With all the zeal, religion could impart, 
 
 Pointed his followers to eternal day, • 
 And poured the living precept on the heart ; 
 
 His was the grace, beyond the reach of art. 
 
 * So designated by the New York Churchman. 
 
b THE MISSING STEAM SHIP. 
 
 He knew the cords, and ever touched the string, 
 
 Which won suspension, from the upHfted dart ; 
 Till peace came smiling, on her seraph wing, 
 And stole away the barb from death's relenting sting. 
 
 He rear'd no palace — owned no fertile plain, 
 No selfish aim, e're marr'd his great design. 
 
 None call'd him lord of any wide domain ; 
 He hoarded nothing of the golden mine. 
 
 His holy love, his charity divine 
 Could know no good, but that of all mankind. 
 
 His bounty, age served only to refine ; 
 
 Rich in the treasures of a heavenly mind, 
 
 He left a spotless name, and nothing else behind. 
 
 THE MISSING STEAM SHIP; 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 THE REV. G. G. COOKMAN. 
 
 Is her fate hid forever? The merciless waves 
 Will seldom the deeds of their fury disclose, 
 
 And none may conjecture, in what ocean caves. 
 The welt'ring remains of the Preacher repose. 
 
 Ye waters, that loved in your billowy foam, 
 
 Round the prow of that vessel, to sparkle and play. 
 
 Ye tempests that raved, but to hasten her home, 
 Ye fires more subtle and fiercer than they. 
 
 By which of you all did she perish ? No moan 
 
 Comes forth from the flame, or the wave, or the blast, 
 
 We have but conviction — conviction alone. 
 
 That the moments of hope, and expectance are past. 
 
THE MISSING STEAM SHIP. 7 
 
 Was the ship on the whirl of the wave lifted high, 
 Then hurl'd to the depths of the dark rolHng sea ; 
 
 Sure the lightning's blue flash lit thy path to the sky, 
 As the blast bore the message of, "Come up !" to thee. 
 
 Did vigilance slumber? was art misapplied ? 
 
 Did the first start from sleep catch the volcanic sound, 
 As the ship floundered down, thro' the dark yesty tide, 
 
 And waters were gurgling, and closing around. 
 
 The form of the Preacher — its perishing clay. 
 May feed the fell monsters that roam the abyss ; 
 
 But his soul ever ready the call to obey, 
 
 Must have mounted on high, to the mansions of bliss. 
 
 'Tis all but conjecture — she may not be lost, 
 Her tough ribs and timbers may yet be unriven. 
 
 O'er ocean's wide surface, she yet may be tost. 
 
 And the sport of the winds and the waves may be 
 driven. 
 
 But 'lis sad with that steam ship — her fate is forlorn, 
 As the wave in its fury curls high to o'erwhelm, 
 
 Their fuel expended — their tackle all torn — 
 And famine and shipwreck are waiting for them. 
 
 They pray ! yes they pray ! 'tis the Preacher who leads 
 The supplicants to him who can succour and save. 
 
 He comforts, enlightens, he preaches and pleads, 
 Till a pardon is heard in the roar of each wave. 
 
 Oh Preacher ! it is but a type of the world, 
 
 You have preached to people, as wretched before ; 
 
 Tho' they saw not the ruin, to which they were hurl'd, 
 Their fate though more hidden — was not the less sure. 
 
8 FROM MUSINGS AROUND MOUNT AUBURN. 
 
 But tongue may not utter the time or the place, 
 
 Where the steam ship went down, to her darksome 
 abode, 
 May all that was in her receive his free grace, 
 
 And be snatch'd from the deep, to the bosom of God. 
 
 FROM MUSINGS AROUND MOUNT ZION. 
 
 O righteous Lord ! so mighty and so high ! 
 
 To such as thee, what tribute can we bring, 
 Look down, regard us with a gracious eye, 
 
 While we surround thy throne. Almighty King ! 
 And while the hosts of heaven thy praises sing, 
 Prepare us in their song, some part to bear ; 
 O wash us ! cleanse us, take from death, the sting, 
 
 And let us feel that sinful as we are, 
 Prayer less than this, is mockery of prayer. 
 
 Again they sing, the notes are known to all, 
 
 Shirland, or Cambridge, Arlington, or Mear, 
 How full, how strong, for once that middle wall 
 
 Is broken down which separates us here, 
 And bond, and free in concord, loud and clear, 
 
 Send their united voices up to heaven. 
 Type of that hour, when all shall there appear, 
 
 When all of prejudice is rent and riven. 
 And when we all shaW find, one only Lamb was given. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 015 863 351 6 
 
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 HoUinger Corp.