Truth.

“Nerve thy soul with doctrines noble,
Noble in the walks of time,
Time that leads to an eternal
An eternal life sublime;
Life sublime in moral beauty,
Beauty that shall ever be;
Ever be to lure thee onward,
Onward to the fountain free—
Free to every earnest seeker,
Seeker for the Fount of Youth—
Youth exultant in its beauty,
Beauty of the living truth.”

The following hymn appears in the Irish Church Hymnal, and is by Mr. J. Byrom:

“My spirit longs for Thee
Within my troubled breast,
Though I unworthy be
Of so Divine a Guest.
Of so Divine a Guest
Unworthy though I be,
Yet has my heart no rest,
Unless it come from Thee.
Unless it come from Thee,
In vain I look around;
In all that I can see
No rest is to be found.
No rest is to be found.
But in Thy blessèd love;
Oh, let my wish be crowned
And send it from above.”

Dr., as he was commonly called, Byrom, seems to have been an amiable and excellent man, and his friends after his death in September 1763 collected and published all the verses of his they could lay hands on, in 2 vols. 12mo, at Manchester in 1773. A more complete edition was issued in 1814. Many of Byrom’s poems evince talent, but a great part are only calculated for private perusal: his “Diary” and “Remains” were published by the Chetham Society (1854-57). Byrom was the inventor of a successful system of shorthand. He was a decided Jacobite, and his mode of defending his sentiments on this point are still remembered and quoted:

“God bless the King! I mean the Faith’s defender;
God bless—no harm in blessing—the Pretender!
But who Pretender is, or who the King,
God bless us all—that’s quite another thing!”

MACARONIC VERSE.