Biography of John Logan
John Logan (1748–1788) was a minister in Leith, Scotland. He was born at Soutra, Midlothian, to farmer George Logan. He was presented the charge of South Leith in 1771, and was ordained in 1773.
He published poems by Michael Bruce after Bruce's death.
John Logan's Works:
Elements of the Philosophy of History (1781)
An Essay on the Manners and Governments of Asia (1782)
Runnamede, a tragedy (1783)
Review of the Principal Charges against Warren Hastings (1788)
[Posthumous] Sermons, two volumes, (1790, 1791)
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John Logan Poems
Runnamede, A Tragedy. Prologue
Before the records of renown were kept, Or theatres for dying heroes wept, The race of fame by rival chiefs was run,
Three moves in sixth months and I remain the same. Two homes made two friends. The third leaves me with myself again.
Hymn IX. Where high the heavenly temple ...
Where high the heavenly temple stands, The house of God not made with hands, A great High Priest our nature wears,
To the Cuckoo
HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of Spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome ring.
Hymn V. Behold! the mountain of the Lord
Behold! the mountain of the Lord In latter days shall rise, Above the mountains and the hills, And draw the wondering eyes.
Ode To The Cuckoo
Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of Spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome ring.
Ode to Sleep
In vain I court till dawning light, The coy divinity of night; Restless, from side to side I turn, Arise, ye musings of the morn!
O Happy is the man who hears Instruction's warning voice, And who celestial wisdom makes His early, only choice.
Ossian's Hymn to the Sun
O Thou whose beams the sea-gift earth array, King of the sky, and father of the day! O sun! what fountain hid from human eyes,
Hymn VIII. When Jesus, by the Virgin bro...
When Jesus, by the Virgin brought, So runs the law of Heaven, Was offer'd holy to the Lord, And at the altar given;
Hymn VII. Messiah! at thy glad approach
Messiah! at thy glad approach The howling winds are still! Thy praises fill the lonely waste, And breathe from every hill.
Ode to a Man of Letters
Lo, winter's hoar dominion past! Arrested in his eastern blast The fiend of nature flies; Breathing the spring, the zephyrs play,
Ode, Written in a Visit to the Country i...
'Tis past! no more the Summer blooms! Ascending in the rear, Behold congenial Autumn comes, The Sabbath of the year!
The day is departed, and round from the cloud The moon in her beauty appears; The voice of the nightingale warbles aloud
Where pastoral Tweed, renown'd in song,
With rapid murmur flows;
In Caledonia's classic ground,
The hall of Arthur rose.
A braver Briton never arm'd
To guard his native isle.
A gentler friend did never make
The social circle smile.