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A . ^ TH£ BENSON LIBRARY OF HYMNOLOGY Endowed by the Reverend *•*■■•*•*• ***•*■ A • ^ . »£ . 4, . a . * • * • * • A • ^ . Louis Fitzgerald Benson, d.d. l& .*.*.'* . ■*"*'*"*• A • A • A • A • LIBRARY OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY • * • A . A . * "*•*"*•*•« <^rr *•*•*•*• * ' * • * • A . 4 ^^^ PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY .*■*.*.* • * • A • A . * . A . * . * .-A . * . * . A • A . A • A • A • A • A • A * • : * ' * ' A • A • A . A • A ! • * • A • A • * ■ # • A • A • A • A • A • * • * • A • A . A . A . A • A • A • A • A . A •' * • A • A • A • A . A • A • * • A • A • * • A • A • A • ■*• • A • A fc-A-~A.A.A.A.* • * • A • A • A • A •' A • A • A • A • A • A^ A . A • A ' . A . A . A • A • * * # • * • A • A • A . A • * • A • A • A • % • A • A • A • A - A • * • * • * • * • *. • .A . A . A • A • A . A • A • ->$• • A . A . -A • A • A • A • A ■ * ' * • * • A • A .'A . A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • *.' * • * • * • A . A . A • A • A • A • A • A • A ■ -A • " A . A • A . A .* A • ' * . A • A • A • A • A • A . A • A • A • A . A ' • ■ * • A . A • A • A • A • A • A • * • A • * • A • A • A • A • * A • A • A • * • A • A • * • * • A • A • A • a • A • a • A • A . a • * • * • A • A • A • A • A • * • * • A • * • * • * • A • A • A . A • A . A • A • A • A • A • * • A . A • *• • * • A • A • A . A • A • A • A . A . A • A • A -A. A- A- A- A- A. A. A- A-* • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A . A • A • A • * • A • A • A • A • A • * • A • A • A • A • * • A • A • A . A • A • A . A • A • * • * • * • A • * • * • A • A • A . A • A . a • A • A . A • A -A- A. A* A- A- A- * . A- A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A . A. • * • A • A • A • A • A • •>> • A • -i • A • A . a • A • A • * • * • A • A • A • A . a • A • * • * • * • * • A A • A • a • A • A . a • * • A • A • A • A • A • A • * • * • * • * • • * f * . A .. A . A • A • A • A • A • A • A * • * . A • A • A . * . A . A - - A • A . A • A • •♦ • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A - A • * • * • A • A • A ■ A • A • A . a • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • A • * • * • * • A • * • A • * A • A • A ■ • I • • i • • '*•*•*•*•*•*;:-■ ^- -.*;•:*•*•*•*•*•* • * • * • . -v -*•*•*• * .*•*•*•*•*. .4. fc . * • * • . ^ • •* ' * ' * • * * • * • * • * • -*• • * • * • * • * • * • * . - * • i Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://archive.org/details/rosemaryOOsart I KiTErti MAY IS 1949 TIIK II S E M A 11 Y, A COLLECTION SACRED AND RELIGIOUS POETRY, FROM THE ENGLISH AND AMERICAN POETS, ELEGANT ILLUSTRATIONS There's Rosemary, that's for rememberance; Pray you, love, remember." Shakspeare. PHILADELPHIA: LINDSAY AND KLAKISTON Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by LINDSAY & BLAKISTON, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. STEREOTYPED BY J. F A G A N . PRINTED BY C. SHERMAN. (2) PREFACE The numerous volumes of religious Poetry that are pub- lished from time to time, have a tendency to elevate the tnstr and to deepen religious sentiment. Poetry is the expression of beauty ; and everything truly good is beautiful. The heart that can appreciate poetry ma\ be reached by the devout reflections of a poet upon life, death, and a future state, that can in no other way be touched. In presenting, in " The Rosemary," some of the choicest selections of Sacred Poetry in an attractive garb, it is hoped that it will be received as an evidence of tliat religious feeling which at times has actuated most of the great poets, and been displayed in some of their finest productions. (3) ILLUSTRATIONS ENGRAVED ON STEEL, JOHN SARTAIN, PHILADELPHIA MOSES SMITING THE ROCK MURILLO. . . . Frontispiece. 1 1 EBR0N BR ACEBRIDGE . . Vignette. DANIEL IN THE LIONS' DEN Z1EGLER Page 04 ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS CORBOULD 107 ABRAHAM OFFERING UP ISAAC WESTALL 157 GOD'S COVENANT WITH NOAH ROTHERMEL 1% JOSEPH SOLD BY HIS BRETHREN ZUCCHI 220 THE WOMEN AT THE SEPULCHRE P. VIET 238 (4) CONTENTS. PSALM OF LIFE H. W LONGFELLOW PaM 9 RETIREMENT W. OOWPEB 11 8EASOXS OF PB Wr.Il WAKE 19 THE WIDOW OP MAIN AND HER SON HEBEB 11 LORD OF ALL WORLDS J Q. ADAMS 15 EARLY LOST, EARLY B WED BLTIUNL 1G UNPROFITABLE BERVANTS ... ELIZA OAKEB BMTTH 17 THE VOICE OF RAMA BISHOP DOAXE 18 WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD MART E. BROOKS 13 THE SOUL THIRSTING AFTER GOD BISHOP LOWTII 20 CELESTIAL SABBATH From the Russian 21 LOVE TO GOD MRS. BARB AULD 22 TO BE OR NOT TO BE BETHUNE 23 A POETS PRAYER BERNARD BARTON 24 ACQUAINT THYSELF WITH GOD KNOX 26 THE PRESENCE OF GOD MRS. WELBY 87 THE EARLY DEAD W. G. CLARK 30 EVENING MUSIC WITH THE ANGELS JAS. A. HILLHOUSE 31 IS CHINA OUR NEIGHBOUR MRS. HALE 32 DEATH OF AN INFANT MRS. SIGOURXE V 33 THE SABBATH EVENING G. D. PRENTICE 34 THE BALLAD OF LUTZEN GEO. LUXT 36 JESUS WEPT MRS. ST. LEON LOUD 39 A SACRED MELODY WM. LEGGETT 40 THE CRUCIFIXION MILMAX 41 CHAMPIONS OF THE TRUTH KEBLE 42 A MORNING HYMN HANNAH MORE 43 THE HERMIT JAS. BEATTIE 44 HOPE WM COWPER 46 HAPPINESS WW PEYRE DINNIES 47 THE DEFE \T OF SISLKA J. OX7ALLAGHAN 48 A DIRGE CROLY 50 ENERGY Of ADVERSITY LUELLA J. CASE 52 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL W. II. BURLEIGH 5J PRAYER FOR THE SPIRIT BETHCNE 55 (v) VI CONTENTS. THE HOUR OF PRAYER MRS. HEMANS 56 COVVPER'S GRAVE ELIZABETH B. BARRETT.... 57 FORGIVENESS BISHOP HEBER 59 A HYMN ON THE SEASONS JAS. THOMSON 60 DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS .' THOS. DALE 64 GIVE ME ARMOUR OF PROOF LUCY HOOPER 67 DAYS OF MY YOUTH ST. GEORGE TUCKER 68 HYMN OF PRAISE MILMAN 63 A RICH MAN SURPRISED BY DEATH BLAIR 71 THE VAUDOIS HARVEST HYMN H. HASTINGS WELD 72 MORTALITY KNOX 73 GRIEF WAS SENT THEE FOR THY GOOD THOS. HAYNES BAYLY 75 THE DEATH OF MOSES JESSIE G. M'CARTEE 76 THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL MAY KNOW BERNARD BARTON 78 LIFE BARRY CORNWALL 79 HUMAN LIFE C. C. COLTON 80 SMITING THE ROCK RICHARD HOWITT 82 CHRIST IN THE TEMPEST EMMA C. EMBURY 83 ODE TO THE SAVIOUR MILMAN 85 ON A PICTURE OF JERUSALEM MITFORD 87 HENRY OF ASTI AND PIERO ZENO RICHARD MILNES 88 GOOD-BY'E, PROUD WORLD R. W. EMERSON 90 DIRGE FOR A YOUNG GIRL JAS. T. FIELDS 91 IT IS GOOD TO BE HERE HERBERT KNOWLES 92 AN HOUR WITH GOD ANONYMOUS 94 THE CHRISTMAS OFFERING W. CROSWELL 95 HYMN OF THE VVALDENSES BRY r ANT 96 A MOTHER'S DIRGE OVER HER CHILD MOIR 97 THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN L. J. PIERSON 99 THE WARNING VOICE HARRISON 100 HUMAN LIFE FRANCIS QUARLES 101 THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH G. W. DOANE 102 INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY DANA 103 THE SYNAGOGUE CROSWELL 104 GODS-ACRE H. W. LONGFELLOW 105 I THANK THEE, GOD, FOR WEAL AND WOE. . . . ELIZA COOK 106 ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS JAS. GRAHAME 107 ABRAHAM DISMISSING HAGAR THOS. DALE 103 THE LAST JUDGMENT WALTER SCOTT 110 THE CHRISTIAN'S PROGRESS KIRKE WHITE Ill FAITH IN HUMBLE LIFE HANNAH MORE 112 JERUSALEM JOHN PIERPONT 113 THE HEART SONG COXE 115 WEEP NOT FOR HER MOIR 116 CONTENTS. Nil GOD AN UNFAILING K I.I t QI WORDSWORTH Ill BONG OF i in: JEWS MILMAN 119 CONS »;. kTIONS OF Kill. I ;i >N To THE POOR... pi:::- [VA1 LLENCV OF CHR18T GILES FLETCHEB WEEP WOT FOl 11 1 M 'I'll \T DIETH MRS NORTON UJ CHARITY LUBLLA I. CASE ir, TIIH CALL OF l>\\ ID KEBLE 198 CONFIDENCE IN HEAVEN EMM A C BMBC7R1 191 rzekiej j «; whittier m THE REAPER AND THE FLO WE Hi LONGFELLOW 133 Tin: ADVENT WLMAN 134 Till: DEPARTED PARK RENJAMIN 135 Till: PARTED BPUUT JOHN MALCOLM 136 SILENT DEVOTION MRS. SIGOURNEY 137 CHRIST BLESSING THE BREAD Miss I. \\DO\ 138 INFANT FAITH MISS H. F. GOULD 139 MY CHILD REV. JOHN HERFONT 141 HYMN of NATURE PEABODY 143 THi: CRUCIFIXION MONTGOMERY 144 ON THi: DEATH OF A FRIEND JOHN G. BRAINARD 14$ THE PRAYER FOR AIT VICTOR HUGO 146 THE LAMENT BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON... BYRON 148 THE BATTLE OF IVRY MACAULAY 149 SPIRITUAL WORSHIP BERNARD BARTON 151 HOPE IN DARKNESS ISAAC WATTS 153 THE SLEEP ELIZABETH B. BARRETT .... 155 SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM N. P. WILMS 157 HEBRON H. H. WELD 1G0 RESIGNATION MILMAN 101 TIME YOUNG 163 A I II \1\ MONTGOMERY 164 PENITENTIAL PRAYER THOS. MACKELLAR 165 THE PRAYER OF A LONELY HEART F. KEMBLE BUTLER 166 WASTED FOUNTAINS ANNE C. LYNCH 168 BELSB \zz\R BARRY CORNWALI 170 CONSOLATION CRABBE 171 CAMERONIANS DREAM HYSLOP ITS JESUS STILLING 'JUL TEMPEST HEBER 174 TO MY MOTHER M DAVIDSON 175 To AN INI' ANT SISTER L. D \YII)So\ 176 THOUGHTS ON DEATH DAVID BATES 177 CHRIST A SYMPATHISING FRIEND GRANT ITS THIS WOULD A BUBBLE (KARI.l.S 179 THE "THREE MIGHTY" ANONYMOUS 180 Vlll CONTENTS. THE HOUR OF DEATH HEM ANS 182 MORNING HYMN C. F. HOFFMAN 184 SCEVE IN GETHSEMANE N. P. WILLIS 185 REFLECTIONS ON A SKULL ANONYMOUS 187 LONGING FOR HEAVEN ANONYMOUS 189 THE TWO HORSEMEN M1LMAN 190 ANGELS E. OAKES SMITH 193 REMORSE KNOX 194 THE BOW IN THE CLOUD ANONYMOUS 196 A LITANY R. GRANT 199 LITTLE CHILDREN MARY J. REED 201 DO NOT BLAME ME ALICE B. NEIL 202 THE CONQUEROR FROM EDOM AND BOZRAH. . . ROGERS 203 DEATHS FINAL CONQUEST JAS. SHIRLEY 204 SABBATH THOUGHTS MANT 205 FUNERAL HYMN BISHOP HEBER 207 THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT THOS. DALE 208 SLEEP KEBLE 210 THE VALEDICTION BAXTER 211 WHERE IS HE NEELE 213 IMITATION OF PERSIAN SOUTHEY 214 CHILDREN OF LIGHT BERNARD BARTON 215 JEWISH BATTLE SONG GEORGE LUNT 216 THE HARVEST OF THE LORD MILMAN 218 THE MAID OF ANDALUSIA From the Spanish 219 JOSEPH SOLD BY HIS BRETHREN THOS. DALE 220 TO THE FLOWERS MARY HOWITT 223 THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR REV. HAMILTON BUCHANAN. 224 I AM WEARY ANONYMOUS 225 A PRAYER IN SICKNESS BARRY CORNWALL 226 MOURNING OF JERUSALEM ANONYMOUS 227 THE FALL OF BABYLON WOODS 228 THE LAST CRUSADER SIR E. BULWER LYTTON .... 229 THE GRAVE From the German of Von Galis . 231 A TESTAMENT UPON THE PASSION SIR NICHOLAS BRETON 232 THE DISSOLUTION OF NATURE KNOX 233 THE CRUCIFIXION CROLY 234 THE RESURRECTION ANONYMOUS 238 PASS ON, RELENTLESS WORLD GEORGE LUNT 241 ACTIVE CHRISTIAN BENEVOLENCE CARLO WILCOX 242 FALLS OF NIAGARA J. G. BRAINARI) 244 ODE ON THE CREATION JOS. ADDISON 245 HYMN HEBER 246 SONG OF THE STARS W. C. BRYANT 247 the ROSEMARY. Psalm of £ife. OCHiT TBS BEABT OF IEI YOUN3 MAN SAID TO THE rBALMIST. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal ; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. (9) 10 PSALM OF LIFE. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, — act in the living- Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. H. \Y. LONCIKELLOW. Retirement. Far from the world, O Lord, I flee, From strife and tumult far; From scenes where Satan wages still His most successful war. The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree; And seem by thy sweet bounty made For those who follow Thee. There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, Oh ! with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God. There, like the nightingale, she pours Her solitary lays ; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise. Author and Guardian of my life, Sweet source of light divine, And (all harmonious names in one) My Saviour, Thou art mine ! What thanks I owe Thee, and what love, # A boundless, endless store, Shall echo through the realms above, When time shall be no more. W. 00WP3R. (11) Smsons of JJrager. To prayer, to prayer ! — for the morning breaks, And earth in her Maker's smile awakes. His light is on all below and above — The light of gladness, and life, and love. O ! then, on the breath of this early air, Send upward the incense of grateful prayer. To prayer ! — for the glorious sun is gone, And the gathering darkness of night comes on. Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows, To shade the couch where his children repose. Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night. To prayer! — for the day that God has bless'd Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest. It speaks of creation's early bloom; It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb. Then summon the spirit's exalted powers, And devote to heaven the hallowed hours. There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, For her new-born infant beside her lies. O hour of bliss ! when the heart o'erflows With rapture a mother only knows. Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer ; Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care. (12) SEASONS OF PRAYER. 13 There are smiles and tears in that gathering band, Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand. What trying thoughts in her bosom swell, As the bride bids parents and home farewell ! Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair, And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer. Kneel down by the dying sinner's side, And pray for his soul through Him who died. Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow — Oh ! what is earth and its pleasures now ! And what shall assuage his dark despair, But the penitent cry of humble prayer 1 Kneel down at the couch of departing faith, And hear the last words the believer saith. He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends; There is peace in his eye that upward bends ; There is peace in his calm confiding air; For his last thoughts are God's, his last words prayer. The voice of prayer at the sable bier ! A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer. It commends the spirit to God who gave; It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave; It points to the glory where He shall reign, Who whisper'd, "Thy brother shall rise again." The voice of prayer in the w r orld of bliss ! But gladder, purer, than rose from this. The ransom'd shout to their glorious King, Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing; But a sinless and joyous song they raise; And their voice of prayer is eternal praise. 14 SEASONS OF PRAYER. Awake, awake, and gird up thy strength To join that holy band at length. To Him who unceasing love displays, Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise, To Him thy heart and thy hours be given; For a life of prayer is the life of heaven. Sty iDibotd of ;Nain antr Ijer Son. Wake not, O mother! sounds of lamentation! Weep not, O widow! weep not hopelessly! Strong is His arm, the Bringer of salvation, Strong is the W 7 ord of God to succour thee! Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him : Hide his pale features with the sable pall : Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him : Widow'd and childless, she has lost her all ! Why pause the mourners 1 Who forbids our weeping! Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed 1 " Set down the bier — he is not dead but sleeping ! Young man, arise !" — He spake, and was obey'd ! Change then, O sad one, grief to exultation: Worship and fall before Messiah's knee ; Strong was His arm, the Bringer of salvation; Strong was the Word of God to succour thee ! HEBER. £orb of all iUorlbs. Lord of all worlds, let thanks and praise To thee forever fill my soul ; With blessings thou hast crowned my days, My heart, my head, my hand control: O, let no vain presumptions rise, No impious murmur in my heart, To crave the boon thy will denies, Or shrink from ill thy hands impart. Thy child am I ; and not an hour, Revolving in the orbs above, But brings some token of thy power, But brings some token of thy love ; And shall this bosom dare repine, In darkness dare deny the dawn, Or spurn the treasures of the mine, Because one diamond is withdrawn] The fool denies — the fool alone — Thy being, Lord, and boundless might; Denies the firmament, thy throne, Denies the sun's meridian light; Denies the fashion of his frame, The voice he hears, the breath he draws : O idiot atheist ! to proclaim Effects unnumbered without cause ! Matter and mind, mysterious one, Are man's for threescore years and ten ; Where, ere the thread of life was spun? Where, when reduced to dust again ] All-seeing God, the doubt suppress ; The doubt thou only canst relieve; My soul thy Saviour-Son shall blt-ss, Fly to thy gospel, and believe. J. Q. ADAMS. 15 Qforlt) Cost, (Sarin SaneiX Within her downy cradle, there lay a little child, And a group of hovering angels unseen upon her smiled ; When a strife arose among them, a loving, holy strife, Which should shed the richest blessing over the new-born life. One breathed upon her features, and the babe in beauty grew, With a cheek like morning's blushes, and an eye of azure hue; Till every one who saw her, were thankful for the sight Of a face so sweet and radiant with ever fresh delight. Another gave her accents, and a voice as musical As a spring-bird's joyous carol, or a rippling streamlet's fall ; Till all who heard her laughing, or her words of childish grace, Loved as much to listen to her, as to look upon her face. Another brought from heaven a clear and gentle mind, And within the lovely casket the precious gem enshrined ; Till all who knew her wondered that God could be so good, As to bless with such a spirit a world so cold and rude. Thus did she grow in beauty, in melody, and truth, The budding of her childhood just opening into youth ; And to our hearts yet dearer every moment than before, She became, though we thought fondly, heart could not love her more. Then out spake another angel, nobler, brighter than the rest, As with strong arm, but tender, he caught her to his breast: "Ye have made her all too lovely for a child of mortal race, But no shade of human sorrow shall darken o'er her face. (16 ) EARLY LOST, EARLY S.WI.U. 17 ,k Ye have tuned to gladness only the accents of DOT tongne, And no wail of human anguish shall from her lips be wrung: Nor shall the soul that shineth so purely from within Her form of earth-born frailty, ever know a sense of sin. " Lulled in my faithful bosom, I will bear her far away, When there is no sin, nor anguish, nor sorrow, nor decay ; And mine a boon more glorious than all your gifts shall be — Lo ! I crown her happy spirit with immortality !" Then on his heart our darling yielded up her gentle breath, For the stronger, brighter angel, who loved her best, was Death ! BETHUNE. Unprofitable Servants. Vain we number every duty, Number all our prayers and tears, Still the spirit lacketh beauty, Still it droops with many fears. Soul of Love, O boundless Giver, Who didst all thyself impart, And thy blood, a flowing river, Told how large the loving heart ; Now we see how poor the offering We have on thine altar cast, And we bless thee for the suffering Which hath taught us love at last. We may feel an inward gladness For the truth and goodness won, But far deeper is the sadness For the good we leave undone. ELIZABBTH OAKE3 SMITH. 3I)c Doice of Rama. Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted." Heard ye, from Rama's ruined walls, That voice of bitter weeping 1 — Is it the moan of fetter'd slave, His watch of sorrow keeping 1 Heard ye, from Rama's wasted plains, That cry of lamentation ] — Is it the wail of Israel's sons, For Salem's devastation] Ah, no — a sorer ill than chains That bitter wail is waking, And deeper woe than Salem's fall That tortured heart is breaking : 'Tis Rachel, of her sons bereft, Who lifts that voice of weeping; And childless are the eyes that there Their watch of grief are keeping. ! who shall tell what fearful pangs That mother's heart are rending, As o'er her infant's little grave Her wasted form is bending ! From many an eye that weeps to-day Delight may beam to-morrow ; But she — her precious babe is not ! And what remains but sorrow ? (18) THE VOICE OF KAMA. 19 Bereaved one ! I may not chide Thy tears and bitter sobbing — Weep on! 'twill cool that burning brow, Au.l still that bosom's throbbing: But be not thine such grief as theirs To whom no hope is given — Snatched from the world, its sins and snares, Thy infant rests in heaven. BISHOP BOANE. ©!), iUccp not for tlje Peitb. Jeremiah, xxii. 10. Oh, weep not for the dead ! Rather, oh rather give the tear To those that darkly linger here, When all besides are fled; Weep for the spirit withering In its cold cheerless sorrowing, Weep for the young and lovely one That ruin darkly revels on ; But never be a tear-drop shed For them, the pure enfranchised dead. Oh, weep not for the dead. No more for them the blighting chill, The thousand shades of earthly ill, The thousand thorns we tread ; Weep for the life-charm early flown, The spirit broken, bleeding, lone; \\ i ep for the death pangs of the heart, Ere being from the bosom part ; But never be a tear-drop given, To those that rest in yon blue heaven. UAKY. E. BROOKS. - i Be dimly thoughtful in its burning * But should with rapture gaze upon tin Through whose far depths the spirit's v. : , r»1 There gleams eternal o'er their ways are Hung, Who fade from earth while yet their years are young ! VZ. O. CLA.RX. (foemitg Illustc of tljc Angels. Low waiblings, now, and solitary harps, Were heard among- the angels, touched and. tuned As to an evening hymn, preluding soft To cherub voices; louder as they swelled, Deep strings struck in, and hoarser instruments, Mixed with clear, silver sounds, till concord rose, Full as the harmony of winds to heaven; Yet sweet as nature's springtide melodies To some worn pilgrim, first with glistening eyes Greeting his native valley, whence the sounds Of rural gladness, herds, and bleating flocks, The chirp of birds, blithe voices, lowing kine, The dash of waters, reeds, or rustic pipe, Blent with the dulcet, distance-mellowed bell, — Come, like the echo of his early joys. In every pause, from spirits in mid air, Responsive still were golden viols heard, And heavenly symphonies stole faintly down. JAMES A. HXUiBOOSA. 3s (Hl)inct our 33ngl)botir ? And Jesus said, Which was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?— And he said, He that showed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go and do thou likewise.— St. Luke. Can China be our neighbour, And yet receive no care 1 Shall Christians cease their labour, And leave her to despair ! Her children, sunk in sorrow, Are sick with many ills : To-day is sad — to-morrow A deeper shadow fills. And bow'd in tribulation, No light athwart the gloom, That old and haughty nation Seems hastening to her doom ; The cup of woe is tasted, — And must she, 'neath war's frown, Like Babylon be wasted — Like Egypt trodden down 1 Oh ! when those nations perish'd, No Saviour's name was known, No brother's love was cherish'd — No Christian kindness shown; Now, where 's the heart so frozen But feels the Gospel ray 1 And we, as Freedom's chosen, Should lead in Mercy's way. (32) is CHINA OUB REIGHBOU1 ? 33 As gentle dews, distilling, Cause wither'd plants to live, So Love, her work fulfilling, Her alms and prayers must give ; Till China's millions, breaking From sin's dark bonds, arise, Like death to life awaking, When Christ descends the skies! As early flowers, upspringing, Proclaim the opening year, So love and hope are bringing The day of promise near; — Each tear by pity given, Each mite in faith bestow'd, Makes earth more like to heaven, Where all is done for God. MR3. HALE. Pccttl) of an Infant Death found strange beauty on that polished brow, And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose On cheek and lip. He touched the veins with ice, And the rose faded. Forth from those blue eyes There spake a wishful tenderness, a doubt Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence Alone may wear. With ruthless haste he bound The silken fringes of those curtaining lids Forever. There had been a murmuring sound With which the babe would claim its mother's ear, Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set The seal of silence. But there beamed a smile, So fixed, so holy, from that cherub brow, Death gazed, and left it there. He dared not steal The signet-ring of heaven. MRS. SIOOURNEY. 3 Sabbat!) gfotmng. How calmly sinks the parting sun ! Yet twilight lingers still ; And beautiful as dream of Heaven It slumbers on the hill ; Earth sleeps, with all her glorious things, Beneath the Holy Spirit's wings, And, rendering back the hues above, Seems resting in a trance of love. Round yonder rocks the forest-trees In shadowy groups recline, Like saints at evening bow'd in prayer Around their holy shrine; And through their leaves the night-winds blow So calm and still, their music low Seems the mysterious voice of prayer, Soft echo'd on the evening air. And yonder western throng of clouds, Retiring from the sky, So calmly move, so softly glow, They seem to fancy's eye Bright creatures of a better sphere, Come down at noon to worship here, And, from their sacrifice of love, Returning to their home above. The blue isles of the golden sea, The night-arch floating by, The flowers that gaze upon the heavens, The bright streams leaping by, (34) SABBATH EVENING, 35 Are living with religion — deep On earth and sea its glories sleep, And mingle with the Starlight rays, Like the soft light of parted days. The spirit of the holy eve Comes through the silent air To feeling's hidden spring, and wakes A gush of music there ! And the far depths of ether beam So passing fair, we almost dream That we can rise, and wander through Their open paths of trackless blue. Each soul is fill'd with glorious dreams, Each pulse is beating wild ; And thought is soaring to the shrine Of glory undefiled ! And holy aspirations start, Like blessed angels, from the heart, And bind — for earth's dark ties are riven — Our spirits to the gates of heaven. O. D. PBENTICB. (El)e Ballab of £ut;en. On Lutzen's mom, ere heaven's red flame the drooping clouds had kiss'd, Or break of day had roll'd away the morning's heaving mist, The word was pass'd along the line, and all our men array'd Stood front and rear, each musketeer, in silence and in shade. No trumpet swell'd its rallying blast, no clarion's pealing breath, No beaten drum proclaim'd " they come," across the field of death ; But shrouded in the wreathing mist, with steadfast tread and slow, With hearts prepared and weapons bared, we march'd upon the foe. " Halt, halt !" the cry rang through the host, "their ranks are all in view, Yon murky sun, that rose so dun, the mantling gray breaks through; Let fools down battle's gory paths rush headlong on to death, We own the Power that rules the hour, the Lord of life and breath !" And full before the Leaguers' host we seek, on bended knee, With lifted face, His sovereign grace, whose word is fate's decree. To Him uprose in chorus deep each squadron's lofty psalm, And swell'd in air our heartfelt prayer on Nature's breathless calm. The king was there, — with burning hope his manly visage glow'd, As oft before, at battle's hour, along our front he rode ; " Now, soldiers, now," and answer'd well each heart the kingly tone, "For holy faith, for life or death, — Lord Jesus, aid thine own!" (36) THE BALLAD OF LI I /IN. 37 Impetuous roll'd the pealing drum, wild rang the trumpet swell, All round the sky our battle-cry in thundering echoes fell, " God and the cause," — " on, comrades, on! we own no papal sway, — What servile band shall dare to stand before our charge to-day !" And many a plumed head rose high, and banners bright unroll'd, And pennons stream and sabres gleam beneath the sun like gold ; Across the sounding plain our horse with stamping hoofs they go, — See where they broke through flame and srnoke like lightning on the foe ! We care not for their trenches, leap light their bulwarks o'er, Each bayonet is gleaming wet, red with imperial gore, — Sheer through their columns crashing goes our cannons' hurtling levin, Like chaff they fly, when bursts on high the whirlwind blast of heaven ! Vain, vain their Flemish infantry, their Croats' thirsty spears, — In vain, in vain led Wallenstein his steel-clad cuirassiers, — We Swedes count life but little worth in the battle's stormy hour, As meets the rock the tempest-shock we met the fiery shower. Nor quail'd our northern bosoms, nor shook our iron rank, When Pappenheim with spur of flame came thundering on our flank; Firm stood our Scottish legions, stout Weimar's columns stood, And gave like men their blows again, and paid them blood for blood. Remember Magdeburg's foul sack and Isolani's sword, Their fierce dragoons and wild Walloons, and Tilly's cruel word; Remember Leipsic's gory field, and our battle's gloomy swell, When their blood like rain dash'd o'er the plai n, paid the crimson reckoning well ! Once more, once more, — the king the first, — he ever leads the way, — On every mane flies loose the rein, — what slave behind would stay ! Heavens ! how we bore them through and through, while wildly o'er the slain With headlong speed the unmaster'd steed swept through the dinted plain ! 38 THE BALLAD OF LUTZEN. And many a stark old warrior, and youths with locks of gold, As they reel before our steel, to the dust alike are roll'd; Rough greeting theirs, I trow, who chance that trampling troop to meet, — Where it dashes, how like ashes they are trod beneath our feet ! Now joy to Luther's churches through the borders of Almain! It is the Lord, whose vengeful sword has cleft the tyrant's chain ! Let Rome upon her sevenfold hills bewail her children's trust, For ever broke her bloody yoke, and her idols bite the dust. But where is he, Gustavus, the Lion of the North ! The best and aye the bravest, from battle's cloud came forth ! Dead, — dead, — beneath the clanging hoof, the bulwark of our faith, — Oh, dear will be the victory, that's bought with such a death ! One true young bosom only there of all his gallant ring, — Oh, human pride ! " Alas," he cried, " this morn I was a king !" So pass'd the noblest heart away that beat beneath the sun, — Thus went the fray on Lutzen's day, and thus the field was won. GEORGE LUNT "Jesus iUc|3t." John xi. 35. Draw near, ye weary, bowed, and broken-hearted, Ye onward travellers to a peaceful bourne ; Ye, from whose path the light hath all departed, Ye, who are left in solitude to mourn; Though o'er your spirits hath the storm-cloud swept, Sacred are sorrow's tears, since "Jesus wept." The bright and spotless Heir of endless glory, Wept o'er the woes of those He came to save ; And angels wondered when they heard the story, That He who conquered death, wept o'er the grave ; For 'twas not when his lonely watch He kept In dark Gethsemane, that "Jesus wept." But with the friends He loved, whose hope had perished, The Saviour stood, while through his bosom rushed A tide of sympathy for those He cherished, And from his eyes the burning tear-drops gushed, And bending o'er the tomb where Lazarus slept, In agony of spirit, "Jesus wept." Lo ! Jesus' power the sleep of death hath broken, And wiped the tear from sorrow's drooping eye ! Look up, ye mourners, hear what he hath spoken, — "He that believes on me shall never die." Through faith and love your spirits shall be kept; Hope brighter grew on earth when "Jesus wept." MRS. ST. LEON LOU: (39) 21 Sctcreb UHelobg. If yon bright stars which gem the night Be each a blissful dwelling sphere, Where kindred spirits reunite, Whom death has torn asunder here; How sweet it were at once to die, And leave this blighted orb afar — Mixed soul with soul, to cleave the sky, And soar away from star to star. But, ! how dark, how drear, how lone Would seem the brightest world of bliss, If, wandering through each radiant one, We fail'd to find the loved of this ! If there no more the tie should twine, Which death's cold hand alone can sever, Ah ! then these stars in mockery shine, More hateful, as they shine forever. It cannot be ! each hope and fear That lights the eye or clouds the brow, Proclaims there is a happier sphere Than this bleak world that holds us now! There is a voice which sorrow hears, When heaviest weighs life's galling chain ; 'Tis heaven that whispers, " Dry thy tears : The pure in heart shall meet again !" "W. LEQGETT. (40) Sl)e drucifeton. BOUND upon the accursed tree, Faint and bleeding - — who is He 1 ? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood, and writhing limb. By the flesh with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the side so deeply pierced, By the baffled, burning thirst, By the drooping, death-dew'd brow, Son of Man ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou ! Bound upon the accursed tree, Dread and awful — who is He] By the sun at noon-day pale, Shivering rocks, and rending veil ; By earth that trembles at his doom, By yonder saints who burst their tomb. By Eden, promised ere he died To the felon at his side, Lord ! our suppliant knees we bow, Son of God ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou ! Bound upon the accursed tree, Sad and dying — who is He? By the last and bitter cry, The ghost given up in agony ; By the lifeless body laid In the chambers of the dead ; 42 THE CRUCIFIXION. By the mourners come to weep Where the bones of Jesus sleep : Crucified ! we know thee now — Son of Man ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou ! Bound upon the accursed tree, Dread and awful — who is He? By the prayer for them that slew — " Lord ! they know not what they do !" By the spoil'd and empty grave, By the souls he died to save, By the conquest he hath won, By the saints before his throne, By the rainbow round his brow, Son of God ! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou! (Hl)ampicms of tlje Srutl). Dull thunders moan around the Temple rock, And deep in hollow caves, far underneath, The lonely watchman feels the sullen shock, His footsteps timing as the low winds breathe; Hark! from the Shrine is asked, What steadfast heart Dares in the storm go forth? Who takes the Almighty's part? And with a bold gleam flush'd, full many a brow Is raised to say, " Behold me, Lord, and send." But ere the words be breathed, some broken vow Remember'd, ties the tongue; and sadly blend With faith's pure incense, clouds of conscience dim, And faltering tones of guilt mar the Confessor's hymn. Illorninq finmn. Soft slumbers now mine eyes forsake, My powers are all renewed; May my freed spirit too awake, With heavenly strength endued. Thou silent murderer, Sloth, no more My mind imprisoned keep; Nor let me waste another hour With thee, thou felon, Sleep. Think, my soul, could dying men One lavished hour retrieve, Though spent in tears, and passed in pain, What treasures would they give! But seas of pearls, and mines of gold, Were offered then in vain ; Their pearl of countless price is sold, And where's the promised gain ? Lord, when thy day of dread account For squandered hours shall come, Oh ! let not this increase th' amount, And swell the former sum. Teach me in health such good to prize, I dying shall esteem ; And every pleasure to despise I then shall worthless deem. For all thy wondrous mercies past My grateful voice I '11 raise, While thus I quit my bed of rest, Creation's Lord to praise. HASSA.H MORZ. (43) ®l)e permit. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When naught hut the torrent is heard on the hill, And naught hut the nightingale's song in the grove : 'T was then, by the cave of the mountain afar, A hermit his song of the night thus began; No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man. "Ah ! why thus abandoned to darkness and wo 1 Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain? For spring shall return and a lover bestow, And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain. Yet if pity inspire thee, ah, cease not thy lay ; Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn ; O soothe him whose pleasures like thine pass away — Full quickly they pass, but they never return. " Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays ; But lately I marked, when majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendour again; But man's faded glory no change shall renew. Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! (44) / THE II1KM1T. 45 "'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you, For morn is approaching your charms to restore, Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn, — Kind nature the embryo blossom will save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn ! O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave ! "'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind ; My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 4 O pity, great Father of Light,' then I cried, 'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.' " And darkness and doubt are now flying away ; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death, smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." JAMES BEATTIE. Cjope. Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all That men have deemed substantial since the fall, Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe From emptiness itself a real use ; And while she takes, as at a father's hand, What health and sober appetite demand, From fading good derives, with chemic art, That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. Hope, with uplifted foot, set free from earth, Pants for the place of her ethereal birth, On steady wings sails through th' immense abyss, Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss, And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. Hope, as an anchor firm and sure, holds fast The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. Hope ! nothing else can nourish and secure His newborn virtues, and preserve him pure. Hope ! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy, Whom now despairing agonies destroy, Speak, for he can, and none so well as he, What treasures centre, what delights, in thee. Had he the gems, the spices, and the land That boasts the treasure, all at his command ; The fragrant grove, th' inestimable mine, Were light, when viewed against one smile of thine. "TO". OOAVPER. (46) (§appmes3. Happiness is of the heart, and it is the mind that give! itl tone and colouring to nature There is a spell in every flower — A sweetness in each spray, And every simple bird lias power To please me with its lay ! And there is music on each breeze That sports along the glade; The crystal dew-drops on the trees Are gems, by Fancy made. There's gladness too in every thing, And beauty over all, For everywhere comes on, with Spring A charm which cannot pall ! And I ! — my heart is full of joy, And gratitude is there, That He, who might my life destroy, Has yet vouchsafed to spare. The friends I once condemn'd, are now Affectionate and true ; I wept a pledged one's broken vow — But he proves faithful too. And now there is a happiness In every thing I see, Which bids my soul rise up and bless The God who blesses me. ANNA PEYRE DINNIE3. (47) Stye JMectt of Stsera. Strike ! strike ! the loud harp to the praise of the Lord, And on cymbals of gladness his glory record ! Exult ! for the sceptre of Jabin is broke, And Israel is freed from the Canaanites' yoke. O'er Tabor's wide plains, on Megiddo's green banks, The Canaanite marshall'd his numberless ranks; Like the fiend of the desert, in whirlwinds of flame Breathing death and destruction to Israel, they came. When the shrieks of the night-tempest, echoing around, Through the hundred dark caves of the mountain resound ; Hast thou seen the blue lightning, flash darting on flash? Hast thou heard the deep thunder, crash bursting on crash 1 As brightly the Canaanites' helmets and shields In the blaze of the morning illumined the fields — As loudly the coursers of Sisera pranced, When his chariots to combat with Israel advanced. But, where are the helmets, and where are the shields, Whose blaze in the morning illumined the fields 1 And where are the steeds that so haughtily pranced, When Sisera's chariots to combat advanced ] (48) THE DEFEAT OF SHEBA. 19 Their splendour is dinim'd in the blood of the slain — Tiny are rolling in Kishon's red tide to the main — For the feast of the vulture in Taarack is spread, And the kings of Canaan are strew'd with the dead. The mother of Sisera looks out on high, Prom the halls of her palace, for evening is nigh : And the wine-cup is brirum'd, and the bright torches burn — And the banquet is piled, for the chieftain's return. She cries to her maidens — " Why comes not my son? Is the combat not o'er, and the battle not won ] The steeds of Canaan are many and strong, Why tarry the wheels of his chariot so long 1 ?" She saith in her heart — yea, her wise maidens say — "He taketh the spoil — he divideth the prey — He seizeth the garment of glittering dyes, And maketh the daughters of beauty his prize !" But Sisera's mother sball view him no more; With the warriors of Hazor be sleeps in his gore — And the bear and tbe lion his coursers consume — And the beak of the eagle is digging his tomb. And the owl and the raven are flapping their wings — And their death-song is heard in the chambers of kings : For the sword of the Lord and of Israel lowers O'er Sisera's palace, and Jabin's proud towers. J. O'CALLAOHAN. 21 Dirge. " Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" Here the evil and the just, Here the youthful and the old, Here the fearful and the bold, Here the matron and the maid, In one silent bed are laid ; Here the vassal and the king - , Side by side lie withering; Here the sword and sceptre rust — "Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" Age on age shall roll along, O'er this pale and mighty throng : Those that wept them, those that weep, All shall with these sleepers sleep. Brothers, sisters of the worm, Summer's sun, or winter's storm, Song of peace or battle's roar, Ne'er shall break their slumbers more ; Death shall keep his sullen trust — " Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" (50) A DIRGE. 51 But a day is coming I Earth, thy mightiest and thy last, It shall come in u ai and wonder, Heralded by tramp and thnnder; It shall come in strife and toil, It shall come in blood and spoil, It shall come in empires' groans, Burning temples, trampled thrones; Then, ambition, rue thy 1 . •• Earth to earth, and dust to dust !*' Then shall come the judgment sign; In the east the King shall shine; Flashing from heaven's golden gate, Thousand thousands round his state, Spirits with the crown and plume; Tremble then, thou sullen tomb ! Heaven shall open on our sight, Earth be turn'd to living light, Kingdoms of the ransom'd just — " Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" Then shall, gorgeous as a gem, Shine thy mount, Jerusalem ; Then shall in the desert rise Fruits of more than paradise; Earth by angel feet be trod, One great garden of her God ; Till are dried the martyrs' tears, Through a glorious thousand years. Now in hope of him we trust — 11 Earth to earth, and dust to dust !" (Encrgg in ^iitoersttrj. Onward ! Hath earth's ceaseless change Trampled on thy heart 1 Faint not, for that restless range Soon will heal the smart. Trust the future ; time will pjove Earth hath stronger, truer love. Bless thy God, the heart is not An abandoned urn, Where, all lonely and forgot, Dust and ashes mourn ; Bless Him, that his mercy brings Joy from out its withered things. Onward, for the truths of God ! Onward, for the right ! Firmly let the field be trod, In life's coming fight; Heaven's own hand will lead thee on, Guard thee till thy task is done ! Then will brighter, sweeter flowers Blossom round thy way, Than e'er sprung in Hope's glad bowers, In thine early day ; And the rolling years shall bring Strength and healing on their wing. rtJELLA J. CASS. (52) ©n tljc Pccitl) of a Uoung 9nxl She hath gone in the spring-time of life, Ere her sky had been dimm'd by a cloud, While her heart with the rapture of love was yet rife, And the hopes of her youth were unbow'd — From the lovely, who loved her too well ; From the heart that had grown to her own ; From the sorrow which late o'er her young spirit fell, Like a dream of the night she hath flown ; And the earth hath received to its bosom its trust — Ashes to ashes, and dust unto dust. The spring, in its loveliness dress'd, Will return with its music-wing'd hours, And, kiss'd by the breath of the sweet south-west, The buds shall burst out in flowers ; And the flowers her grave-sod above, Though the sleeper beneath recks it not, Shall thickly be strown by the hand of Love, To cover with beauty the spot — Meet emblems are they of the pure one and bright, Who faded and fell with so early a blight. Ay. the spring will return — but the blossom That bloom'd in our presence the sweetest, By the spoiler is borne from the cherishing bosom, The loveliest of all and the fleetest! 54 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. The music of stream and of bird, Shall come back when the winter is o'er; But the voice that was dearest to us shall be heard In our desolate chambers no more ! The sunlight of May on the waters shall quiver — The light of her eye hath departed for ever! As the bird to its sheltering nest, When the storm on the hills is abroad, So her spirit hath flown from this world of unrest To repose on the bosom of God ! Where the sorrows of earth never more May fling o'er its brightness a stain; Where, in rapture and love, it shall ever adore, With a gladness unmingled with pain; And its thirst shall be slaked by the waters which spring, Like a river of light, from the throne of the King ! Fhere is weeping on earth for the lost ! There is bowing in grief to the ground ! But rejoicing and praise 'mid the sanctified host, ,1 For a spirit in paradise found ! Though brightness hath pass'd from the earth, Yet a star is newborn in the sky, And a soul hath gone home to the land of its birth, Where are pleasures and fulness of joy! And a new harp is strung, and a new song is given To the breezes that float o'er the gardens of heaven ! WILLIAM H. BURI.EIGH. JJrancr for tljc Spirit. O for the happy hour When God will hear our cry, And send, with a reviving power, His Spirit from on high ! We meet, we sing, we pray, We listen to the word, In vain — we see no cheering ray, No cheering voice is heard. Our prayers are faint and dull, And languid all our songs, Where once with joy our hearts were full, And rapture tuned our tongues. While many crowd thy house, How few around thy board Meet to record their solemn vows. And bless thee as their Lord. Thou, Thou alone canst give Thy Gospel sure success, And bid the dying sinner live Anew in holiness. Come, with thy power divine, Spirit of life and love ; Then shall our people all be thine, Our church like that above. BETHUNE. (55) Stye £)our of Prater. CHILD, amidst the flowers at play, While the red light fades away; Mother, with thine earnest eye Ever following- silently; Father, by the breeze of eve Call'd thy harvest-work to leave; Pray ! — ere yet the dark hours be, Lift the heart and bend the knee ! Traveller, in the stranger's land Far from thine own household band; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone ; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell ; Sailor, on the darkening sea — Lift the heart and bend the knee ! Warrior, that from battle won Breathest now at set of sun ! Woman, o'er the lowly slain Weeping on his burial plain: Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, Kindred by one holy tie, Heaven's first star alike ye see — Lift the heart and bend the knee! MRS. HE HANS. (56) dotDpcr's (Prase. 1 will invite thee, from thy envious herse To rise, and 'bout the world thy beams to spread That we may see there 's brightnesse in the dead. Habington. It is a place where poets crown'd may feel the heart 's decaying — It is a place where happy saints may weep amid their praying — Yet let the grief and humbleness as low as silence languish ; Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish. poets! from a maniac's tongue was pour'd the deathless singing! O Christians ! at your cross of hope a hopeless hand was clinging! men ! this man in brotherhood, your weary paths beguiling, Groan'd inly while he taught you peace, and died while ye were smiling' And now, what time ye all may read through dimming tears his story — How discord on the music fell, and darkness on the glory — And how, when, one by one, sweet sounds and wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face, because so broken-hearted. He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation, And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration: Nor ever shall he be in praise by wise or good forsaken ; Named softly, as the household name of one whom God hath taken ! With sadness that is calm, not gloom, I learn to think upon hirn ; With meekness that is gratefulness, on God, whose heaven hath won hiro- Who suffer'd once the madness-cloud towards 1 1 is love to blind him; But gently led the blind along, where breath and bird could find him ; 58 And wrought within his shatter'd brain such quick poetic senses, As hills have language for, and stars harmonious influences ! The pulse of dew upon the grass his own did calmly number; And silent shadow from the trees fell o'er him like a slumber. The very world, by God's constraint, from falsehood's chill removing, Its women and its men became beside him true and loving! — And timid hares were drawn from woods to share his house-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes, with sylvan tendernesses. But while in blindness he remain'd, unconscious of the guiding, And things provided came without the sweet sense of providing, He testified this solemn truth, though phrensy desolated, — Nor man, nor nature satisfy whom only God created! Like a sick child, that knoweth not his mother while she blesses, And droppeth on his burning brow the coolness of her kisses ; That turns his fever'd eyes around — " My mother ! where 's my mother ?"- As if such tender words and looks could come from any other! The fever gone, with leaps of heart he sees her bending o'er him ; Her face all pale from watchful love, the unweary love she bore him — Thus, woke the poet from the dream his life's long fever gave him, Beneath those deep pathetic eyes which closed in death to save him ! Thus! oh, not thus! no type of earth could image that awaking, Wherein he scarcely heard the chant of seraphs round him breaking — Or felt the new immortal throb of soul from body parted ; But felt those eyes alone, and knew " my Saviour not deserted !" Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when the cross in darkness rested, Upon the victim's hidden face no love was manifested 1 What frantic hands outstretch'd have e'er the atoning drops averted — What tears have wash'd them from the soul — that one should be deserted ? ( -iiw fee's seats. ted! God could separate firom His o* n ess ence rat:. And Adam's sins nose swept between the righteous Son end Father— Yes : once, Immanuel's orphan'd cry his universe hath shaken- It went up single, echoless. •• My Cod, I am forsaken!" It went up from the Holy's lips amid his lost creation, That of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation; That earth's worst phrensies, marring hope, should mar not hope's fruition : And I, on Cowper's grave, should see his rapture, in a vision! _3ETH B. BARRETT. ibrgiacncss. O God ! my sins are manifold, against my life they cry. And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to Thy temple fly ; Wilt thou release my tTembling soul, that to despair is driven? " Foro-ive!" a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven!" My foemen, Lord ! are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride, They render evil for my good, my patience they deride; Arise. King; and be the proud to righteous ruin driven! " Forgive !" an awful answer came, " as thou wouldst be forgiven !" - ren times, O Lord! I pardon'd them, seven times they sinn'd again: They practise still to work me wo, they triumph in my pain; But let them dread my vengeance now, to just resentment driven ! •• Forgive !" the voice of thunder spake, " or never be forgiven !" BISHOP EEBER 71 fijgmn on tlje Seasons. These as they change, Almighty Father, these Are but the varied God. The rolling ) T ear Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields : the softening air is balm, And every sense and every heart is joy. Then comes thy glory in the Summer months, With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks, And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, By brooks and groves, and hollow whispering gales. Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, And spreads a common feast for all that live. In Winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled, Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing Riding sublime, thou bidd'st the world adore, And humblest nature with thy northern blast. Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, Deep-felt, in these appear ! a simple train, Yet so delightful, mixed with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combined ! Shade unperceived so soft'ning into shade, And all so forming an harmonious whole, That as they still succeed they ravish still. (CO) A HYMN ON THE SEASONS. 61 But wandering oft with brute unconscioni • Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand That ever busy wheels the silent Bphett I ; Works in the secret deep; shoots teeming thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth ; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life. Nature, attend ! join every living soul Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join : and ardent raise One general song! To Him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes. Oh ! talk of Him in solitary glooms, Where o'er the rock the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake th' astonished world, lift high to heaven Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills, And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave to Him ! Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 62 A HYMN ON THE SEASONS. Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day ! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round, On nature write with every beam his praise. The thunder rolls ! be hushed the prostrate world, While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks, Retain the sound : the broad responsive low, Ye valleys, raise : for the Great Shepherd reigns ; And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. Ye woodlands, all awake ! a boundless song Bursts from the groves ! and when the restless day, Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm The listening shades, and teach the night his praise. Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities vast Assembled men to the deep organ join The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear At solemn pauses through the swelling base; And, as each mingling flame increases, each In one united ardour rise to heaven. Or if you rather choose the rural shade, And find a fane in every sacred grove, There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. For me — when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, Or Winter rises in the blackening east, Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, A HYMN o.\ THE BEA80N& Rivers unknown to song, where first the ion (iilds Indian mountains, 01 hie Betting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles; — 'tis naught to me, Since God is ever present, ever felt In the wild waste, as in the city full : And where He vital breathes there must be joy. When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go Where Universal Love not smiles around, Sustaining all yon orbs and all their suns — From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in Him, in Light Ineffable. Come, then, expressive Silence, muse his praise. JAMES THOMSON. * Daniel in tl)e Den of Cions. Dan. vi. 18, 22, 24. Night spreads her sable shroud O'er Babylon the proud, As o'er a silent city of the dead ; Nor voice nor sound is heard, Save the lone midnight bird, And the far warder's deep and measured tread. There streams no joyous light From that pavilion bright, Where princes round the Lord of Asia throng; — Hush'd is the silver lute, The golden harp is mute — Mute is the voice of music and of song. Pale solitude is there, Remorse, and gnawing care; Grief wrings the monarch's heart, and dims his eye; His word hath seal'd the doom, His signet guards the tomb ; — The guiltless prophet has gone forth to die. He now laments, as one Reft of an only son, Self-tortured, self-convicted, self-abhorr'd ; But vain is pity now, And vain the threatening brow; No power can change the irrevocable word! (64) DANIEL in mi. pin OF LIONS (»."> "Oh, fatal, rash decree! Would I had died lor thee, My friend ! my brother! till thy doom was near, I knew riot how my heart Gave thee its better part; How dear thou wert, and oh, how justly dear! 14 1 loathe this empty state, This pageant power I hate; What is a king who slays but cannot save ] The doom of instant death Hangs on my slightest breath ; Thy will to pardon finds me but a slave. " Who shall control the rage, Who the fell thirst assuage, Of prison'd lions, ravening fierce for blood ; They scent their prey from far, As steeds the distant war; And howl glad welcome to their wonted food. " Oh, never more shall sleep These aching eyeballs steep In tranquil slumbers ; never Peace divine Revisit this sad breast; — My victim is at rest, Hut T, the murderer, when shall rest be mine? "Yet He who quench'd the flame, Is He not still the same ] Thy God, not mine — but henceforth mine, if now, When help of man is vain, The foe He yet restrain : Nor God, nor man can save, O Lord, but Thou!" 5 66 DANIEL IN THE DEN OF LIONS. Uprose the conscious king: He bade no courtier bring His robe of state — no slaves his steps attend ; Alone he sought — alone To breathe his secret moan O'er the death-chamber of his martyr'd friend. Oh, bitter was the cry With which the king drew nigh — " Hear me, O prophet, in Jehovah's name ! Can His almighty power Avail in this dark hour, To quell the lion as it quench'd the flame ? "What means that hollow sound, Low answering from the ground ] — Is it the sated lions' stifled roar] — Rejoice, O king, rejoice, It is a human voice; The voice which thou hadst thought to hear no more " king, be peace divine, And life eternal, thine. My God hath sent His angel, for He knew His servant's inmost heart Abhorr'd the traitor's part — To thee, O king, as to Himself, most true!" From Babylon the proud Xight roll'd her sable shroud ; — But o'er the shouts that shook those towers of pride, When morning tinged the sky, Was heard one loud, wild cry — It was the death-shriek when the guilty died ! THOMAS DALE. &vz mc Jlrmour of JJroof. Give me armour of proof, I must ride to the plain; Give me armour of proof, ere the trump sound again : To the halls of my childhood no more am I known, And the nettle must rise where the myrtle hath blown ! Till the conflict is over, the battle is past — Give me armour of proof — I am true to the last! Give me armour of proof — bring me helmet and spear; A. way ! shall the warrior's cheek own a tear! Bring the steel of Milan — 'tis the firmest and best, And bind on my bosom its closely-linked vest, Where the head of a loved one in fondness hath lain, Whose tears fell at parting - like warm summer rain ! Give me armour of proof — I have torn from my heart Each soft tie and true that forbade me to part ; Bring the sword of Damascus, its blade cold and bright, That bends not in conflict, but gleams in the fight; And stay — let me fasten yon scarf on my breast, Love's light pledge and true — I will answer the rest! Give me armour of proof — shall the cry be in vain, When to life's sternest conflicts we rush forth amain ? The knight clad in armour the battle may bide; But woe to the heedless when bendeth the tried ; \nd woe to youth's morn, when we rode forth alone, To the conflict unguarded, — its gladness hath flown ! Give us armour of proof — our hopes were all hi But they passed like the meteor lights from the sky ; 68 GIVE ME ARMOUR OF PROOF. Our heart's trust was firm, but life's waves swept away, One by one, the frail ties which were shelter and stay ; And true was our love, but its bonds broke in twain : Give me armour of proof, ere we ride forth again. Give me armour of proof— we would turn from the view Of a world that is fading to one that is true ; We would lift up each thought from this earth-shaded light, To the regions above, where there stealeth no blight ; And with Faith's chosen shield by no dark tempests riven, We would gaze from earth's storms on the brightness of heaven ! LUCY HOOFER. Stags of mt) Uoutl). Days of my youth ! ye have glided away ; Hairs of my youth ! ye are frosted and gray ; Eyes of my youth ! your keen sight is no more ; Cheeks of my youth ! ye are furrowed all o'er; Strength of my youth ! all thy vigour is gone ; Thoughts of my youth ! your gay visions are flown. Days of my youth ! I wish not your recall ; Hairs of my youth ! I'm content ye shall fall ; Eyes of my youth ! you much evil have seen ; Cheeks of my youth ! bathed in tears you have been ; Thoughts of my youth ! ye have led me astray-; Strength of my youth ! why lament thy decay 1 Days of my age ! ye will shortly be past; Pains of my age ! yet awhile ye can last ; Joys of my age ! in true wisdom delight; Eyes of my age ! be religion your light; Thoughts of my age ! dread ye not the cold sod ; Hopes of my age! be ye fixed on your God. ST. GEORGE TUCKER. fjnmn of praise. Sing to the Lord ! let harp, and lute, and voice, Up to the expanding gates of heaven rejoice, While the bright martyrs to their rest are borne ; Sing to the Lord ! their blood-stain'd course is run, \nd rvery head its diadem hath won, Rich as the purple of the coming morn: Sing the triumphant champions of their God, While burn their mounting feet along their skyward road. Sing to the Lord ! for her in beauty's prime Snatch'd from the wintry earth's ungenial clime, In the eternal spring of Paradise to bloom ; For her the world display'd its brightest treasure, And the air panted with the songs of pleasure ; Before earth's throne she chose the lowly tomb, The vale of tears with willing footsteps trod, Bearing her cross with Thee, incarnate Son of God ! Sing to the Lord ! it is not shed in vain, The blood of martyrs ! from its freshening rain High springs the church, like some fount-shadowing palm The nations crowd beneath its branching shade, Of its green leaves are kingly diadems made, And wrapt within its deep embosoming calm Earth sinks to slumber like the breezeless deep, And war's tempestuous vultures fold their wings and sleep. 69 70 HYMN OF PRAISE. Sing to the Lord 1 No more the angels fly Far in the bosom of the stainless sky The sound of fierce licentious sacrifice. From shrined alcove, and stately pedestal, The marble gods in cumbrous ruin fall, Headless in dust the awe of nations lies ; Jove's thunder crumbles in his mouldering hand, And mute as sepulchres the hymnless temples stand. Sing to the Lord ! from damp prophetic cave No more the loose-hair'd sybils burst and rave, Nor the pale augurs watch the wandering bird : No more on hill or in the murky wood, Mid frantic shout and dissonant music rude, In human tones are wailing victims heard ; Nor fathers by the reeking altar-stone Cowl their dark heads t' escape their children's dying groan. Sing to the Lord ! No more the dead are laid In cold despair beneath the cypress shade, To sleep the eternal sleep that knows no morn : There, eager still to burst death's brazen bands, The angel of the resurrection stands; "While, on its own immortal pinions borne, Following the breaker of the imprisoning tomb, Forth springs the exulting soul, and shakes away its gloom. Sing to the Lord ! The desert rocks break out, And the throng'd cities, in one gladdening shout, The farthest shores by pilgrim step explored ; HYMN OF PRAISE. Spread all your wings, ye winds, and waft around, Even to the starry cope's pale waning bound, Earth's universal homage to the Lord ; Lift up thy head, imperial Capitol, Proud on thy height to see the hanner'd cross unroll. Sing to the Lord ! when time itself shall cease, And final ruin's desolating peace Enwrap this wide and restless world of man; When the Judge rides upon the enthroning wind, And o'er all generations of mankind Eternal justice waves its winnowing fan; To vast infinity's remotest space, While ages run their everlasting race, Shall all the beatific hosts prolong, Wide as the glory of the Lamb, the Lamb's triumphant song. % Hid) fHcm Surprtscb bn DcatI). In that dread moment, how the frantic soul Raves round the walls of her clay tenement, Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help, But shrieks in vain ! How wistfully she looks On all she's leaving, now no longer hers ! A little longer, yet a little longer, Oh! might she stay to wash away her stains, And fit her for her passage. Mournful sight; Her very eyes weep blood ; and every groan She heaves is big with horror. But the foe, Like a stanch murderer, steady to his purpose, Pursues her close through every lane of life, Nor misses once the track, but presses on ; Till, forced at last to the tremendous verge, At once she sinks to everlasting ruin ! • ROB2HT BLAIR. ®l)e t)aubot0 ^avcest %mn. ETERNAL Father! God of peace! Being whose bounties never cease ! While to the Heavens, in grateful tones, Ascend our mingled orisons, Listen to these, the notes of praise, Which we, a happy people, raise. Oar hamlets, shelter'd by Thy care, Abodes of peace and plenty are; Our tillage by Thy blessing yields An hundred fold — the ripen'd fields Of waving grain — the burden'd vine — Are tokens of Thy Love Divine. The cradled head of infancy Oweth its tranquil rest to Thee — Youth's doubting step, and firmer tread, In years mature, by Thee are led — Secure may trembling age, O Lord! Lean on its staff, Thy Holy Word. Teach us these blessings to improve, Teach us to serve Thee, teach to love — Exalt our hearts that we may see The Giver of all Good in Thee ; And be Thy Word our daily food, Thy service, God, our greatest good. Whether in youth, like early fruit, Or in the sere and solemn suit Of our autumnal age, like wheat, Ripen'd, and for the reaper fit, Thou cut us off, O God, may we, Gather'd into Thy garner be! H. HASTINGS WELD ( 7-2 ) ftlortalitg. Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud! Like a fast flitting- meteor, a fast flying cloud, A flash of the lightning - , a break of the wave — He passes from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willows shall fade, Be scatter'd around, and together be laid; And the young and the old, and the low and the high, Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie. The child whom a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant's affection who proved, The husband that mother and infant who blest, Each — all are away to their dwelling of rest. The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by ; » And the memory of those who loved her and praised, Are alike from the minds of the living erased. The hand of the king who the sceptre hath borne, The brow of the priest who the mitre hath worn, The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 74 MORTALITY. The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep, The beggar who wander'd in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread. The saint who enjoy 'd the communion of heaven, The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes — like the flower and the weed That wither away to let others succeed ; So the multitude comes — even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told. For we are the same things that our fathers have been, We see the same sights that our fathers have seen; We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun, And we run the same course that our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think, From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink, To the life we are clinging to, they too would cling, But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing. They loved — but their story we cannot unfold, They scorn' d — but the heart of the haughty is cold, They grieved — but no wail from their slumbers may come, They joy'd — but the voice of their gladness is dumb. They died — ay, they died ! and we things that are now, Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road. V MORTALITY. \ i ■, hope and despondence, and pleasure and pain, Arc mingled together in sunshine and rain; And the smile, and tin tear, and the song, and the dirge, Still follow each other like Surge upon surge. 'Tis the tu ink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud — Oh why should the spirit of mortal be proud! d3ncf was sent tl)cc for tl)t) gooLJ. Some there are who seem exempted From the doom incurr'd by all; Are they not more sorely tempted *? Are they not the first to fall "? As a mother's firm denial Checks her infant's wayward mood, Wisdom lurks in ev'ry trial — Grief was sent thee for thy good. In the scenes of former pleasure, Present anguish hast thou felt] O'er thy fond heart's dearest treasure As a mourner hast thou knelt? In the hour of deep affliction, Let no impious thought intrude, Meekly bow with this conviction, Grief was sent thee for thy good. THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. &[)e 0eatl) of flloses. Led by his God, on Pisgah's height The pilgrim-prophet stood ; When first fair Canaan blessed his sight, And Jordan's crystal flood. Behind him lay the desert ground His weary feet had trod ; While Israel's host eneamp'd around, Still guarded by their God. With joy the aged Moses smiled On all his wanderings past, While thus he pour'd his accents mild Upon the mountain blast: — k ' I see them all before me now, — The city and the plain, From where bright Jordan's waters flow, To yonder boundless main. " Oh ! there the lovely promised land With milk and honey flows ; Now, now my weary, murmuring band Shall find their sweet repose. " There groves of palm and myrtle spread O'er valleys fair and wide ; The lofty cedar rears its head On every mountain side. (76) THF. DEATH 01 MOS1 S. "For them the rose of Sharon flii Her fragrance on the gale; And there the golden lily sprh s The lily of the vale. "Amid the olive's fruitful boughs Is heard a song of love, For there doth build and breathe her vows The gentle turtle-dove. " For them shall bloom the clustering vine, The fig-tree shed her flowers, The citron's golden treasures shine From out her greenest bowers. " For them, for them, but not for me, — Their fruits I may not eat; Not Jordan's stream, nor yon bright sea, Shall lave my pilgrim feet. " 'Tis well, 'tis well ; my task is done, Since Israel's sons are blest; Father, receive thy dying one To thy eternal rest!" Alone he bade the world farewell, To God his spirit fled. Now to your tents, O Israel, And mourn your prophet dead ! JESSIE O. M'CAHTEB. Stye £anb roljid) no fflortal mat) know. Though Earth has full many a beautiful spot, As a poet or painter might show, Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and bright, To the hopes of the heart, and the spirit's glad sight, Is the land that no mortal may know. There the crystalline stream bursting forth from the throne, Flows on, and for ever will flow ; Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife, And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life, In the land which no mortal may know. And there, on its margin, with leaves ever green, With its fruits healing sickness and wo, The fair Tree of Life, in its glory and pride, Is fed by that deep, inexhaustible tide, Of the land which no mortal may know. There, too, are the lost ! whom we loved on this earth, With whose mem'ries our bosoms yet glow ; Their relics we gave to the place of the dead, But their glorified spirits before us have fled, To the land which no mortal may know. There the pale orb of night, and the fountain of day, Nor beauty nor splendour bestow; But the presence of Him, the unchanging I AM ! And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb ! Light the land which no mortal may know. (78) THE LAND which no MORTAL .may KNOW. Oh ! who but must pine, in this dark vale of tears, Prom its clouds and its shadows to gol To walk in the light of the glory above, And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love, Of the land which no mortal may know. BERNARD BARTON. £ifc. We are born ; we laugh; we weep; We love; we droop; we die! Ah ! wherefore do we laugh, or weep ] Why do we live, or die? Who knows that secret deep 1 Alas, not I ! Why doth the violet spring Unseen by human eye 1 Why do the radiant seasons bring Sweet thoughts that quickly fly 1 Why do our fond hearts cling To things that die] We toil — through pain and wrong ; We fight — and fly ; We love ; we lose ; and then, ere long, Stone-dead we lie. O life ! is all thy song M Endure and — die]" BARRY CORNWALL. §ttman ©ft. How long- shall man's imprison'd spirit groan 'Twixt doubt of heaven and deep disgust of earth] Where all worth knowing never can be known, And all that can be known, alas ! is nothing worth. « r Untaught by saint, by cynic, or by sage, And all the spoils of time that load their shelves, We do not quit, but change our joys in age — Joys framed to stifle thought, and lead us from ourselves. The drug, the cord, the steel, the flood, the flame, Turmoil of action, tedium of rest, And lust of change, though for the worst, proclaim How dull life's banquet is : how ill at ease the guest. Known were the bill of fare before we taste, Who would not spurn the banquet and the board — Prefer the eternal, but oblivious fast, To life's frail-fretted thread, and death's suspended sword 1 He that the topmost stone of Babel plann'd, And he that braved the crater's boiling bed — Did these a clearer, closer view command Of heaven or hell, we ask, than the blind herd they led 1 (80) HUMAN Mil.. SI Or h* that in Valdamo did prolong The night her rich Btar-studded page to read — ( 'mild he point out, midst all that brilliant throng, His fix'd and final homo, from fleshy thraldom freed ! Minds that havo scannM creation's vast, domain, And secrets solved, till then to sages seal'd, Whilst nature own'd their intellectual reign Kxtinet, have nothing known or nothing have reveal'd. Devouring grave ! we might the less deplore The extinguish'd lights that in thy darkness dwell, Wouldst thou, from that last zodiac, one restore, That might the enigma solve, and doubt, man's tyrant, quell. To live in darkness — in despair to die — Is this indeed the boon to mortals given? Is there no port — no rock of refuge nigh ] There is — to those who fix their anchor-hope in heaven. Turn then, O man ! and cast all else aside : Direct thy wandering thoughts to things above — Low at the cross bow down — in that confide, Till doubt be lost in faith, and bliss secured in love. C. C. COLTON Smiting tl)e lioick. Behold, I will stand before thee there upon the rock in Horeb ; and thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink. And Moses did so in the sight of the elders of Israel. And he called the name of the place Massah, and Meribah, because of the chiding of the chil- dren of Israel, and because they tempted the Lord, saying, " Is the Lord among us or not ?" — Ex- odus xvii. 6, 7. When wandering in the wilderness, The people cried in their distress; And ever was the murmuring cry, " Give us drink, or else we die!" And eager was the cry, and loud ; A rebel, not a suppliant crowd ; Till Moses smote the rock, and burst The full stream forth unto their thirst. Thus countless are the sufferers still, Sad wanderers of an evil will ; And still ascends the feverish cry, " Give us to drink, or else we die." Has then the living rock been rent In vain — in vain its waters spent; The waters of eternal power, Which flowed, and flow unto this hour? For thousands, standing on its brink, Behold the stream, who never drink; Here drinking once, for ever more Their souls with blessings had run o'er. RICHARD EOwm. (82) dljrist hi tl)c (Ecinpcst St. Matthew viii. 21—2" Midnight was on the mighty deep, And darkness filled the boundless sky, While 'mid the raging wind was heard The sea-bird's mournful cry ; For tempest-clouds were mustering wrath Across the seaman's trackless path. It came at length — one fearful gust Rent from the mast the shivering sail, And drove the helpless bark along, The plaything of the gale, While fearfully the lightning's glare, Fell on the pale brows gathered there. But there was one o'er whose bright face Unmarked the livid lightnings flashed ; And on whose stirless, prostrate form Unfelt the sea-spray dashed ; For 'mid the tempest fierce and wild, He slumbered like a wearied child. Oh ! who could look upon that face, And feel the sting of coward fear! Though hell's fierce demons raged around, Yet heaven itself was here ; For who that glorious brow could see, Nor own a present Deity 1 (83) 84 CHRIST IN THE TEMPEST. With hurried fear they press around The lowly Saviour's humble bed, As if his very touch had power To shield their souls from dread ; While, cradled on the raging deep, He lay in calm and tranquil sleep. Vainly they struggled with their fears, But wilder still the tempest woke, Till from their full and o'erfraught hearts The voice of terror broke : " Behold ! we sink beneath the wave ; We perish, Lord ! but thou canst save." Slowly he rose ; and mild rebuke Shone in his soft and heaven-lit eye : " Oh ye of little faith," he cried, " Is not your master nigh 1 Is not your hope of succour just] Why know ye not in whom ye trust 1 ?" He turned away, and conscious power Dilated his majestic form, As o'er the boiling sea he bent, The ruler of the storm ; Earth to its centre felt the thrill, As low he murmured : " Peace ! be still !" Hark to the burst of meeting waves, The roaring of the angry sea ! A moment more, and all is hushed In deep tranquillity ; While not a breeze is near to break The mirrored surface of the lake. Then on the stricken hearts of all Fell anxious doubt and holy awe, As timidly they gazed on him Whose will was nature's law : "What man is this," they cry, " whose word E'en by the raging sea is heard 1" EMMA. C EMBURY. ©be to tlje Samorxv. For thou wert born of woman! thou didst come Holiest ! to this world of sin and gloom, Not in thy dread omnipotent array; And not by thunder strew'd Was thy tempestuous road ; Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way. But thee, a soft and naked child, Thy mother undefiled, In the rude manger laid to rest From off her virgin breast. The heavens were not commanded to prepare A gorgeous canopy of golden air ; Xor stoop'd their lamps the enthroned fires on high A single silent star Came wandering from afar, Gliding uncheck'd and calm along the liquid sky; The Eastern sages leading on, As at a kingly throne, To lay their gold and odours sweet Before thy infant feet. (85) 86 ODE TO THE SAVIOUR. The Earth and Ocean were not hush'd to hear Bright harmony from every starry sphere ; Nor at thy presence brake the voice of song From all the cherub choirs, And seraphs' burning lyres, Pour'd through the host of heaven the charmed clouds along. One angel-troop the strain began ; Of all the race of man By simple shepherds heard alone, That soft Hosanna's tone. And when thou didst depart, no car of flame To bear thee hence in lambent radiance came; Nor visible angels mourn'd with drooping plumes : Nor didst thou mount on high From fatal Calvary, With all thy own redeemed out-bursting from their tombs. For thou didst bear away from earth But one of human birth, The dying felon by thy side, to be In Paradise with thee. Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance brake; A little while the conscious earth did shake At that foul deed by her fierce children done ; A few dim hours of day The world in darkness lay ; Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun, While thou didst sleep within the tomb, Consenting to thy doom; Ere yet the white robed angel shone Upon the sealed stone. ODE TO THE SAVIOUR. And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand With Devastation in thy red right hand, Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew ; But thou didst haste to meet Thy mother's coming fi And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few. Then calmly, slowly didst thou rise Into thy native skies, Thy human form dissolved on high Tn its own radiancy. UAM. (Du a picture of Jerusalem. Jerusalem ! And at the fatal hour, No need of dull and frivolous questions here ! No need of human agents to make clear The most tremendous act of human power. The distant cross, the rent and fallen tower, The opening graves from which the dead uprear Their buried forms, the elemental fear, When horrid light and horrid darkness lower, All tell the holy tale : the mystery And solace of our souls. Awe-struck we gaze On this so mute yet eloquent history ! Awe-struck and sad at length our eyes we raise To go ; yet oft return that scene to see, Too full of the great theme to think of praise. MISS MIT ijeurg of 2Uti anb pero Zmo. See, between the moonlit myrtles, unbetray'd by sound or gleam, Henry of Asti, — Piero Zeno, — landing, silent as a dream : — Henry of Asti, priest and soldier, Legate of the Pontiff's will, Zeno, the Republic's Captain, pledged her glory to fulfil. See them winding through the thicket up to Smyrna's ancient wall, Where by Moslem bands beleaguer'd, Christian hearts for succour call.* Sure of their victorious morrow, weary warriors strew the ground, When the known Venetian war-cry, as by magic, thunders round. Mask'd and multiplied by darkness, strike the few, the many fly, — Chase and plunder will not slacken till the morn ascends the sky. Then, no more by cunning by-paths, — freely scatter'd o'er the plain, — Soldiers, full of gain and glory, seek their secret ships again. But that ruin'd church has check'd them, — by disorder'd symbols shown To the Evangelist devoted pious Venice holds her own. So, their glad career arresting, spoke the Legate, " We must raise From this long abandon'd altar, sacrifice of prayer and praise. In the night's unequal conflict, hardly had our strength been tried, Felt we not our gracious Patron fight in spirit by our side." Loud "Amen," the troop replying, knelt, and steep'd in holy joy Souls that seem'd but now infuriate with the passion to destroy. When at length the foe defeated, from their mountain fastness, saw, How unreal the might and numbers, whom the dark had clothed with awe. *A. D. 1341. (88) HENRY OF AMI AM) PIERO ZENO. 89 Down they bounded, as by instinct that migfal slake their burning sham* In the blood of some far straggler, some who loiterM while they can* Conscious thai the wamM Venetians oeed but raise the bended knee, And, despite this tardy valour, safely reach the neighbouring sea. Plight was ready, yet the Legate questionM with one look his friend, And the Captain answer'd— " Move not! 1 am with you to the end. m Be thy blessed work consummate ! undisturb'd thy priestly care : God can save us ; if he wills not we the martyr-crown should wear." '•Seek the ships," conjured the soldiers ; louder grew the clamorous foe; Mid the pauses, like a river, seem'd the solemn chant to flow ; One the holy words intoning, one responding firm and clear, < last the very raging heathen into trance of silent fear. Nor till both those noble spirits, satisfied with heavenly food, Turn'd in calm disdain upon them, could they quench their wrath in blood. Thus were slain these faithful warders of the names and faith they bore, Not forgetting Rome or Venice, but remembering Christ the more. RICHARD MONCKTON MTLKEB. ©ootr-btie, JJrottb tDorlb. GOOD-BYE, proud world ! I'm going home ; Thou art not my friend ; I am not thine : Too long through weary crowds I roam — A river ark on the ocean brine. Too long I am toss'd like the driven foam But now, proud world, I'm going home. Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face ; To Grandeur, with his wise grimace ; To upstart Wealth's averted eye ; To supple office, low and high ; To crowded halls ; to court and street; To frozen hearts, and hasting feet ; To those who go, and those who come, — Good-bye, proud world, I'm going home. I go to seek my own hearth-stone Bosom'd in yon green hills alone; A secret lodge in a pleasant land, Whose groves the frolic fairies plann'd, Where arches green, the livelong day Echo the blackbird's roundelay, And evil men have never trod — A spot that is sacred to thought and God. (90) GOOD-BYE, PROUD WORLD. 91 O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I mock at the pride of (J recce and Rome; \ ii.l when I am streteh'd beneath the pines Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and pride of man, At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; For what are they all in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet? RALPH WALDO EMERSON. Dirge for a tioung (Sirl. Underneath the sod, low lying, dark and drear, Sleepeth one who left, in dying, sorrow here. Yes, they're ever bending o'er her, eyes that weep ; Forms that to the cold grave bore her, vigils keep. When the summer moon is shining, soft and fair, Friends she loved in tears are twining chaplets there. Rest in peace, thou gentle spirit, throned above; Souls like thine, with God, inherit life and love. JAMES T FIELDS. 3t is <5aotr to be fijere. WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD. Methinks it is good to be here: If thou wilt, let us build — but for whom ] Nor Elias nor Moses appear, But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead, and the place of the tomb. Shall we build to Ambition? Ah! no; Affrighted he shrinketh away; For see ! they would pin him below To a small narrow cave, and begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. To Beauty 1 Ah ! no ; she forgets The charms that she wielded before : Nor knows the foul worm, that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore. Shall we build to the Purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the prcud? Alas ! they are all laid aside, And here's neither dress nor adornment allow'd, But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. (92) IT IS GOOD TO BK HERE. To Riches? Alas! 'tis in vain: Who hid in their turns have been hid ; The treasures are squander'd again ; And here in the grave are all mortals forbid But the tinsel that shone on the dark coffin lid. To the Pleasures which Mirth can afford? The revel, the laugh, and the jeer] Ah ! here is a plentiful board, But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here. Shall we build to Affection and Love] Ah! no; they have wither'd and died, Or fled with the spirit above — Friends, brothers, and sisters, are laid side by side, Yet none have saluted, and none have replied. Unto Sorrow] The dead cannot grieve, Xot a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Which compassion itself could relieve; Ah ! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, or fear; Peace, peace is the watchword, the only one here. Unto Death] to whom monarchs must bow! Ah! no; for his empire is known, And here there are trophies enow ; Beneath, the cold dead — and around, the dark stone Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown. The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise ; The second to Faith, which insures it fulfill'd, And the third to the Lamb of the Great Sacrifice, Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies. HERBERT KNOWLES. 2ltt $Ottt* ttJltt) @ob. One hour with Thee, my God ! when daylight breaks Over a world thy guardian care has kept, When the fresh soul from soothing slumber wakes, To praise the love that watch'd me while I slept ; When with new strength my blood is bounding free, That first, best, sweetest hour, I'll give to Thee. One hour with Thee, when busy day begins Her never-ceasing round of bustling care, When I must meet with toil, and pain, and sins, And through them all thy holy cross must bear; O then to arm me for the strife, to be Faithful to death, I'll kneel an hour to Thee. One hour with Thee, when rides the glorious sun High in mid-heaven, and panting nature feels Lifeless and overpower'd, and man has done For one short hour with urging life's swift wheels; In that deep pause my soul from care shall flee, To make that hour of rest one hour with Thee. One hour with Thee, when sadden'd twilight flings Her soothing charm o'er lawn, and vale, and grove, When there breathes up from all created things The sweet enthralling sense of thy deep love; And when its softening power descends on me, My swelling heart shall spend one hour with Thee. (94) AN HOUR WITH GOD. One hour with Thee, my God ! when softly night Climbs the high heaven with solemn step and slow, When thy sweet stars, unutterably bright, Are telling forth thy praise to men below; Oh then, while far from earth my thoughts would flee, I'll spend in prayer one joyful hour with Thee. ANONYMOUS. ®l)c (Cl)vistmas (Offering. We come not with a costly store, O Lord, like them of old, The masters of the starry lore, From Ophir's shore of gold • No weepings of the incense tree Are with the gifts we bring, No odorous myrrh of Araby Blends with our offering. But still our love would bring its best, A spirit keenly tried By fierce affliction's fiery test, And seven times purified : The fragrant graces of the mind, The virtues that delight To give their perfume out, will find Acceptance in thy sight. W. CROSWEIX. $timn of tljc iDalbmses. HEAR, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock : While those, who seek to slay thy children, hold Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold ; And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs, That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs. Yet better were this mountain wilderness, And this wild life of danger and distress — Watchings by night and perilous flight by day, And meetings in the depths of earth to pray: Better, far better, than to kneel with them, And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn. Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder; the firm land Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand ; Thou dashest nation against nation, then Stillest the angry world to peace again. Oh ! touch their stony hearts who hurt thy sons — The murderers of our wives and little ones. Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth Unveil'd, and terribly shall shake the earth. Then the foul power of priestly sin, and all Its long upheld idolatries shall fall : Thou shalt raise up the trampled and opprest, And thy deliver' d saints shall dwell in rest. (96) 3, fHotljcr's Dirge oocr l)cr (Il)ilb. Bring me flowers all young and sweet, That I may strew the winding sheet, Where calm thou sleepest, haby fair, With roseless cheek and auburn hair ! Bring me the rosemary, whose breath Perfumed the wild and desert heath : The lily of the vale, which, too, In silence and in beauty grew. Bring cypress from some sunless spot, Bring me the blue forget-me-not, That I may strew them o'er thy bier, With long-drawn sigh and gushing tear ! Oh, what upon this earth doth prove So steadfast as a mother's love ! Oh what on earth can bring relief, Or solace, to a mother's grief! No more, my baby, shalt thou lie With drowsy smile, and half-shut eye, Pillow'd upon my fostering breast, Serenely sinking into rest ! ('J? ) 98 The grave must be thy cradle now ; The wild-flowers o'er thy breast shall grow, While still my heart, all full of thee, In widow'd solitude shall be. No taint of earth, no thought of sin, E'er dwelt thy stainless breast within ; And God hath laid thee down to sleep, Like a pure pearl below the deep. Yea! from mine arms thy soul hath flown Above, and found the heavenly throne, To join that blest angelic ring, That aye around the altar sing. Methought when years had roll'd away, That thou wouldst be mine age's stay, And often have I dreamt to see The boy — the youth — the man in thee ! But thou hast past! for ever gone To leave me childless and alone, Like Rachel pouring tear on tear, And looking not for comfort here ! Farewell, my child, the dews shall fall At noon and evening o'er thy pall ; And daisies, when the vernal year Revives, upon thy turf appear. a mother's DIRGE OVER HER CHILD. (, '» The earliest snow-drop there shall spring, And lark delight to fold his wing, And roses pale, and lilies fair, With perfume load the summer air. Adieu, my babe! if life were long, This would be even a heavier song, But years like phantoms quickly pass, Then look to us from memory's glass. Soon on death's couch shall I recline ; Soon shall my head be laid with thine ; And sunder'd spirits meet above, To live for evermore in love. MOIK. Stye Bribe of Qecwen. How beautiful she lies, upon her pure white bed, While pale flowers o'er her brow a holy incense shed ; The eyelids tremble not ; so peaceful is her rest, That even her maiden heart lies silent in her breast. Why o'er the sweet, calm face, fond mother, dost thou weep ? Wouldst thou awake thy child from such a quiet sleep 1 She is asleep with Him whose love alone is pure, Within whose presence bliss shall evermore endure. No grief, no care, no pain, can ever pierce her heart, No loved voice say again, "Sweet sister, we must part!" The living waters sweet have quenched her spirit's thirst, And on her soul the light of Holiness has burst. Why weep we then for her whose days of pain are o'er? Bright hands have wiped her tears, and she shall shed no more. To agony and tears the brides of earth are given — Oh, bless her, as she lies, the pure young bride of Heaven. LYDIA JANS TEIRSON. <£\)t tParning fooicc. My youth had glad and golden hours, — but these were few and fleet, For I was early call'd to quit my boyhood's blest retreat; And so, with not a friend to cheer or counsel me, was thrown Amid the herd of Mammon's slaves — and found myself alone ! I in the path of letters toil'd — that path so thickly spread With roses — ah ! the thorns are felt by those who up it tread ! The bitter pangs of " hope deferr'd" were mine, in the pursuit ; And long I trimm'd and pruned the vine, while others pluck'd the fruit But cheerly, now, my vessel glides : — the quicksand and the shoal Are past ; and wreck-denouncing waves no more around her roll ; The clouds that round her early course cast doubt and gloom, are gone ; And winds, that then adversely blew, now bear me bravely on! Of foes whom, in my uphill road, I found so fierce and strong, A few have seen, and deeply felt, they did me grievous wrong; And others have been swept from earth by Time's unsparing wing ; And some, if they retain their wrath, now lack the power to sting. My cottage hath a blazing hearth — my board hath ample fare, And healthful cheeks and beaming eyes and merry hearts are there : Their mother's smile is yet as sweet as when, at first, it told She prized a fond and faithful heart above the worldling's gold. ( Joo ) THE WARNING VOICE. 101 \nd yet, a sad and solemn thought intrudes upon my bliss, — Lord ! what am I, that mine should be such happiness as this I Why, while around on every hand far worthier ones I see Condemn'd to tread life's sterile wastes, bloom flowers like these for me? M Wherefore!" — a spirit answers me: — "Thine early hopes were marr'd, In mercy to thy perill'd soul, — and still thy heart was hard; Then he who laid thy burden on withdrew His chastening rod, And sought, by gentle means, to win the sinner to his God ! " But, oh! He will not always strive! — Then, ere the day be spent, And night — a long dread night — steal on, repent, vain man, repent ! Lest, when the vineyard's Lord shall come, and still no fruit be found, He say, ' Cut down this barren tree ! — why cumbereth it the ground ! ' " W. H. HARRISON. Qmnctn £tfe. Behold, How short a span Was long enough, of old, To measure out the life of man ! In those well-temper'd days, his time was then Survey'd, cast up, and found but threescore years and ten. How SOON, Our new-born light Attains to full-aged noon ! And this, how soon, to gray-hair'd night ! We spring, we bud, we blossom, and we blast, Ere we count our days, our days they flee so fast! FRANCIS QDARLE^. Sl)c (Hljristtan'0 Deatl). Lift not thou the wailing voice, Weep not, 'tis a Christian dieth, — Up, where blessed saints rejoice, Ransomed now, the spirit flieth ; High, in heaven's own light, she dwelleth, Full the song of triumph swelleth ; Freed from earth, and- earthly failing, Lift for her no voice of wailing! Pour not thou the bitter tear; Heaven its book of comfort opeth ; Bids thee sorrow not, nor fear, But, as one who alway hopeth, Humbly here in faith relying, Peacefully in Jesus dying, Heavenly joy her eye is flushing, — Why should thine with tears be gushing 1 ? They who die in Christ are blest, — Ours be, then, no thought of grieving! Sweetly with their God they rest, All their toils and troubles leaving: So be ours the faith that saveth, Hope that every trial braveth, Love that to the end endureth, And, through Christ, the crown secureth ! G. -W. DO ANTE. (102) Jhittmcitions of JJmmovtalttn. listen, man ! A voice within us speaks the startling word, " Man, thou shalt never die !" Celestial voices Hymn it around our souls : according harps, By angel fingers touched when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still The song of our great immortality ! Thick, clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, Join in this solemn, universal song. — O listen, ye, our spirits ! drink it in From all the air ! 'T is in the gentle moonlight , 'Tis floating in day's setting glories; night, Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears ; Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve, All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, As one vast, mystic instrument, are touched By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords Quiver with joy in this great jubilee : — The dying hear it ; and as sounds of earth Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls To mingle in this heavenly harmony. RICHARD U. DANA. (103) oII)c Synagogue. I saw them in their synagogue, as in their ancient day, And never from my memory the scene will fade away ; For dazzling on my vision still, the latticed galleries shine With Israel's loveliest daughters, in their beauty half divine ! It is the holy Sabbath eve, — the solitary light Sheds, mingled with the hues of day, a lustre nothing bright; On swarthy brow and piercing glance it falls with saddening tinge, And dimly gilds the Pharisee's phylacteries and fringe. The two leaved doors slide slow apart, before the eastern screen, As rise the Hebrew harmonies, with chanted prayers between, And mid the tissued veils disclosed, of many a gorgeous dye, Enveloped in their jewel 'd scarfs, the sacred records lie. Robed in his sacerdotal vest, a silvery headed man, With voice of solemn cadence o'er the backward letters ran, And often yet methinks I see the glow and power that sate Upon his face, as forth he spread the roll immaculate. And fervently that hour I pray'd, that from the mighty scroll, Its light, in burning characters, might break on every soul ; That on their harden'd hearts the veil might be no longer dark, But be for ever rent in twain, like that before the ark. (104) THE SYNAGOGUE. |().~, For yet the tenfold film Bhall fall, Judafa I from thy light, And every eye be purged to read thy testimonies right, When thou, with all Messiah's signs in Christ distinctly seen, Shalt, by Jehovah's nameless name, invoke the Nazarene. CROSWELL. I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. God's-Acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garner'd in their hearts, Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth ; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers, which never bloom'd on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod. And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; This is the field and Acre of our God. This is the place, where human harvests grow ! H. W. I.ONGFKIT.OW 1 (Iljcmk (ill)ee, (5oir, for ttteal ani> iUoc. I thank Thee, God, for all I've known Of kindly fortune, health, and joy ; And quite as gratefully I own The bitter drops of life's alloy. Oh ! there was wisdom in the blow That wrung the sad and scalding tear, That laid my dearest idol low, And left my bosom lone and drear. I thank Thee, God, for all of smart That thou hast sent, for not in vain Has been the heavy aching heart, The sigh of grief, the throb of pain. What if my cheek had ever kept Its healthful colour, glad and bright] — What if my eyes had never wept Throughout a long and sleepless night 1 ? Then, then, perchance, my soul had not Remember'd there were paths less fair, And, selfish in my own blest lot, Ne'er strove to soothe another's care. But when the weight of sorrow found My spirit prostrate and resign'd, The anguish of the bleeding wound Taught me to feel for all mankind. Even as from the wounded tree The goodly, precious balm will pour; So in the riven heart there '11 be Mercy that never flow'd before. ( U3 ) THANK THEE, GOD, FOB WEAL AND WOK. 1 ()7 'Tis w.-ll I" lr.irn that sunny hours May quickly change to mournful shade; 'Tis well to prize life's Bcatter'd flowers, Yet be prepared to see them fade. I thank Thee, God, for weal and woe; And, whatsoe'er the trial be, 'Twill serve to wean me from below, And bring my spirit nigher Thee. ELIZA. COOK. (JHijal) feb bn Uaflcns. Sore was the famine throughout all the bounds Of Israel, when Elijah, by command Of God, journey'd to Cherith's failing brook. No rain-drops fall, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale ; The withering herbage dies ; among the palms The shrivell'd leaves send to the summer gale An autumn rustle ; no sweet songster's lay Is warbled from the branches ; scarce is heard The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around And trusts in God, and lays his silver head Upon the flowerless bank ; serene he sleeps, Nor wakes till dawning; then, with hands enclasp'd And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays To Him who manna on the desert shower'd, To him who from the rock made fountains gush : Entranced the man of God remains : till roused By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart, He sees the ravens fearless by his side Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food. JAMBS ORAUAMZ. 2lbral)am btsmtsstng i^a^av. ' Thou bidst me go ! Thou sayst thy God Will guide my course, and guard my child ; But when hath human footstep trod In safety o'er yon trackless •wild'? Calm is thy brow, thine accents mild ; But were the father in thy heart, When thus thy guiltless offspring smiled, Thou couldst not breathe the word — ' Depart !' • I had not quail'd beneath that word Could I have wander'd forth alone ; Then, ruthless man ! thou hadst not heard One murmur'd sigh, one whisper' d moan ! I would have sought some lair unknown, Where Ishmael had not seen me die ; Redeem'd his life-blood with my own, And welcomed death with liberty. I knew that I was born a slave, And all that I could claim of thee Was the slave's lot — the scourge — the grave ; But sterner yet was Heaven's decree. Thy Sarai bade thee fix on me For strange espousals; — I obey'd, For choice is only for the free ; — Then spurn'd the wretch herself had made ! (108) ABRAHAM DISMIS8DIG IIA(.AH. l l!l i But, Heaven, in mercy, gave my boy ;— Oh, then my bosom seem'd to swell With the first thrill of love— the joy Which words were all in vain to tell. Then ceased my proud heart to rebel ; Then brighter scenes arose to view, Till, as I look'd on Ishmael, I learn'd to love his father too! -To Sarai now a child is horn, Though not a lovelier — and on me Falls the wild storm of hate and scorn. / did not curse the barren tree, But I would curse her now.- — May she — Oh, no! my heart recalls the prayer, Though 'tis her voice that speaks by thee, To doom his death, and my despair ! "No home except the desert den- No shelter but the cold dark sky- No track, no sign, no voice of men- No fresh cool fountain murmuring nigh — My boy ! we wander forth to die. — But come ! no ruth is in his heart, No love is glistening in his eye : He must not bid us twice, ■ Depart !' "0 Thou, who saw'st me when I fled Of old from Sarai's threatening brow. Note Thou the bitter tears I shed — Behold the pangs that rend me now. 110 ABRAHAM DISMISSING HAGAR. The stranger's, orphan's God art Thou Be ours amidst the trackless wild ! Do with me as thou wilt — 1 bow But save, oh, save my guiltless child !" THOMAS DAL3. ®l)e last ihtbgmcnt. That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day ] When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll ; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! Oh ! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be God the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away ! "WALTER SCOTT. ®l)c Christian's progress. Through sorrow's night, and danger's path, Amid the deepening gloom, We, soldiers of an injured King, Are marching to the tomb. There, when the turmoil is no more, And all our powers decay, Our cold remains in solitude Shall sleep the years away. Our labours done, securely laid In this our last retreat, Unheeded o'er our silent dust The storms of life shall beat. Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane, The vital spark shall lie ; For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise, To see its kindred sky. These ashes too, this little dust, Our Father's care shall keep, Till the last angel rise, and break The long and dreary sleep. Then love's soft dew o'er every eye Shall shed its mildest rays, And the long silent dust shall burst With shouts of endless praise. HENRY EIREE -WHITE. (Ill) iattl) in Qumble Ctfe. Thy triumphs, Faith, we need not take Alone from the blest martyr's stake; In scenes obscure no less we see That Faith is a reality ; An evidence of things not seen, A substance firm whereon to lean. Go, search the cottager's low room, The day scarce piercing through the gloom ; The Christian on his dying bed, Unknown, unlettered, hardly fed ; No flattering witnesses attend, To tell how glorious was his end ; Save in the book of life, his name Unheard ; he never dreamt of fame : No human consolation near, No voice to soothe, no friend to cheer ; Of every earthly stay bereft, And nothing — but his Saviour — left. Fast sinking to his kindred dust, The word of life is still his trust; The joy God's promises impart Lies like a cordial at his heart; Unshaken faith its strength supplies, He loves, believes, adores, and dies ! — HA.NKAH MORI. (112) Jerusalem. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how glad should I have been, Could I, in my lone wanderings, thine aged walls have seen ! — Could I have gazed upon the dome, above thy towers that swells, \ih1 heard, as evening sun went down, thy parting camels' bells : — Could I have stood on Olivet, where once the Saviour trod, And, from its height, look'd down upon the city of our God ! For is it not, Almighty God, the holy city still, — Though there thy prophets walk no more, that crowns Moriah's hill ? Thy prophets walk no more, indeed, the streets of Salem now, Nor are their voices lifted up on Zion's sadden'd brow; Nor are their garnish'd sepulchres with pious sorrow kept, Where once the same Jerusalem, that kill'd them, came and wept. Hut still the seed of Abraham with joy upon it look, And lay their ashes at its feet, that Kedron's feeble brook Still washes, as its waters creep along their rocky bed, And Israel's God is worshipp'd yet where Zion lifts her head. Yes; — every morning, as the day breaks over Olivet, The holy name of Allah comes from every minaret; At every eve the mellow call floats on the quiet air, " Lo, God is God ! Before him come, before him come, for prayer! 11 8 ("3) 114 JERUSALEM. I know, when at that solemn call the city holds her breath, That Omar's mosque hears not the name of Him of Nazareth ! But Abraham's God is worshipp'd there alike by age and youth, And worshipp'd, — hopeth charity, — "in spirit and in truth." Yea, from that day when Salem knelt and bent her queenly neck To him who was, at once, her Priest and King, — Melchisedek, To this, when Egypt's Abraham the sceptre and the sword Shakes o'er her head, her holy men have bow'd before the Lord. Jerusalem, I would have seen thy precipices steep, The trees of palm that overhang thy gorges dark and deep, The goats that cling along thy cliffs, and browse upon thy rocks, Beneath whose shade lie down, alike, thy shepherds and their flocks. I would have mused, while Night hung out her silver lamp so pale, Beneath those ancient olive trees that grow in Kedron's vale, Whose foliage from the pilgrim hides the city's wall sublime, Whose twisted arms and gnarled trunks defy the scythe of Time. The Garden of Gethsemane those aged olive trees Are shading yet, and in their shade I would have sought the breeze, That, like an angel, bathed the brow, and bore to heaven the prayer, Of Jesus, when, in agony, He sought the Father there. I would have gone to Calvary, and, where the Marys stood Bewailing loud the Crucified, as near him as they could, I would have stood, till Night o'er earth her heavy pall had thrown, And thought upon my Saviour's cross, and learned to bear my own. Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thy cross thou bearest now! An iron yoke is on thy neck, and blood is on thy brow; Thy golden crown, the crown of truth, thou didst reject as dross, And now thy cross is on thee laid, the Crescent is thy cross! It was not mine, nor will it be, to see the bloody rod That scourgeth thee, and long hath scourged, thou city of our God ! But round thy hill the spirits throng of all thy murder'd seers, And voices that went up from it are ringing in my ears, — JERUSALEM. I j & # Went up that day, when darkness fell from all thy firmament, And shrouded thee at noon ; ami when tliy temple's veil was rent, And graves of holy men, that touch'd thy feet, gave op their dead : Jerusalem, thy prayer is heard, His blood is on thy head! JOHN riERLONT. ®l)c Qttut Song. In the silent midnight watches, list — thy bosom door ! How it knocketh, knocketh, knocketh — knocketh evermore ! Say not, 'tis thy pulse's beating; 'tis thy heart of sin: Tis thy Saviour knocketh, crieth, " Rise, and let me in." Death comes down, w T ith reckless footstep, to the hall and hut ; Think you Death will stand a-knocking when the door is shut? Jesus waiteth, waiteth, waiteth, but the door is fast! Grieved, away the Saviour goeth ; Death breaks in at last. Then 'tis thine to stand — entreating Christ to let thee in, At the gate of heaven beating, wailing for thy sin. Nay, alas ! thou foolish virgin ! hast thou then forgot, Jesus waited long to know thee, but he knows thee not? ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE ttkep not for Qer. Weep not for her ! Her span was like the sky, Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright, Like flowers that know not what it is to die, Like long link'd shadeless months of polar light, Like music floating o'er a waveless lake, While echo answers from the flowery brake, Weep not for her ! Weep not for her! She died in early youth, Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues, When human bosoms seem'd the homes of truth, And earth still gleam'd with beauty's radiant dews. Her summer prime waned not to days that freeze, Her wine of life was not run to the lees : Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! By fleet or slow decay It never grieved her bosom's core to mark The playmates of her childhood wane away, Her prospects wither, and her hopes grow dark. Translated by her God with spirit shriven, She pass'd, as 'twere on smiles, from earth to heaven : Weep not for her ! (116) WEEP NOT FOR III R. 1 17 Weep not for her! It was not hers to feel The miseries that corrode amassing years, 'Gainst dreams of baffled Miss the heart to steel, To wander sad down age's vale of tears, ks whirl the wither'd leaves from friendship's tree, And on earth's wintry wold alone to be : Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! She is an angel now, And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise, All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow, Sin, sorrow, suffering, banish'd from her eyes; Victorious over death, to her appears The vista'd joys of heaven's eternal years : Weep not for her ! Weep not for her ! Her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers, Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light, Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night: Weep not for her ! Weep not for her! There is no cause of wo, But rather nerve the spirit that it walk Unshrinking o'er the thorny path below, And from earth's low defilements keep thee back. So, when a few fleet swerving years have flown, She'll meet thee at heaven's gate — and lead thee on : Weep not for her ! D. U. MOIK <&ob an unfailing Refuge. The smoothest seas will sometimes prove To the confiding bark untrue; And if she trust the stars above, They can be treacherous too. The umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread, Full oft, when storms the welkin rend, Draws lightning down upon the head It promised to defend. But thou art true, incarnate Lord ! Who didst vouchsafe for man to die ; Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word No change can falsify ! I bent before thy gracious throne, And ask'd for peace with suppliant knee ; And peace was given — nor peace alone, But faith, and hope, and ecstasy ! WORDSWORTH. (118) Song of tl)c 3cm KING of kings! and Lord of lords! Thus we move, our sad steps liming To our cymbals' feeblest chiming, Where thy house its rest acconU. Chased and wounded birds are we, Through the dark air fled to thee ; To the shadow of thy wings, Lord of lords ! and King of kings ! Behold, Lord, the heathen tread The branches of thy fruitful vine, That its luxurious tendrils spread O'er all the hills of Palestine. And now the wild boar comes to waste Even us, the greenest boughs and last, That, drinking of thy choicest dew, On Zion's hill, in beauty grew. No ! by the marvels of thine hand, Thou wilt save thy chosen land ; By all thine ancient mercies shown, By all our fathers' foes o'erthrown ; By the Egyptian's car-borne host, Scatter'd on the Red Sea coast ; By that wide and bloodless slaughter Underneath the drowning water. (ll!») 120 SONG OF THE JEWS. Like us in utter helplessness, In their last and worst distress, On the sand and sea-weed lying-, Israel pour'd her doleful sighing ; While before the deep sea flow'd, And behind fierce Egypt rode, To their fathers' God they pray'd. To the Lord of Hosts for aid. On the margin of the flood With lifted rod the Prophet stood ; And the summon'd east wind blew, And aside it sternly threw The gather'd waves, that took their stand, Like crystal rocks, on either hand, Or walls of sea-green marble piled Round some irregular city wild. Then the light of morning lay On the wonder-paved way, Where the treasures of the deep In their caves of coral sleep. The profound abysses, where Was never sound from upper air, Rang with Israel's chanted words, King of kings ! and Lord of lords ! Then with bow and banner glancing, On exulting Egypt came, With her chosen horsemen prancing And her cars on wheels of flame, In a rich and boastful ring, All around her furious king. SONG OF THE JEWS. L21 Hut the Lord from out his cloud, The Lord look'd down upon the proud ; And the host drave heavily Down the deep bosom of the sea. With a quick and sudden swell Prone the liquid ramparts fell; Over horse, and over car, Over every man of war, Over Pharaoh's crown of gold The loud thundering billows roll'd. As the level waters spread Down they sank, they sank like lead, Down sank without cry or groan, And the morning sun that shone On myriads of bright armed men, Its meridian radiance then Cast on a wide sea, heaving as of yore, Against a silent, solitary shore. MTT.MA M Consolations of Religion to tlje Jloor There is a mourner, and her heart is broken ; She is a widow; she is old and poor; Her only hope is in that sacred token Of peaceful happiness when life is o'er; She asks nor wealth nor pleasure, begs no more Than heaven's delightful volume, and the sight Of her Redeemer. Skeptics, would you pour Your blasting vials on her head, and blight Sharon's sweet rose, that blooms and charms her being's night She lives in her affections ; for the grave Has closed upon her husband, children; all Her hopes are with the arm she trusts will save Her treasured jewels; though her views are small, Though she has never mounted high to fall And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring Of her meek, tender feelings, cannot pall Her unperverted palate, but will bring A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting. Even as a fountain, whose unsullied wave Wells in the pathless valley, flowing o'er With silent waters, kissing, as they lave, The pebbles with light rippling, and the shore ( 122 ) CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION TO THE POOR. \2i Of matted grass and flowers — so softly pour The breathings of net bosom, when she prmys, Low-bow'd, before her Maker; then no more She mosea on the griefs of former days; Her full heart melts, and flows in heaven's dissolving rays. And faith can see a new world, and the I Of saints look pity on her; Death will come — A few short moments over, and the prize Of peace eternal waits her, and the tomb Becomes her fondest pillow; all its gloom Is scatter'd. What a meeting there will be To her and all she loved here ! and the bloom Of new life from those cheeks shall never flee; Theirs is the health which lasts through all eternity. PIROIVA.L. <23*ccllenn3 of Christ. He is a path, if any be misled ; He is a robe, if any naked be ; If any chance to hunger, he is bread ; If any be a bondman, he is free ; If any be but weak, how strong is he ! To dead men life he is, to sick men health ; To blind men sight, and to the needy wealth— A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth. :tcher itkcp not for l)im tljat bictl). ' Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him; but weep sore for him that goeth away, for hie shall return no more, nor see his native country." — Jeremiah xxii. ]0. Weep not for him that dieth — For he sleeps, and is at rest; And the couch whereon he lieth Is the green earth's quiet breast; But weep for him who pineth On a far land's hateful shore, Who wearily declineth Where ye see his face no more ! Weep not for him that dieth, For friends are round his bed, And many a young lip sigheth When they name the early dead: But weep for him that liveth Where none will know or care, When the groan his faint heart giveth Is the last sigh of despair. Weep not for him that dieth, For his struggling soul is free, And the world from which it flieth Is a world of misery ; But weep for him that weareth The captive's galling chain: To the agony he beareth, Death were but little pain. (124) WEEP NOT FUR HIM THAT DIETH. 126 VVeep not for him that dieth, For he hath ceased from tears, And a voice to his replieth Which he hath not heard for years ; But weep for him who weepeth On that cold land's cruel shore — But blest is he that sleepeth, — Weep for the dead no more ! MRS. NORTON. Cljaritn. Speak kindly, Oh, speak soothingly To him whose hopes are crossed, Whose blessed trust in human love Was early, early lost ; For wearily — how wearily ! Drags life, if love depart; Oh ! let the balm of gentle words Fall on the smitten heart! Go gladly, with true sympathy, Where want's pale victims pine, And bid life's sweetest smiles again Along their pathway shine. Oh, heavily doth poverty Man's nobler instincts bind ; Yet sever not that chain, to cast A sadder on the mind. LTJELLA J. CASE. ®l)e (ffall of JDatritr. LATEST born of Jesse's race, Wonder lights thy bashful face, While the prophet's gifted oil Seals thee for a path of toil. We, thy angels, circling round thee, Ne'er shall find thee as we found thee, When thy faith first brought us near In thy lion-fight severe. Go ! and mid thy flocks awhile At thy doom of greatness smile; Bold to bear God's heaviest load, Dimly guessing of the road, — Rocky road, and scarce-ascended, Though thy foot be angel-tended ! Double praise thou shalt attain, In royal court and battle- plain: Then comes heart-ache, care, distress, Blighted hope, and loneliness; Wounds from friend and gifts from foe Dizzied faith, and guilt, and woe, Loftiest aims by earth defiled, Gleams of wisdom sin-beguiled, Sated power's tyrannic mood, Counsels shared with men of blood, Sad success, parental tears, And a dreary gift of years. ( 126 ) THE CALL OF I)A\ ID. Strange, that guileless race and form To lavish on the scarring storm ! Yet we take thee in thy blindness, And wo harass thee in kindness; Little chary of thy fame, — Dust unborn may bless or blame, — But we mould thee for the root Of man's promised healing fruit, And we mould thee hence to rise As our brother to the skies. Confidence it! Qcchjcu. It is in vain the weary spirit strives With that which doth consume it; — there is born A strength from suffering, which can laugh to scorn The stroke of sorrow, even though it rives Our very heart-strings; — but the grief that lives For ever in the heart, and day by day Wastes the soul's high-wrought energies away, And wears the lofty spirit down, and gives Its own dark hue to life, oh ! who can bear? Yet, as the black and threatening tempests bring New fragrance to earth's flowers, and tints more fair, So, beneath sorrow's nurture, virtues spring. Youth, health, and hope, may fade, but there is left A soul that trusts in Heaven, though thus of all bereft. E'J'Ji C. EMBURY. Chap, xxxiii. 30—33. They hear Thee not, O God ! nor see ; Beneath Thy rod they mock at Thee ; The princes of our ancient line Lie drunken with Assyrian wine ; The priests around the altar speak The false words which their hearers seek ; And hymns which Chaldea's wanton maids Have sung in Dura's idol-shades, Are with the Levites' chant ascending, With Zion's holiest anthems blending! On Israel's bleeding bosom set, The heathen heel is crushing yet ; The towers upon her holy hill Echo Chaldean footsteps still. Our boasted shrines — who weeps for them ] Who mourneth for Jerusalem ? W T ho turneth from his gains away 1 Whose knee with mine is bowed to pray 1 Who, leaving feast and purpling cup, Takes Zion's lamentation up 1 A sad and thoughtful youth, I went With Israel's early banishment ; And where the sullen Chebar crept, The ritual of my fathers kept. ( l*i ) EZ1KIEL. 129 The water tor the trench I drew, The firstling of the flock I Blew; And, Btanding at the altar's side, I shared the Lcvites' lingering pride, That still amidst her mocking foes, The smoke of Zion's offering rose. In sudden whirlwind, cloud and flame, The spirit of the Highest came! Before mine eyes a vision pass'd, A glory terrible and vast ; With dreadful eyes of living things, And sounding sweep of angel wings, With circling light and sapphire throne, And flame-like form of One thereon, And voice of that dread Likeness sent Down from the crystal firmament ! The burden of a Prophet's power Fell on me in that fearful hour! From off unutterable woes The curtain of the future rose ; I saw far down the coming time The fiery chastisement of crime ; With noise of mingling hosts, and jar Of falling towers and shouts of war, I saw the nations rise and full, Like fire-gleams on my tent's white wal 1 30 EZEKIEL. In dream and trance, I saw the slain Of Egypt heap'd like harvest grain ; I saw the walls of sea-born Tyre Swept over by the spoiler's fire ; And heard the low, expiring moan Of Edom on his rocky throne ; And, wo is me ! the wild lament From Zion's desolation sent; And felt within my heart each blow Which laid her holy places low. In bonds and sorrow, day by day. Before the pictured tile I lay ; And there, as in a mirror, saw The coming of Assyria's war, Her swarthy lines of spearmen pass Like locusts through Bethhoron's grass: I saw them draw their stormy hem Of battle round Jerusalem ; And, listening, heard the Hebrew wail Blend with the victor-trump of Baal ! Who trembled at my warning word] Who own'd the prophet of the Lord ] How mock'd the rude — how scofF'd the vih How stung the Levite's scornful smile, As o'er my spirit, dark and slow, The shadow crept of Israel's wo, EZEKIEL. l.jl As if the angel's mournful roll Had left its record on my soul, And traced in lines of darkness there The picture of its own despair! Yet, even at the hour I feel My lips in prophecy unseal, Prince, priest, and Levite gather near, And Salem's daughters haste to hear, On Chebar's waste and alien shore, The harp of Judah swept once more. They listen, as in Babel's throng The Chaldeans to the dancer's song, Or wild Sabbeka's stormy play, As careless and as vain as they. And thus, oh, Prophet-Bard of old, Hast thou thy tale of sorrow told ! The same which earth's unwelcome seers Have felt in all succeeding years. Sport of the changeful multitude, Nor calmly heard nor understood, Their song has seemed a trick of art, Their warnings but the actor's part. With bonds, and seorn, and evil will, The world requites its prophets still. So was it when the Holy One The garments of the flesh put on ! 132 EZEKIEL. Men follow'd where the Highest led For common gifts of daily bread, And gross of ear, of vision dim, Own'd not the God-like power of Him. Vain as a dreamer's words to them His wail above Jerusalem, And meaningless the watch he kept Through which his weak disciples slept. Yet shrink not thou, whoe'er thou art, For God's great purpose set apart, Before whose far discerning eyes The Future as the Present lies ! Beyond the narrow-bounded age Stretches thy prophet-heritage, Through Heaven's dim spaces angel-trod, Through arches round the throne of God ! Thy audience, worlds ! — all Time to be The witness of the truth in thee ! J. G. WH1TTIEE. 8l)c Reaper anb tl)e ilotuers. There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. 'Shall I have nought that is fair," saith he: " Have nought but the bearded grain 1 Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kiss'd their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. ' My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The Reaper said, and smiled : Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where he was once a child. They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear." And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love ; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. H. W LONGFELLOW t 133 ollje UUtoHtt. The chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll in fire, As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire ; Self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud, And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowM. The glory ! the glory ! around him are pour'd The myriads of angels that wait on the Lord ; And the glorified saints and the martyrs are there, And all who the palm leaves of victory wear. The trumpet ! the trumpet ! the dead have all heard : Lo, the depths of the stone-cover'd monuments stirr'd ! From ocean and earth, from the south pole and north, Lo, the vast generation of ages come forth. The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set, Where the Lamb and the white-vested elders are met ; All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord, And the doom of eternity hangs on his word. O mercy ! O mercy ! look down from above, Redeemer, on us, thy sad children, with love : When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven, May our justified souls find a welcome in heaven. miLMAN. (134) ffiljc Departed. The departed ! the departed ! they visit us in dreams, And they glide above our memories like shadows over streams; But where the cheerful lights of home in constant lustre burn, The departed, the departed can never more return ! The good, the brave, the beautiful, how dreamless is their sleep, Where rolls the dirge-like music of the ever-tossing deep ! Or where the hurrying night-winds pale winter's robes have spread Above their narrow palaces, in the cities of the dead. I look around and feel the awe of one who walks alone Among the wrecks of former days, in mournful ruin strown; I start to hear the stirring sounds among the cypress trees, For the voice of the departed is borne upon the breeze. That solemn voice ! it mingles with each free and careless strain ; I scarce can think earth's minstrelsy will cheer my heart again. The melody of summer waves, the thrilling notes of birds, Can never be so dear to me as their rcmember'd words. I sometimes dream their pleasant smiles still on me sweetly fall, Their tones of love I faintly hear my name in sadness call. I know that they are happy, with their angel-plumage on, But my heart is very desolate to think that they are gone. PARK BENJAMIN. (135) <£lje flarteir Spirit TB OiKKOT TELL WHJSNCE IT COMBTH. AilD WH1TEE3, IT GOETH." MYSTERIOUS in its birth, And viewless as the blast; Where hath the spirit fled from earth, For ever past? I ask the grave below — It keeps the secret well; I call upon the heavens to show — They will not tell. Of earth's remotest strand, Are tales and tidings known; But from the spirit's distant land, Returneth none. Winds waft the breath of flowers To wanderer's o'er the wave, But no message from the bowers Beyond the grave. Proud Science scales the skies, From star to star to roam, But reacheth not the shore where lies The spirit's home. Impervious shadows hide This mystery of Heaven; But, where all knowledge is denied, To hope is given ! JOHN UALCOI. (136) Silent Portion. The Lord is in his ho\y temple ;— let all the earth keep silence before him. The Lord is on his holy throne, He sits in kingly state; Let those who for his favour seek, In humble silence wait. Your sorrows to his eye are known, Your secret motives clear, It needeth not the pomp of words To pour them on his ear. Doth Death thy bosom's cell invade 1 ? Yield up thy flower of grass: Swells the world's wrathful billow high 1 Bow down, and let it pass. Press not thy purpose on thy God, Urge not thine erring will, Nor dictate to the Eternal mind, Nor doubt thy Maker's skill. True prayer is not the noisy sound That clamorous lips repeat, But the deep silence of a soul That clasps Jehovah's feet. ( 137 'I (Hljrtst blessing tl)e Brcab. " This do in remembrance of me. " This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you."— St Luke xxii. 19, 20. "And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat ; this is my body. "And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it : " For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins. "But I say unto you, I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until that day when [ drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom."— St. Matthew xxvi. 26, 29. Bow thee to earth, and from thee cast All stubbornness of human will ; Then dare to drink the sacred cup Thy God and Saviour died to fill. If thou art humble as a child, When lisping at his mother's knee His first meek words of earnest prayer, That sacred cup may be for thee. But if within thy sinful heart Lurk earthly crime or earthly care ; If hate, which broods upon the past, Or pleasure's feverish dream, be there; If thou against the widow's prayer, Or orphan's cry, hast closed thine ear; In mercy to thyself, forbear, Drink not thine own destruction here : But from thee put all thoughts of earth, As erst from Israel's camp were flung Each worldly and unholy thing, To which the secret sinner clung. Come with thy guilt new-washed in tears, Thy spirit raised in faith above ; Then drink, and so thy soul shall live, Thy Saviour's blood — thy Saviour's love. MISS LANDON. (138) Jnfctnt iditt). Radiant with his spirit's light Was the little beauteous child, Sporting round a fountain bright, Playing through the flowerets wild. Where they grew he lightly stepped, Cautious not a leaf to crush ; Then about the fount he leaped, Shouting at its merry gush. While the sparkling waters welled, Laughing as they bubbled up, In his lily hands he held, Closely clasped, a silver cup. Now he put it forth to fill ; Then he bore it to the flowers, Through his fingers there to spill What it held, in mimic showers. " Open, pretty buds," said he, " Open to the air and sun ; So, to-morrow I may see What my rain to-day has done. "Yes, you will, you will, I know, For the drink I give you now, Burst your little cups, and blow, When I'm gone, and can't tell how ! (139) 140 INFANT FAITH. " Oh ! I wish I could but see How God's finger touches you, When your sides unclasp, and free, Let your leaves and odors through. " I would watch you all the night, Nor in darkness be afraid, Only once to see aright How a beauteous flower is made. " Now remember ! I shall come In the morning from my bed, Here to find among you some With j T our brightest colours spread !" To his buds he hastened out, At the dewy morning hour, Crying, with a joyous shout, " God has made of each a flower !" Precious must the ready faith Of the little children be, In the sight of Him, who saith, " Suffer them to come to me." Answered by the smile of heaven, Is the infant's offering found, Though " a cup of water given," Even to the thirsty ground. MISS H. F. GOULD. fill) <£I)UD. I cannot make him dead ! his fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair; Yet, when my eyes, now dim with tears, I turn to him, The vision vanishes — he is not there ! I walk my parlour iloor, and, through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair : I'm stepping toward the hall to give the boy a call ; And then bethink me that — he is not there ! I thrid the crowded street, a satchell'd lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes and colour'd hair : And, as he's running by, follow him with my eye, Scarcely believing that — he is not there ! I know his face is hid under the coffin lid; Closed are his eyes, cold is his forehead fair ; My hand that marble felt; o'er it in prayer I knelt; Yet my heart whispers that — he is not there ! I cannot make him dead ! when passing by the bed, So long watch'd over with parental care, My spirit and my eye seek it inquiringly, Before the thought comes that — he is not there ! (141) 142 MY CHILD. When at the cool, gray break of day, from sleep I wake, With my first breathing of the morning air, My soul goes up, with joy, to Him who gave my boy: Then comes the sad thought that — he is not there ! When at the day's calm close, before we seek repose, I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer : Whate'er I may be saying, I am, in spirit, praying For our boy's spirit, though — he is not there ! Not there ! — Where, then, is he? The form I used to see Was but the raiment that he used to wear. The grave, that now doth press upon that cast-off dress, Is but his wardrobe lock'd ! — he is not there ! He lives ! — In all the past, he lives ; nor, to the last, Of seeing him again will I despair ; In dreams I see him now; and, on his angel brow, I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there .'" Yes, we all live to God ! Father, thy chastening rod So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, That, in the spirit-land, meeting at thy right hand, 'Twill be our heaven to find that — he is there ! REV. JOHN PIEEPONT. £)rmm of Mature. God of the earth's extended plains ! the dark green fields contented liq ; The mountains rise like holy towers, where man might commune with the sky ; The tall cliff challenges the storm, that lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams, with joyous music in their flow. God of the dark and heavy deep ! the waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm hath summon'd up their thundering bands. Then the white sails are dash'd in foam, or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas, Till calm'd by thee, the sinking gale serenely breathes, Depart in peace. God of the forest's solemn shade ! the grandeur of the lonely tree, That wrestles singly with the gale, lifts up admiring eyes to Thee. But more majestic far they stand, when, side by side, their ranks they form, To wave on high their plumes of grace, and fight their battles with the storm. God of the light and viewless air! when summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their angry might, the fierce and angry tempests blow. All— from the evening's plaintive sigh, that hardly lifts the drooping flower. To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry— breathe forth the language of thy power. God of the fair and open sky ! how gloriously above us springs, The tented dome of heavenly blue, suspended on the rainbow's wings. Each brilliant star that sparkles through, each gilded cloud that wanders free. In evening's purple radiance gives the beauty of its praise to Thee. t 143) 144 HYMN OF NATURE. God of the rolling orbs above ! thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, or evening's golden shower of light For every fire that fronts the sun, and every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven, were kindled at thy burning throne. God of the world! the hour must come, and Nature's self to dust return ; Her crumbling altars must decay, her incense fires shall cease to burn ; ' But still her grand and lovely scenes have made man's warmest praises flow ■ For hearts grow holier as they trace the beauty of the world below. PEABODY % €ntcifi*ton. I ask'd the heavens, « What foe to God had done This unexampled deed?"— The heavens exclaim, " 'T was man, and we in horror snatch'd the sun From such a spectacle of guilt and shame." I ask'd the sea ;— the sea in fury boil'd, And answer'd with his voice of storms, « 'T was man; My waves in panic at his crime recoil'd, Disclosed the abyss, and from the centre ran." I ask'd the earth ; the earth replied, aghast, " 'Twas man; and such strange pangs my bosom rent, That still I groan and shudder at the past." —To man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man, I went, And ask'd him next:— He turn'd a scornful eye, Shook his proud head, and deign'd me no reply. JAMES MONTGOMERY ©u tljc Dcatl) of a Jrienfe Who shall weep when the righteous die ! Who shall mourn when the good depart] When the soul of the godly away shall ny, Who shall lay the loss to heart? He has gone into peace — he has laid him down, To sleep till the dawn of a brighter day ; And he shall wake on that holy morn, When sorrow and sighing shall flee away. But ye who worship in sin and shame Your idol gods, whate'er they be ; Who scoff, in your pride, at your Maker's name, By the pebbly stream and the shady tree, — Hope in your mountains, and hope in your streams, Bow down in their worship, and loudly pray ; Trust in your strength, and believe in your dreams, But the wind shall carry them all away. There's one who drank at a purer fountain, One who was wash'd in a purer flood : He shall inherit a holier mountain, He shall worship a holier God. But the sinner shall utterly fail and die, \\ liolm'd in the waves of a troubled sea; And God, from his throne of light on high, Shall say, there is no peace for thee. JOHN O. C BRA: 10 (U5) ffilje flrager for 3111. To prayer, my cnild ! and oh, be thy first prayer For her who many nights, with anxious care, Rock'd thy first cradle ; who took thy infant soul From heaven, and gave it to the world ; then rife With love, still drank herself the gall of life, And left for thy young lips the honied bowl. And then — I need it more — then pray for me ! For she is gentle, artless, true like thee ; She has a guileless heart, brow placid, still ; Pity she has for all, envy for none ; Gentle and wise, she patiently lives on; And she endures, nor knows who does the ill. In culling flowers, her novice hand has ne'er Touch'd e'en the outer rind of vice ; no snare With smiling show has lured her steps aside : On her the past has left no staining mark; Nor knows she aught of those bad thoughts which, dark, Like shades on waters, o'er the spirit glide. She knows not — nor mayst thou — the miseries In which our spirits mingle ; vanities, Remorse, soul-gnawing cares, Pleasure's false show ; Passions which float upon the heart like foam, Bitter remembrances which o'er us come, And Shame's red spot spread sudden o'er the brow. (146) THE PRAYER FOR ALL. 1 17 I know life better; when thou'rt older grown I'll tell thee — it is needful to be known — Of the pursuit of wealth — art, power; the cost — That it is folly — nothingness: — that Shame For Glory is oft thrown us in the game Of Fortune's chances where the soul is lost. The soul will change. Although of every thing The cause and end be clear, yet wildering We go through life, (of vice and error full.) We wander as we go; — we feel the load Of doubt; and to the briers upon the road Man leaves his virtue, as a sheep its wool. Then go, go pray for me ! And as the prayer Gushes in words, be this the form they bear: "Lord, Lord, our Father! God, my prayer attend. Pardon— Thou art good !— pardon— Thou art great!" Let them go freely forth, fear not their fate ! Where thy soul sends them, thitherward they tend. There's nothing here below which does not find Its tendency. O'er plains the rivers wind, And reach the sea ; the bee, by instinct driven, Finds out the honied flowers ; the eagle flies To seek the sun ; the vulture where death lies ; The swallow to the spring ; the prayer to heaven ! And when thy voice is raised to God for me, I'm like the slave whom in the vale we see Seated to rest, his heavy load laid by ; I feel refresh'd— the load of faults and wo Which, groaning, I drag with me as I go, Thy winged prayer bears off rejoicingly! 148 THE PRAYER FOR ALL. Pray for thy father ! that his dreams be bright, With visitings of angel forms of light, And his soul burn as incense flaming wide. Let thy pure breath all his dark sins efface, So that his heart be like the holy place, An altar's pavement each eve purified ! VICTOR HUGO. <£t)e Cament bt> tljc Risers of Babulou. We sat down and wept by the waters Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, Made Salem's high places his prey ; And ye, O her desolate daughters ! Were scatter'd all weeping away. While sadly we gazed on the river Which rolled on in freedom below, They demanded the song; but, oh, never That triumph the stranger shall know ! May this right hand be wither'd for ever, Ere it string our high harp for the foe! On the willow that harp is suspended — O Salem ! its sound should be free ; And the hour when thy glories were ended, But left me that token of thee ; And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended With the voice of the spoiler by me ! BYRON. She Cattle of 3m*u. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre ! Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. \s thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turn'd the chance of war; Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre ! Oli ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; And, as we look'd on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The king is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. ( 149 ; 150 THE BATTLE OF IVRY. Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing, Down all our line, in deafening shout, " God save our lord the king." " And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war. And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin ! The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance ! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter, — the Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail : And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, " Remember St. Bartholomew," was pass'd from man to man ; But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe ; Down, down with every foreigner; but let your brethren go !" Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! Ho ! maidens of Vienne ! ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return ! Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls ! Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright! Ho ! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ! For our God hath crush'd thy tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mock'd the counsel of the wise and the valour of the brave. Then glory to His holy name from whom all glories are ; And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre. THOMAS BABBIKGTOX MACAULiY Spiritual tUovsljip. Though glorious, O God ! must thy temple have been On the day of its first dedication, When the cherubim's wings widely waving were seen On high on the ark's holy station ; When even the chosen of Eli, though skill'd To minister, standing before thee, Retired from the cloud which the temple then fill'd, And thy glory made Israel adore thee ; Though awfully grand was thy majesty then, Yet the worship thy gospel discloses, Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men, Far surpasses the ritual of Moses. And by whom was that ritual for ever repealed, But by Him unto whom it was given To enter the oracle where is revealed Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven 1 Who having once enter'd, hath shown us the way, O Lord! how to worship before thee; Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day, But in spirit and truth to adore thee ; ( 151) 152 SPIRITUAL WORSHIP. This, this is the worship the Saviour made known, When she of Samaria found him By the patriarch's well, sitting weary alone, With the stillness of noontide around him. How sublime, yet how simple, the homage he taught To her who inquired by that fountain, If Jehovah at Solyma's shrine would be sought, Or adored on Samaria's mountain! Woman, believe me, the hour is near, When He, if ye rightly would hail Him, Will neither be worshipp'd exclusively here, Nor yet at the altar of Salem. For God is a spirit, and they who aright W T ould perform the pure worship He loveth, In the heart's holy temple will seek, with delight, That spirit the Father approveth. EZENAED BAETOM (jopc in Darkness. Yet, gracious God, Yet will I seek thy smiling face : What though a short eclipse his beauties shroud, And bar the influence of his rays'? 'T is but a morning vapour or a summer cloud; He is my sun, though He refuse to shine. Though for a moment He depart, I dwell for ever on his heart, For ever he on mine. Early, before the light arise, I '11 spring a thought away to God ; The passion of my heart and eyes Shall shout a thousand groans and sighs, A thousand glances strike the skies, The floor of his abode. Dear Sovereign, hear thy servant pray ; Bend the blue heavens, Eternal King, Downward thy cheerful graces bring ; Or shall I breathe in vain, and pant my hours away ] Break, glorious Brightness, through the gloomy veil ! Look, how the armies of despair Aloft their sooty banners rear Round my poor captive soul, and dare Pronounce me prisoner of hell. But Thou, my Sun, and Thou, my Shield, Wilt save me in the bloody field. Break, glorious Brightness, shoot one glimmering ray One glance of thine creates a day, And drives the troops of hell away. (153) 154 HOPE IN DARKNESS. Happy the times — but, ah! those times are gene When wondrous power and radiant grace Round the tall arches of thy temple shone, And mingled their victorious rays : Sin, with all its ghastly train, Fled to the depths of death again, And smiling triumph sat on every face : Our spirits, raptured with the sight, Were all devotion, all delight, And loud hosannas sounded the Redeemer's praise. Here could I say, (And paint the place whereon I stood,) Here I enjoyed a visit half the day From my descending God : I was regaled with heavenly fare, With fruit and manna from above : Divinely sweet the blessings were, While my Emmanuel was there ; And o'er my head The Conqueror spread The banner of his love. Then why, my heart, sunk down so low % Why do my eyes dissolve and flow, And hopeless nature mourn'? Review, my soul, those pleasing days, Read his unalterable grace Through the displeasure of his face, And wait a kind return. A father's love may raise a frown, To chide the child, or prove the son, But love will ne'er destroy. The hour of darkness is but short, Faith be thy life, and patience thy support : The morning brings the joy. ISAAC "WATTS. ®ljc Sleep. "H« OIVITH HlS BELOVED SLEEP."— Psalm CXZVli. 2. Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep — Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace surpassing this — "He giveth His beloved sleep?" What would we give to our beloved ? The hero's heart, to be unmoved — The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep — The senate's shout to patriot vows — The monarch's crown, to light the brows?— " He giveth His beloved sleep." What do we give to our beloved ] A little faith, all undisproved — A little dust, to overweep — And bitter memories, to make The whole earth blasted for our sake ! "He giveth His beloved sleep." "Sleep soft, beloved !" we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep : But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber, when " He giveth His beloved sleep." (155) 1 - . THE SLEEP. earth, bo full of dreary noises! men. with wailing in your voices ! O delved gold, the wallers heap ! strife. cue \r it fall! God makes a silence through you all. And •• grfrretfa His sleep." His :.-:v rs D the hill: His cloud above it saileth still. Though on its slope men toil and lean ! e softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, ■He giveth His eloved sleep." ffa ! men may A living', thin bag man, In such a rest his heart I Bu: ingela e — v.-.i through the word 1 ween their I tile is heard — •• He giv And. friends ! — ;-::.: friends ! — when it shall be T:.it this low breath is gone from me. And round my bier ye come to weep — Le: me, ill, Say, not a tear must o'er her fall — •• He giv £l)e Sacrifice of 3bral)am. Take BOH tin BOO, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee unto tin: land riab; and offer bun there for a barnt-ofiering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of —Genesis wii. i. Mobn breaketh in the east. The purple clouds Are putting on their gold and violet, To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming. Sleep is upon the waters and the wind ; And nature, from the very forest leaf To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet, There is no mist upon the deep blue sky, And the clear dew is on the blushing bosom Of crimson roses in a holy rest. How hallowed is the hour of morning! meet — Ay, beautifully meet for the pure prayer. The patriarch standeth at his tented door, With his white locks uncovered. 'Tis his wont To gaze upon that gorgeous orient ; And at that hour the awful majesty Of man, who talketh often with his God, Is wont to come again, and clothe his brow As at his fourscore strength. But now, he seemeth To be forgetful of his vigorous frame, And boweth to his staff, as at the hour Of noontide sultriness. And that bright sun — He looketh at his pencilled messengers Coming in golden raiment, as if all Were but a graven scroll of fearfulness. Ah, he is waiting till it herald in The hour to sacrifice his much-loved son ! Light poureth on the world. And Sarah stands Watching the steps of Abraham and her child (157) iOb THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM. Along the dewy sides of the far hills, And praying that her sunny boy faint not. Would she have watch'd their path so silently, If she had known that he was going up, Even in his fair-haired beauty, to be slain As a white lamb for sacrifice 1 They trod Together onward, patriarch and child — The bright sun throwing back the old man's shade In straight and fair proportions, as of one Whose years were freshly number'd. He stood up Tall in his vigorous strength; and, like a tree Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not. His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind, And left his brow uncovered ; and his face, Impressed with the stern majesty of grief Nerved to a solemn duty, now stood forth, Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime. But the young boy — he of the laughing eye And ruby lip — the pride of life was on him; He seemed to drink the morning. Sun and dew And the aroma of the spicy trees, And all that giveth the delicious East Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts With love and beauty. Every thing he met, Buoyant or beautiful, the lightest wing Of bird or insect, or the palest dye Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path ; And joyously broke forth his tiny shout, As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung Away to some green spot or clustering vine, To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree And fragrant shrub was a new hiding-place; And he would crouch till the old man came by, Then bound before him, with his childish laugh, Stealing a look behind him playfully, To see if he had made his father smile. Tin: SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM. 159 The sun rode on in In avm. The dew stole up From the fresh daaghfc rs of the earth, and heat Came like a sloop upon the delicate leaves, And bent them, with the blossoms, to their dreams. Still trod the patriarch on, with that same stop, Firm and unfaltering; turning not aside To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells, Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot To toss his sunny hair from off his brow, And spring for the fresh flowers and light wings, As in the early morning; but he kept Close by his father's side, and bent his head Upon his bosom, like a drooping bud ; Lifting it not, save now and then to steal A look up to the face whose sternness awed His childishness to silence. It was noon — And Abraham on Moriah bowed himself, And buried up his face, and prayed for strength. He could not look upon his son and pray; But, with his hand upon the clustering curls Of the fair, kneeling boy, he prayed that God Would nerve him for that hour. Oh ! man was made For the stern conflict. In a mother's love There is more tenderness ; the thousand chords, Woven with every fibre of her heart, Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath; But love in man is one deep principle, Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock, Abides the tempest. He rose up and laid The wood upon the altar. All was done. He stood a moment — and a deep, quick flush Passed o'er his countenance ; and then he nerved His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke — 160 THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM. " Isaac, my only son !" — The boy looked up, And Abraham turned his face away and wept. " Where is the lamb, my father?" — Oh, the tones. The sweet, the thrilling music of a child ! — How doth it agonize at such an hour ! — It was the last, deep struggle. Abraham held His loved, his beautiful, his only son, And lifted up his arm, and called on God — And lo ! God's angel stayed him — and he fell Upon his face and wept. N. P. WILLIS. fjebron. Genesis xl. 29, 33. "Bury me with my fathers, in the cave The Patriarch purchased of the sons of Heth. Where Abraham slumbers, and where Isaac rests, Where Sarah and Rebekah wait the dawn Of the last morning — and where Leah sleeps, Leah the tender-eyed, there let me lie — I buried her in Hebron." — Did the thought That Rachel slept at Bethlehem, in that hour, Come to the dying man 1 He gathered up His limbs in decent calmness; and his spirit, Careful no longer where the body tarried, Was gathered to his fathers. H. H. WJELD. Resignation. () THOU that wilt not break the bruised reed, Nor heap fresh ashes on the mourner's brow, Nor rend anew the wounds that inly bleed, The only balm of our afflictions, Thou, Teach us to bear thy chastening wrath, O God ! To kiss with quivering lips — still humbly kiss, thy rod ! We bless thee, Lord, though far from Judah's land ; Though our worn limbs are black with stripes and chains Though for stern foes we till the burning sand ; And reap, for others' joy, the summer plains; We bless thee, Lord, for thou art gracious still, Even though this last black drop o'erflow our cup of ill ! We bless thee for our lost, our beauteous child ! The tears, less bitter, she hath made us weep ; The weary hours her graceful sports have 'guiled, And the dull cares her voice hath sung to sleep ! She was the dove of hope to our lone ark; The only star that made the stranger's sky less dark ! Our dove is fallen into the spoiler's net; Rude hands defile her plumes, so chastely white : To the bereaved their one soft star is set, And all above is sullen, cheerless night! But still we thank thee for our transient bliss, Yet, Lord, to scourge our sins remain'd no way but this ! 11 ( 161 ) 162 RESIGNATION. As when our father to mount Moriah led The blessing's heir, his age's hope and joy, Pleased, as he roamed along with dancing tread, Chid his slow sire, the fond, officious boy, And laugh'd in sport to see the yellow fire Climb up the turf-built shrine, his destined funeral pyre. Even thus our joyous child went lightly on; Bashfully sportive, timorously gay, Her white foot bounded from the pavement stone Like some light bird from off the quivering spray ; And back she glanced, and smiled, in blameless glee, The cars, and helms, and spears, and mystic dance, to see. By thee, O Lord, the gracious voice was sent That bade the sire his murderous task forego; When to his home the child of Abraham went His mother's tears had scarce begun to flow. Alas ! and lurks there, in the thickest shade, The victim to replace our lost, devoted maid ? Lord, e'en through thee to hope were now too bold ; Yet 'twere to doubt thy mercy to despair. 'Tis anguish, yet 'tis comfort, faint and cold, To think how sad we are, how blest we were ! To speak of her is wretchedness, and yet It were a grief more deep and bitter to forget ! Lord our God! why was she e'er our own] Why is she not our own — our treasure still ? We could have pass'd our heavy years alone. Alas! is this to bow us to thy will ? Ah, even our humblest prayers we make repine, Nor, prostrate thus on earth, our hearts to thee resign. RESIGNATION. {{]:> Forgive, forgive, even should our full hearts break; The hroken heart thou wilt not, Lord, deapif Ah ! thou art still too gracious to forsake, Though thy strong hand so heavily chastise. Hear all our prayers, hear not our murmurs, Lord ; And though our lips rebel, still make thyself adored. Suite. The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the knell of my departed hours Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands despatch : How much is to be done? My hopes and fears Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge Look down — on what? a fathomless abyss ; A dread eternity ! how surely mine ! And can eternity belong to me, Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour! Autumn. Sweet Sabbath of the year ! While evening lights decay, Thy parting steps methinks I hear Steal from the world away. Amid thy silent bowers, 'Tis sad, but sweet, to dwell ; Where falling leaves and drooping flowers Around me breathe farewell. Along thy sunset skies, Their glories melt in shade ; And like the things we fondly prize, Seem lovelier as they fade. A deep and crimson streak Thy dying leaves disclose ; As, on Consumption's waning cheek, 'Mid ruin blooms the rose. Thy scene each vision brings Of beauty in decay; Of fair and early faded things Too exquisite to stay. (164) AUTUMN. 1,,;, Of joy9 that come no more ; Of flowers whose hloom is fled; Of farewells wept upon the shore : Of friends estranged or dead. Of all that now may seem, To memory's tearful eye, The vanish'd beauty of a dream, O'er which we gaze and sigh. HOXrTG01£ZRY. penitential {Jrcmcr. J no acknowledge unto Thee, O God ! A child of wilful waywardness I've been ; In crooked paths of selfishness and sin These many years my wandering feet have trod. But, oh ! be merciful ! The world I've loved Like Sodom's fruit of bitterness has proved; And I, repentant, bleeding at the heart, Would find a Helper in this time of wo; And, save to Thee, I know not where to go To find a balsam for my bosom's smart. Be merciful, God ! Let Him atone Who died for wretched men like me: no plea My anguish knows but this last plea alone ! For His dear sake, my God ! oh, spare and pity me ! THQl filje flratuT of a Conclu ijcart. I am alone — Oh, be thou near to me, Great God ! from whom the meanest are not far. Not in presumption of the daring spirit, Striving to find the secrets of itself, "Make I my weeping prayer ; in the deep want Of utter loneliness, my God! I seek thee; If the worm may creep up to thy fellowship, Or dust, instinct with yearning, rise towards thee. I have no fellow, Father ! of my kind ; None that be kindred, none companion to me, And the vast love, and harmony, and brotherhood, Of the dumb creatures thou hast made below me, Vexes my soul with its own bitter lot. Around me grow the trees, each by the other ; Innumerable leaves, each like the other, ^Yhisper and breathe, and live and move together. Around me spring the flowers ; each rosy cup Hath sisters leaning their fair cheeks against it. The birds fly all above me; not alone, But coupled in free fellowship, or mustering A joyous band, sweeping in companies The wide blue fields between the clouds ; — the clouds Troop in society, each on the other Shedding, like sympathy, reflected light. The waves, a multitude, together run To the great breast of the receiving sea : (166) Tin: PRATEB OF a LONELY HEART. 167 Nothing t>ut bath its kind, its company, O God ! save I alone !— Then let me come, Good Father! to thy feet. When, even as now, Tears, that no human hand is near to wipe, O'erbrim my eyes, O wipe them, thou, my Father! When in my heart the stores of its affections, Piled up, unused, lock'd fast, are like to burst The fleshly casket, that may not contain them, Let me come nigh to thee;— accept them thou, Dear Father! — Fount of love ! Compassionate God ! When in my spirit burns the fire, the power That have made men utter the words of angels, And none are near to bid me speak and live : Hearken, O Father ! Maker of my spirit ! God of my soul, to thee I will outpour The hymns resounding through my troubled mind, The sighs and sorrows of my lonely heart, The tears and weeping of my weary eyes : Be thou my fellow, glorious, gracious God ! And fit me for such fellowship with thee ! FRANCES SEM3LE 3T7LEK tUastcb fountains. And their nobles have sent their little ones to the waters; they came to the pits and found no water ; they returned with their vessels empty. — Jeremiah xiv. 3. When the youthful fever of the soul Is awaken'd in thee first, And thou go'st like Judah's children forth To slake the burning thirst, And when, dry and wasted, like the springs Sought by that little band, Before thee, in life's emptiness, Life's broken cisterns stand ; When the golden fruits that tempted thee Turn to ashes on the taste, And thine early visions fade and pass, Like the mirage of the waste ; W T hen faith darkens, and hopes vanish In the shade of coming years, And the urn thou bear'st is empty, Or o'erflowing with thy tears ; Though the transient springs have fail'd thee, Though the founts of youth are dried, W T ilt thou among the mouldering stones In weariness abide'? Wilt thou sit among the ruins, With all words of love unspoken, Till the silver cord is loosen'd, Till the golden bowl is broken 1 ? (168) WASTED FOUNTAINS. 169 Up and onward ! toward the East Green oases thou shah find, — Streams that rise from higher sources Than the pools thou leav'st behind. Life has import more inspiring Than the fancies of thy youth ; It has hopes as high as heaven, It has labour, it has truth. It has wrongs that may be righted, Noble deeds that may be done ; Its great battles are unfought, Its great triumphs are unwon. There is rising from its troubled deeps A low, unceasing moan ; There are aching, there are breaking, Other hearts besides thine own. From strong limbs that should be chainles3, There are fetters to unbind ; There are words to raise the fallen, There is light to give the blind. There are crush'd and broken spirits, That electric thoughts may thrill ; Lofty dreams to be embodied By the might of one strong will. There are God and heaven above thee : Wilt thou languish in despair? Tread thy griefs beneath thy feet, Scale the walls of heaven by prayer. 'Tis the key of the apostle That will open heaven below ; 'Tis the ladder of the patriarch, Whereon angels come and go. ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH. 33*lsl)ct#ar. Belshazzar is King! Belshazzar is Lord ! And a thousand dark nobles all bend at his board ; Fruits glisten, flowers blossom, meats steam, and a flood Of the wine that man loveth runs redder than blood : Wild dancers are there, and a riot of mirth, And the beauty that maddens the passions of earth; And the crowds all shout, Till the vast roofs ring — "All praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!" "Bring forth," cries the monarch, "the vessels of gold, Which my father tore down from the temples of old : Bring forth, and we'll drink, while the trumpets are blown, To the Gods of bright silver, of gold, and of stone; Bring forth !" — and before him the vessels all shine, And he bows unto Baal, and he drinks the dark wine ; While the trumpets bray, And the cymbals ring — "Praise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!" Now what cometh — look, look! — without menace, or call 1 ? Who writes, with the lightning's bright hand, on the wall? What pierceth the king, like the point of a dart] What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart? "Chaldeans! Magicians! the letters expound !" They are read — and Belshazzar is dead on the ground ! Hark ! — the Persian is come On a conqueror's wing; And a Mede's on the throne of Belshazzar the king ! BARRY CORNWALL. (170) Consolation. PILGRIM burden'd with thy sin, Come the way to Zion's gate, There, till mercy lots thee in, Knock, and weep, and watch, and wait. Knock!— He knows the sinner's cry ; Weep!— He loves the mourner's tears; Watch '.—for saving grace is nigh ; Waitr-till heavenly light appears. Hark! it is the bridegroom's voice: Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest; Now within the gate rejoice, Safe, and seal'd, and bought, and blest. Safe— from all the lures of vice; Seal'd— by signs the chosen know ; Bought— by love, and life the price ; Blest— the mighty debt to owe. Holy pilgrim ! what for thee, In a world like this remain 1 ? From thy guarded breast shall flee, Fear, and shame, and doubt, and pain. Fear— the hope of heaven shall fly ; Shame— from glory's view retire ; Doubt— in certain rapture die; Pain— in endless bliss expire. CRABBE. (171) damcroman'0 ©ream. iN a dream of the night I was wafted away To the muirlands of mist, where the martyr host lay, Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen Engraved on the stone, where the heather grows green. 'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, When the minister's home was the mountain and wood, When in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion, All bloody and torn, 'mong the heather was lying. 'Twas morning, and summer's young sun, from the east, Lay in loving repose on the green mountain's breast ; On Wardlaw and Cairntable, the clear shining dew Glisten'd sheen 'mong the heath bells, and mountain flowers blue. And far up in heaven, near the white sunny cloud, The song of the lark was melodious and loud ; And in Glenmuir's wild solitudes, lengthen'd and deep, Were the whistling of plovers, and bleating of sheep. And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed music and gladness, The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness; Its daughters were happy, to hail the returning, And drink the delights of July's sweet morning. (172) 173 But, ah ! there were hearts eherish'd far other feelings, Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings, Who drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow, For they knew that their blood would bedew it to-morrow. 'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying Concealed 'mong the mist, where the heath-fowl was crying, For the horsemen of Earshall around them were hovering, And their bridle-reins rung through the thin misty covering. Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheathed, But the vengeance that darkened their brow was unbreathed; With eyes turn'd to heaven in calm resignation, They sung their last song to the God of salvation. The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing, The curlew and plover in concert were singing; But the melody died 'mid derision and laughter, As the host of ungodly rush'd on to the slaughter. Though in mist, and in darkness, and fire they weie shrouded, Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded ; Their dark eyes flash'd lightning, as firm and unbending They stood like the rock, which the thunder is rending. The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming ; The heavens grew dark, and the thunder was rolling, When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling. When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended ; Its drivers were angels on horses of whiteness, And its burning wheels turn'd on axles of brightness. 174 A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining, All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining; And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation, Have mounted the chariot and steeds of salvation. On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding, Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding; Glide swiftly, bright spirits, the prize is before ye, A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory. HTSLOP. Hzsxxs stilling tljc Scmpest. When through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming, When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming, Nor hope lends a ray, the poor seaman to cherish, We fly to our Maker : " Save, Lord ! or we perish." O Jesus ! once rock'd on the breast of the billow, Aroused by the shriek of despair from thy pillow; Now seated in glory, the mariner cherish, Who cries in his anguish, " Save, Lord, or we perish." And, O ! when the whirlwind of passion is raging, When sin in our hearts his wild warfare is waging, Then send down thy grace, thy redeemed to cherish ; Rebuke the destroyer; " Save, Lord, or we perish." £o mil illotljcr. Oh, mother, would the power were mine To wake the strain thou lovest to hear, And breathe each trembling new-born thought Within thy fondly listening ear, As when, in days of health and glee, My hopes and fancies wander'd free. But, mother, now a shade hath pass'd Athwart my brightest visions here ; A cloud of darkest gloom hath wrapp'd The remnant of my brief career; No song, no echo can I win, The sparkling fount hath dried within. The torch of earthly hope burns dim, And fancy spreads her wings no more; And Oh, how vain and trivial seem The pleasures that I prized before ! My soul, with trembling steps and slow, Is struggling on through doubt and strife; Oh, may it prove, as time rolls on, The pathway to eternal life ! Then, when my cares and fears are o'er, I'll sing thee as in " days of yore." 1 said that Hope had pass'd from earth ; 'Twas but to fold her wings in heaven, To whisper of the soul's new birth, Of sinners saved and sins forgiven: When mine are wash'd in tears away, Then shall my spirit swell my lay. 175) 176 TO MY MOTHER. When God shall guide my soul above, By the soft chords of heavenly love — When the vain cares of earth depart, And tuneful voices swell my heart — Then shall each word, each note I raise, Burst forth in pealing hymns of praise; And all not orTer'd at His shrine, Dear mother, I will place on thine. M. DAVIDSON. So an Infant Stater. Sweet babe ! I cannot hope that thou 'It be freed From woes, to all since earliest time decreed ; But may'st thou be with resignation bless'd, To bear each evil, howsoe'er distress'd. May hope her anchor lend amid the storm, And o'er the tempest rear her angel form ; May sweet benevolence, whose words are peace, To the rude whirlwind softly whisper — cease ! And may Religion, heaven's own darling child, Teach thee at human cares and griefs to smile ; Teach thee to look beyond that world of wo, To heaven's high fount, whence mercies ever flow. And when this vale of years is safely pass'd, When death's dark curtain shuts the scene at last, May thy freed spirit leave this earthly sod, And fly to seek the bosom of thy God. L. DAVIDSON. Cljottgljts on Dcatl). 'T is but a little thing to die, To fall asleep in death, To close on earth the weary eye, And loose the faltering breath. We daily suffer more than this In anxious thought and pain — In what we have, and what we miss, In loss, or want of gain. "T is not to part with life we fear ; That easily were borne ; It is from ties we hold more dear, The heart-strings must be torn. To leave the prattlers at our knee, The wife, the friends we love ; All we are now, or hope to be, Should life a blessing prove : 'T is these that make us cling to life, With all its toil and pain ; That gird us up to meet the strife — Renew our strength again. I cannot bear the thought, to leave These cherished ones alone To meet the world, and strive and grieve As I do, and have done. Spare us, Father ! let us stay, While these strong ties entwine ; That I may smooth their rugged way, And they, in turn, cheer mine ! D. BATES. 12 (17?) *4 (Hl)vt0t a Sttinpatl)is\ng Jnetft. When gathering clouds around I view, And days are dark, and friends are few; On Him I lean, who, not in vain, Experienced every human pain. He sees my griefs, allays my fears, And counts and treasures up my tears. If aught should tempt my soul to stray From heavenly wisdom's narrow way, To fly the good I would pursue, Or do the thing I would not do ; Still He, who felt temptation's power, Shall guard me in that dangerous hour. If wounded love my bosom swell, Despised by those I prized too well; He shall his pitying aid bestow, Who felt on earth severer wo; At once betray'd, denied, or fled, By those who shared his daily bread. When vexing thoughts within me rise, And, sore dismay'd, my spirit dies ; Yet He who once vouchsafed to bear The sickening anguish of despair, Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry, The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. (178) CHRIST A SYMPATHISING FRIEND. 17 ( » i When, mourning, o'er some stone I bend, Which covers all that was a friend, And from his voice, his hand, his smile, Divides me for a little while ; Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead. And, oh, when I have safely past Through every conflict but the last, Still, still unchanging, watch beside My painful bed — for thou hast died ; Then point to realms of cloudless day, And wipe the latest tear away. Sips toorlir a Babble. My soul, what's lighter than a feather? Wind. Than wind 1 The fire. And what than fire 1 The mind. What's lighter than the mind 1 A thought. Than thought ? This bubble, world. What than this bubble 1 Naught. QUARLES. She " £l)m tfltgljtn/ QUIETLY falls from heaven the light Of the stars and moon in the summer night; And the rising sun in Rephaim's vale Is met by the glitter of clanging mail. The Philistine hath fix'd his encampment here, Afar stretch his lines of banner and spear, And his chariots of brass are ranged side by side, And his war-steeds neigh loud in their trappings of pride His tents are placed where the waters flow ; The sun hath dried up the spring below ; And Israel hath neither well nor pool The rage of her soldiers' thirst to cool. In the cave of Adullam King David lies, Overcome with the glare of the burning skies; And the lip is parch'd, and his tongue is dry, But none can the grateful draught supply. Though a crowned king, in that painful hour, One flowing cup might have bought his power: What worth in the fire of thirst could be The purple pomp of his sovereignty 1 But no cooling cup from river or spring To relieve his want can his servants bring, And he cries, "Are there none in my train or state Will fetch me the water of Bethlehem gate?" (180) THE THREE MIGHTY. 181 Then three of his warriors, the Mighty Three, The boast of the monarch's chivalry, Uprose in their strength, and their bucklers rang. As with flashing eyes on their steeds they sprang. On their steeds they sprang, and then forth with speed They rush in the strength of a noble deed, They dash on the foe like a torrent flood, Till his armour is dyed in his flowing blood. To the right, to the left, where their blue swords shine, Like autumn corn, falls the Philistine ; And sweeping along with the arms of fate, The Mighty rush to the Bethlehem gate. Through a bloody gap in his shatter'd array To a crystal well they have hewn their way ; Then backward they turn on the corse-cover'd plain, And charge through the foe to their monarch again. The king look'd on the cup, " Oh, never a draught So dearly bought shall by me be quaff' d !" On his cheek is pallor, and quivers his lip, Yet all vainly they urge him the water to sip. But with head uncover'd and upturn' d eye He pours it forth to the Lord on high ; 'Tis a draught of death — 'tis a cup blood-stain' d — 'Tis a prize by man's peril and agony gain'd. Should he taste of a cup that his Mighty Three Had obtain'd by such valour and jeopardy] Should he drink of their life 1 — 'Twas the thought of a king ! And again he return'd to his suffering. ANONY1IOT3. ®!)c Qour of Dcatl). Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath ; And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death ! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer; But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth! The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ; There comes a day for griefs o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears — but all are thine ! Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee ! — but thou art not of those That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey ! Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death ! (182) THE HOUR OF DEATH. We know when moons shall wane, When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain; But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whispei where the violets lie? Is it when roses in our paths grow pale? They have one season — all are ours to die ! Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air ; Thou art around us in our peaceful home, And the world calls us forth— and thou art there ! Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest; Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death ! LIES. HBMANa ftlorning fjmnn. " Let there be light!" The Eternal spoke, And from the abyss where darkness rode The earliest dawn of nature broke, And light around creation flow'd. The glad earth smiled to see the day, The first-born day, come blushing in; The young day smiled to shed its ray Upon a world untouch' d by sin. " Let there be light !" O'er heaven and earth, The God who first the day-beam pour'd, Utter'd again his fiat forth, And shed the gospel's light abroad ; And, like the dawn, its cheering rays On rich and poor were meant to fall ; Inspiring their Redeemer's praise, In lowly cot and lordly hall. Then come, when in the orient first Flushes the signal-light for prayer; Come with the earliest beams that burst From God's bright throne of glory there. Come kneel to Him who through the night Hath watch'd above thy sleeping soul, To Him whose mercies, like his light, Are shed abroad from pole to pole. C. F. H0FFMA.N. (184) Scene in (f?etl)semane. The moon was shining yet. The orient's brow, Set with the morning-star, was not yet dim ; And the deep silence which subdues the breath Like a strong feeling, hung upon the world As sleep upon the pulses of a child. 'T was the last watch of night. Gethsemane, With its bathed leaves of silver, seemed dissolved In visible stillness ; and as Jesus' voice, With its bewildering sweetness, met the ear Of his disciples, it vibrated on, Like the first whisper in a silent world. They came on slowly. Heaviness oppressM The Saviour's heart, and when the kindnesses Of his deep love were pour'd, he felt the need Of near communion, for his gift of strength Was wasted by the spirit's weariness. He left them there, and went a little on ; And in the depth of that hush'd silentness, Alone with God, he fell upon his face, And as his heart was broken with the rush Of his surpassing agony, and death, Wrung to him from a dying universe, Was mightier than the Son of man could bear, He gave his sorrows way — and in the deep Prostration of his soul, breathed out the prayer, " Father, if it be possible with thee, Let this cup pass from me." Oh, how a word, Like the forced drop before the fountain breaks, ( 183 .) 186 SCENE IN GETHSEMANE. Stilleth the press of human agony ! The Saviour felt its quiet in his soul ; And though his strength was weakness, and the light Which led him on till now was sorely dim, He breathed a new submission — " Not my will, But thine be done, Father!" As he spoke, Voices were heard in heaven, and music stole Out from the chambers of the vaulted sky, As if the stars were swept like instruments. No cloud was visible, but radiant wings Were coming with a silvery rush to earth ; And as the Saviour rose, a glorious one, With an illumined forehead, and the light Whose fountain is the mystery of God, Encalm'd within his eye, bow'd down to him, And nerved him with a ministry of strength. It was enough — and with his godlike brow Re-written of his Father's messenger, With meekness, whose divinity is more Than power and glory, he return'd again To his disciples, and awaked their sleep ; For " he that should betray him was at hand." Reflections on a Skull. Behold this ruin! 'twas a skull, Once of ethereal spirit full : This narrow cell was life's retreat; This space was thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous pictures fill'd this spot, What dreams of pleasure long forgot! Nor love, nor joy, nor hope, nor fear Has left one trace or record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy, Once shone the bright and lovely eye; But start not at the empty cell ; If on the Cross it loved to dwell, If with no lawless fire it gleam'd, But with contrition's tear-drop beam'd, That eye shall shine for ever bright, When suns and stars have lost their light. Here in this silent cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue ; If of redeeming love it spoke, Confessing Jesus' easy yoke, ( 187 ) 100 REFLECTIONS ON A SKULL. If with persuasive mildness bold, Condemning sin, of grace it told; That tuneful tongue in realms above, Shall sing Messiah's reign of love. Say, did these fingers delve the mine, Or with its envied rubies shine % To hew the rock or wear the gem, Can nothing now avail to them ; But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought, Those hands shall strike the lyre of praise, And high the palm of triumph raise. Avails not whether bare or shod, These feet the path of life had trod, If from the bower of joy they fled, To soothe affliction's humble bed ; If spurning all the world bestow'd, They sought the strait and narrow road, These feet with angel's wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky. ANONYMOUS. Conging for (5 car)Cn - RISE, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace; Rise from transitory things, Toward heaven, thy native place. Sun, and moon, and stars, decay, Time shall soon this earth remove; Rise, my soul, and haste away To seats prepared above. Rivers to the ocean run, Nor stay in all their course : Fire ascending seeks the sun — Both speed them to their source. So a soul new-born of God Pants to view his glorious face; Upward tends to his abode, To rest in his embrace. Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn, Press onward to the prize : Soon the Saviour will return Triumphant in the skies. Yet a season, and you know Happy entrance will be given, All our sorrows left below, And earth exchanged for heaven. (189)