t < V ( Mot ' ilttfTra T^CC*? 1 |li )J Wk XWKTSS FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D, BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY LAYS OF THE SANCTUARY, AND OTHER POEMS. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/sanctoOOruth of tf)e §?anct AND OTHER POEMS. COMPILED AND EDITED G. Stevenson de M. Rutherford. " Now the end of the commandment is charity, out of a pure heart, and of a good conference t and of faith unfeigned." i Tim. i. 5. LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. 33 PATERNOSTER ROW. LONDON: Printed by G. Barclay, CaftU St. Ltktfkr Sf. PREFACE. Tt yTRS. Elizabeth Good, for whofe benefit this Work ■*-*-■- has been publifhed, is the aged relict of a pro- feffional gentleman, and the niece of the late Rev. T. Allen, D.D. In times gone by, her family furnifhed members to the clerical and legal profeffions ; but its fortune, like all earthly things, has changed with the viciffitudes of time. Mrs. Good has attained her feventy-fifth year, but fhe is a marvel for her age. She is brifk, lively, and chatty, as a girl in her teens, and evinces unwonted bodily activity in the difcharge of her domeftic duties. Her faculties are hardly impaired : fhe can thread her needle by candlelight, and can walk three and four miles in fucceffion. Nor have the fnows of feventy winters bleached a hair of her head. Yet, at her age, when the majority of people feek reft, fhe eats not the bread of idlenefs, but cheerfully ftruggles with feeble hands againft the difficulties that have befet her path. vi Preface. Sixteen years ago (he loft her hufband, — a man much beloved for genuine goodnefs by all who knew him, and a few poor retain to this day a grateful recollection of his kindneiTes ; while fome, whom his generous heart befriended in their poverty, and who have fince enjoyed profperitv, have for former favours returned bafe ingra- titude. At his death fhe was left in eafy circumftances, occupying a well-furnifhed houfe on Connaught Terrace, furrounded by fmiling friends, who with the firft fign of adverfity flunk away. By the charity that thinks no wrong — an honeft credence which fome might call eafy credulity — fhe too implicitly confided in thole who, with fair fpeaking and feeming, were cruelly defrauding her j and at laft, from the heartlefs duplicitv and atrocious villany of one, matchlefs for his audacity in weaving the web of wrong fcathlefs, fhe not only loft her money, but the greater part of her furniture was fold. From comfort fhe was at once reduced to indigence, with the growing incapabilities of age to aggravate the bitternefs of deftitution. And for the laft ten years fhe has been totted hither and thither on a lea of troubles, — often- times expofed to grievous neceflitv, in need of common necefTaries, fo keenly prefling as almoft to border on the dire ft exigencies of poverty. Yet with fortitude fhe drained the bitter cup, and with cheerfulnefs fhe bore the uncharitablenefs of the world, — with a ftrength and Prefa VII energy beyond her years, which the poiTeflion of a good confcience could alone impart, and with a firm reliance on the mercy of God, who in His own time will fet this bewildering fcene of wrong right. True to her early teaching, in the midft of the forrow and adverfity that have darkened and embittered her old age, fhe has fteadfaftly clung to the Rock that faileth not the children of the " houfehold of faith." In corroboration, I beg to offer the following tes- timonials of Mrs. Good's deferts : — The Parfonage, Rainhill, near Prefcot, Lancafhire, July 17, 1858. This is to certify that I have known Mrs. Good for more than eighteen years, — that I have always found her to be a lady of moft upright, honourable, kind, and induftrious habits, willing to be ufeful in every way that fhe could, and anxious to promote the happinefs and comfort of every one with whom fhe is con- nected. It is with extreme pain I hear of her fad loffes, and the cruel treatment fhe has met with from feme who ought to have been a help to her. I knew her hufband, who was an eftimable medical man. Any benevolent individual who may be willing to help Mrs. Good in her plans for her future fup- port, may reft allured that his kindnefs will be well applied. Theodore Shurt, M.A., Of Chrift College, Cambridge, And late Incumbent of Morton Morrell, Warwickshire. viii Preface. 3 Tonbridge Street, Eufton Road, Dec. 9th, 1858. Dear Madam, — I deeply regret to hear that your old age is embittered by trouble and poverty, and fhall rejoice to hear that the exertions of your friends have proved a real aid and comfort in the hour of need. Having known you for upwards of thirty years, I am quite fure, if it had depended upon yourfelf, your active habits and kindnefs of heart would have fecured you a happy and comfortable lot, but unforefeen events and the unfair dealings of the world have, indeed, faddened your latter days. Pray put my name down for a copy of the Poems ; and if the teftimony of an old friend's regard is of any fervice, ufe it in any way you think fit. I remain, yours faithfully, £. W. Hayes, Of the Bank of England. Acacia Road, N.W. Dec. 13th, 1858. Dear Madam, — It is with great regret I learn the ftory of your trouble and misfortune — not the refult of any want of induftry on your part, but arifing from the mifcondudfc of others. Having known your late hufband and yourfelf between twenty and thirty years, I cannot withhold this teftimony of my eiteem, and fhall be happy to fubferibe for the Poems, which, with the kind affiftance of your friends, you are going to publifh ; and which, I fincerely truft, may prove a fource of permanent relief to you. I remain, yours very truly, Le Chevalier George Manders, Attache to the Portugucfe Legation. Pre/a IX The Poems in this volume are original, and expreflly contributed. The Work itfelf is a noble teftimony of the active charities of life, — the golden links that bind humanity in bonds of love. To this Compilation I have brought nothing but friendfhip and patience ; indeed, my fhare of the labour I may well exprefs in the words of Montaigne, — " I have here only made a nofegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own but the thread that ties them." In tendering my grateful thanks to the Contributors for the generous afliftance they have, throughout this " labour that proceedeth of love," afforded me, I cannot but exprefs a hope that we may meet hereafter on a wider field of ufefulnefs. But whether or not, I fhall ever retain a deep and lively fenfe of their kindnefs to Mrs. Good. How ever forget the difintereftednefs with which they refponded to my appeal, and liberally be- ftowed the rich and delicate fabric of the mental loom for her benefit ? Not content with the beftowal of thefe tokens of fympathy, nor unmindful of the injunction of Chriftian duty laid on us all to lighten, to the beft of our ability, the burden and forrow of the widow, they have added material gifts too, — fcattering a few flowers of comfort on the path to the tomb. How exprefs her gratitude for thefe offices of love ? But, verily, her benefactors will find their beft reward for fuch acts x Preface. of beneficence in the deep reality of the inward fatis- fa£Hon that flows to thofe who give a cup of water in His name ! " Thofe deeds of charity which we have done, Shall flay for ever with us; and that wealth Which we have fo beftow'd, we only keep." With the launch of the Volume, for weal or woe, on the fea of literary adventure, I take cordial leave of the friends of the caufe. Yet not before fervently breathing a prayer of earneft heart, that this fweet offering of the Mufe of Benevolence may prove the forerunner of many bleflings to Mrs. Good. For po- verty, which is often vifited as a crime, is at all feafons hard to bear ; but how much harder when it falls to the lot of threefcore and ten, with the infirmities of age to aggravate diftrefs ! Yet, making no appeal to morbid feelings by parading her woes and her cares, but limply trufting to our common humanitv, I leave the broad outlines of misfortune to fpeak to the heart, and prompt it to acts of grace from its own native goodnefs. If the Work be fuccefsful, the proceeds will be appro- priated to the purchafe of an annuity, or the leafe of a fmall houfe. In either cafe, the conlummation of a plan of relief fo fimple will enfure to her few remaining years a home, or a means of fubfiftence, certain and Preface, XI definite. And, no longer a prey to the fharp pangs of poverty and its fore difquietude, this unfortunate and aged lady may end her days in the enjoyment of com- parative comfort. In recommending this Volume to the tender mercies of the critic, I beg to remind him that it folicits indulgent confideration on the plea that it is an expreflion of the beft and nobleft feelings of our nature — the defire to fuccour misfortune and folace the helpleflhefs of age. *** As this little Work has been contributed exprefjly for a charitable purpcj'e, Purchafers of it are moji rejpetlfully and earnejiiy entreated, if they approve of its objeel, to recommend it to their friends. LIST OF AUTHORS. LAYS OF THE SJNCTUJRT. ABDY, MRS. Page The Restless Heart 78 The Orchard ........ 109 AIDE, HAMILTON, ES£. Different Paths ....... 142 ALEXANDER, MRS. The Sun of Righteousness 89 ALEXANDER, REV. W., M.A. A Prayer 19 Christ on the Shore . . . . . -25 The Chamber, Peace ...... 36 Repentance and Faith ...... 62 ALFORD, THE VERY REV. H., D.D. Lines for an Adult Baptism ..... 7 AUTHOR OF " TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS," &c. Truth ......... 98 xiv Lift of Authors. BALFERN, REV. W. P. Page Speak the Truth in Love ..... 107 BENNETT, W. C. Life in Death ....... 39 BLACK, REV. C. I., M.A. Christ in Gethsemane 118 BLACKIE, PROFESSOR. John the Baptist . . . . . . -51 BONAR, REV. HORATIUS, D.D. Here and Yonder . . . . . . .174 BOVCE, REV. J. C, M.A. Sabbath Hours ....... 84 BRAITHWAITE, REV. C, M.A. Resignation ........ 40 BRAMELD, REV. G. W., M.A. Emigrants' Farewell Eucharist . . . .110 BROCK, REV. W. J., M.A. Sorrow's Solace . . . . . . .150 BRODERIP, FRANCES FREELING. Grass upon the Housetop ..... 95 BROWN, ROWLAND. The Best-Beloved . . . . . . .81 B *****, H. M. Resolve and Do . . . . . -49 The Heart ........ 69 CAPERN, EDWARD. Monitions 17 Lift of Authors. xv CAYLEY, GEORGE J., ESQ. Page Time breaks upon Eternity . . . . .21 Faith ......... 87 CECIL, HENRY, ESQ. The Sanctuary of God . . . . . 73 COBBOLD, REV. RICHARD, M.A. The Christian's Old Age 166 COLTON, THE LATE REV. W., B.A. A Canticle . . . . . . . 11 CRAIG, MISS ISA. Servants of All ....... 8 In Affliction . . . . . . .158 Faith the Lamp to the Path . . . .169 DAYMAN, REV. J., M.A. Baptismal Lay ....... 80 DOBELL, SYDNEY. The Harps of Heaven . . . . . .41 EMMET, JOHN, ESQ. A Litany ........ 22 God Blesseth Everywhere ..... 96 ENGLISH, EMILY. The Dewdrops ....... 20 ESSINGTON, REV. R. W., M.A. The King Sin ........ 103 FLETCHER, JOHN W., ESQ. The Dead 32 Time, Death, and Love ...... 77 xvi Lift of Authors. FORD, REV. D. E. Page Stars of Glory ....... 50 Our Light Affliction 124 FRENCH, MISS E. W. Endure and Wait ... . . . . 151 G***, E. F. The True Friend ....... 141 GORDON, REV. A., LL.D. Help in Trouble ....... 99 HALL, REV. NEWMAN, LL.B. Death the Gate of Life ..... 76 HERVEY, THE LATE T. K., ESQ. The Lay of the Lowly . . . . . .65 HINDS, THE RIGHT REV. S., D.D. Christmas Sunrise ....... 3 The Dread of Death 102 HOW, REV. W. W., M.A. Christian Philosophy ...... 88 Blessed are the Poor in Spirit . . . .138 HOWITT, MARY. The Willing Disciple 1 HULL, REV. J. D., B.A. The Secret of Happiness ..... 162 HUNT, MISS CAROLINE. Thk Lamb of God, the Lion of the Tribe, etc. . 71 IRENE. Evening ?- Lift of Authors. xvii JEWITT, LLEWELLYNN, ESQ. . Page Home ......... 68 JOHNSTON, MRS. God and Man ....... 60 The Time of the Singing of Birds . . . . ici KEBLE, REV. J., M.A. Hymn 27 Matin Hymn . . . . . . . 113 Vesper Hymn . . . . . . . . 115 KI\G, REV. J. MYERS, M.A. Consolation . . . . . . . 92 KITTERMASTER, REV. F. W., M.A. Easter-Day 126 KNOLLIS, REV. F. MINDEN, D.D. The One Family 134 L., AUTHORESS OF POEMS BY. Truths and Fancies . . . . . . 1 54 LANGFORD, MRS. J. A. Be Thankful . . . . . . . 31 LANGFORD, J. A., ESO. The Burden of Tyre . . . . . .164. LAWSON, REV. J., M.A. I'll think on God . . . . . . .6^ Sonnet 117 LEMON, MARK, ESQ. My Prayer 48 MACDONALD, GEORGE, ESQ. . Marriage Song . . . . . . .18 xviii Lift of Authors. MACFARLAN, JAMES. Page God Glorified ....... 45 MANT, REV. F. W., B.A. Ode for the New Year . . . . . .165 MATSON, REV. W. TIDD. The Mercy of God . . . . . . 171 MUNBY, ARTHUR J., ESQ., M.A. Good Friday . . . . . . . 168 NEALE, W. R., ESQ. The Widow of Nain . . . . . .132 NORTON, THE HON. MRS. Rest 24 Pious Training . . . . . . 57 The Cry of the Poor ...... 144 OXENFORD, JOHN, ESQ. My Redeemer Liveth ...... 122 PARKINSON, REV. W., M.A. Heaven our Home . . . . . . .136 PENNEFATHER, MRS. The Harvest-Home 159 POSTLETHWAITE. 1 Life Song ........ 94 2 Life Song . . . . . . . .170 POSTLETHWAITE, M. J. Parting ......... 108 ROLLS, MISS E. H. The Sepulchre ....... 120 Thk Shadow of Thy Wings . . . . -131 Lift of Authors. xix RUTHERFORD, G. S. DE M., ESQ. Page Sonnet . . . . . . . . 55 SALWEY, REV. T., D.D. The Mourner's Lament ...... 147 SAWYER, WILLIAM, ESQ. Victory and Defeat ...... 46 Worship ......... 143 SEARS, REV. SEPTIMUS. Art thou in Health? . . . . . .58 SEDGWICK, REV. J., D.D. Paraphrase ........ 10 SIMCOX, EDWIN W., ESQ. Abraham and the Fire-Worshipper . . .156 SIMPSON, MRS. J. C. Aspiration ........ 38 Waiting . . . . . . . -65 SMALL, REV. J. C. Spring Thoughts . . . . . . -75 SMITH, REV. GILBERT N., M.A. Darkness the Shadow of Death .... 125 STIRLING, WILLIAM, ESQ., M.P. The Lament of David over Saul and Jonathan . 153 SYMINGTON, ANDREW J., ESQ. Comfort ......... 2 The Snow ........ 70 TAYLER, REV. C. B., M.A. Mary the Mother of Jesus ..... 4 xx Lift of Authors. THRUPP, REV. J. F., M.A. Page Grace from Prayer ...... 29 TOUGH, MISS. Praise Waiteth ....... 128 WATTS, ALARIC A., ESQ. A Proverb Paraphrased ...... 79 WHITE, MISS ELLEN E. The Israelites at the Red Sea .... 56 WHITEHEAD, MRS. TRAFFORD. Jephtha's Daughter ...... 47 WILLIAMS, REV. ROWLAND, D.D. The Strife of the Church . . . . .139 WRATISLAW, REV. A. H., M.A. Christian Love 130 Vicissitude . . . . . . . 173 URBAN THE MONK. BY J. STANYAN BIGG, ESQ. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ADAMS, REV. M. C, M.A. Sorrow 2S6 AIDli, HAMILTON, ESQ. Stars 201 Lift of Authors. xxi ANON. Page Beauty ......... 242 The Pearls of Time ...... 226 AUTHOR OF THE " MEMORIALS OF HEDLEY VICARS," ETC. The Last Day in an Old Home . . . .219 BALLANTINE, JAMES, ESQ. The Child- Teacher ...... 244 BOWRING, EDGAR, ESQ. Epitaph on Niobe . . . . . . .211 BRADBURY, S. H. (QUALLON). The Praying Maiden ...... 202 BRAITHWAITE, REV. G., M.A. To a Thrush ........ 235 BUCHANAN, R. W., ESQ. Trial 239 Yearning . . . . . . . .291 BUERGER, FROM THE GERMAN OF. Comfort . . . . . . . . • 233 BURGESS, REV. HENRY, LL.D. Song for the New Year ...... 234 CHESTER, REV. G. J., M.A. Good in Evil . . . . . . . .214 CYPLES, WILLIAM, ESQ. The Living Cross ....... 240 DAVIS, REV. T., M.A. The Fall of the Oak ...... 259 xxii Lift of Authors. EDMONSTON, MARY S. Page The Wind's Mission ...... 229 EMMET, JOHN, ESQ- We cannot Stay 223 Learning from Nature . . . . . .271 EXTON, REV. R. B., M.A. The Nightingale and the Rose .... '207 FOTHERBY, MARIE J. EWEN. In a Cathedral ....... 273 G * * *, E. F. From the French of Lamartine .... 204 HINDS, THE RIGHT REV. S., D.D. Let her Stay ........ 203 HOOK, THE VERY REV. W. F., D.D. Sonnet ......... 224 JACKSON, REV. E. D., B.C.L. Evening 210 The Birkenhead ....... 264 KING, J. W. The Sailor's Bride ....... 255 LINWOOD, J. SMART, ESQ. An Old Man's Reverie ...... 237 MAGNAY, REV. CLAUDE, M.A. Glastonbury Abbey ...... 274 MARS TON, WESTLAND, ESQ. Sonnet. Love: a Woman's Thought . . . 204 „ Genius . . . . . . . 213 „ Peace and War ..... 230 Lift of Authors. xxiii MASSE Y, GERALD. Page Our Little Child ....... 225 MULREADY, MRS. R. On a Monument to Havelock .... 280 MUNBY, ARTHUR J., ESQ., M.A. Through the Veil ....... 236 MUNSTER, MRS. ALFRED M. Three Scenes . . . . . . . .215 PARKINSON, REV. W., M.A. An Apricot-Tree's Experience .... 262 The Magdalen . . . . . . .281 POSTLETHWAITE, MRS. Life : a Song of Praise . . . . . .276 RICKMAN, T., ESQ. The Stream of Time 248 ROBERTS, EDWIN F., ESQ. To my Little Louisa . . . . . .256 SAWYER, MRS. W. Parting ......... 205 Beauty in Death ....... 24 SAWYER, WILLIAM, ESQ. St. Ouen ........ 227 SCOTT, PATRICK, ESQ. The Two Deaths . . . . . . .231 SEYTON, MISS MARY. Queen Guinivere 253 SHURT, REV. THEODORE, M.A. Thoughts on the Seashore ..... 275 xxiv Lift of Authors. SLIPPER, REV. R. B., M.A. Page Regret ......... 221 SMITH, REV. C. LESINGHAM, M.A. MOCHRAS ........ 267 SWAIN, CHARLES, ESQ. Who Knows the Heart ? . . . 252 TENNYSON, F., ESQ. To the Redbreast ....... 243 THORNBURY, WALTER, ESQ. The Martyrdom of St. Agnes .... 247 The Magnet in the Cloud ..... 290 TINDAL, MRS. ACTON. Vision on the Eve of All Souls .... 249 TOMLINS, REV. R., M.A. The Martyr-Boy ....... 277 TOUGH, MISS. The Mirage of Life 212 TUPPER, MARTIN F., ESQ. Sonnets . . . . . . . . .285 WALLER, JOHN F., ESQ., LL.D. Mutability ........ 218 WATTS, ALARIC A., ESQ. Epitaph on an Idiot Girl ..... 222 LAYS OF THE SANCTUARY. AS A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE 3FI)fs Folume IS INSCRIBED TO JOHN H. GURNEY, ESQ., M.P., AND THE GOOD SAMARITANS, WHOSE UNOSTENTATIOUS OFFICES OF CHARITY ARE AN EARNEST OF THEIR ABIDING LOVE IN CHRIST Lays of the San£hiary, THE WILLING DISCIPLE. By MARY HOWITT. t et me fuffer ; let me drain '*- i Life's cup, vinegar and gall ; — If Thou only, Lord, remain To uphold my foul through all, Pain and anguifh cannot be — All is merged, O Lord, in Thee ! Let me bear the heavier! crofs, To the world be crucified ; If Thou, Lord, amid all lofs Art but found, whate'er betide, Lofs or injury cannot be — All is overpaid in Thee ! Comfort. Take whate'er I treafure deareft, Joy of heart, or pride of eye ; Only let me know Thou heareft, Only feel that Thou art nigh, Then 'tis eafy to refign, Knowing all I have is Thine, And that Thou, dear Lord, art mine ! COMFORT. By A. J. SYMINGTON, Es<*. Author of" The Beautiful in Nature, Art, and Life,'" fife. rvH, fhut not out the light of God, ^^ Within — around — above thee ! Life's darkefr. lanes have fky o'erhead ; Look up — One there doth love thee ! Look up with true and humble heart, No felf-trult can avail thee ; Shall He, who fuffer'd — bore a part Of every forrow, fail thee ? Beftir thvfelf ! work while 'tis dav, Bleft, though the world fhould hate thee, Fulfilling duty — work and prav, And gladnefs (hall await thee ! CHRISTMAS SUNRISE. By the Right Rev. S. HINDS, D.D. Late Bijhop of Norwich. y^v that yon Sun could tell to me ^^ The fight his luftrous eye did fee In Bethl'em, on that bleffed morn When unto us a Child was born ! Bethl'em and Bethl'emite are gone ; Thou filent witnefs, thou alone Surviveft — tell thou unto me Thy tale of the Nativity. Here to thy dawn I come, to gaze, And hail each ray that faintly ftrays Through mift and cloud, and think how they Thus o'er the fleeping Babe might flray, Entwined with rays of glory fried From angels' wings about His bed, — Emblem and fhadow of Light given By that fame Child, the Light of Heaven. O Thou who once in childhood's guife Didft fhow Thyfelf to mortal eyes, Blefs us, too, Lord ; give us, we pray, The power to fee Thy natal day, By faith, that better fight — to fee And feel the glorious myftery. MARY THE MOTHER OF JESUS. By the Rev. CHARLES B. TAYLER, M.A. Mary kept all thefe things, and pondered them in her heart. " — Luke, ii. 19. M' other of that myfierious mortal birth, By which the Eternal Son, as man, was born, Taking a lowly place on this fad earth, To bear its pain and forrow, fhame and fcorn — Virgin and mother mild Of that moft holy Child, Thou, of all womankind moil blefTed, mofl: forlorn ! Who could portray thy feelings deep and calm, When that fair Babe lay cradled on thy breaft ; His cherub form encircled by thine arm, His foft cheek to thy tender bofom prelt : Ah ! who could read thy mind, Its mufings undefined, Its memories fadly fwect, its joys fupremely bleit ? Was there no cloud to dim the profpedl bright, That open'd on thy Child's advancing years ? No thought of coming griefs thy hopes to blight, Offpeechlefs agonies, and heart-wrung tears; No vifion of the fvvord, From aged Simeon's word, To thrill thy loving heart with dark, foreboding fears ; Mary the Mother ofjefus. 5 Or did each dim and gathering fhade arife, Mift-like, to melt before the morning ray ? Did the clear light of that fweet Infant's eyes Chafe every dark and difmal thought away ? And childhood's joyous fpring, Its bloom and brightnefs bring To banifh from thine heart the diftant wintry day r Didft. thou forget the terrors of that night, When, ftealing forth a little trembling band, To Egypt's fultry plains ye took your flight, Acrofs the defert's drear and fcorching fand : Till there your wearied feet Had found a fafe retreat, Far from the rage of Herod's murderous band. Oh ! did no thought of Bethlehem's piteous fcene, The infant's cry, the mother's frantic fhriek, Cloud the calm beauty of thy brow ferene, And blanch the rofes of thy fair young cheek r Didft thou not clofer prefs Thy Child, with fond carefs, And love intenfe towards One fo holy, yet fo weak r Or did experience of God's truth awaken Calmnefs and ftrength within thy thoughtful mind, Bracing thy fpirit meek to faith unfhaken, To perfect confidence and will refign'd, Till every danger paft, To Nazareth at laft Brought by thy heavenly guide a quiet home to find \ 6 Mary the Mother ofjefus. Still from that innocent and wondrous Child, 'Twas thine to learn faith's leiTon high and holy, Whenever He look'd up, and gently fmiled In thy fweet face, His mother pure and lowly ; While His untroubled ileep Taught thee thine heart to keep, Unmoved by earthly joy, or downcaft melancholy. Oh ! if thou wert, as we may well conceive, Of thy fweet fex the lowlicil:, meekeft known, Above all others thou wouldft deeplv grieve That aught like worfhip fhould to thee be mown ; The incenfe and the fhrine Would never have been thine — With horror deep difclaim'd, as due to God alone ! u For thou wert woman only, born in fin," The heir with all alike to that deep taint Of the firft Adam, and defiled within ; Till unto joy was turn'd thy lad complaint, As thou didft caft thy load On thine incarnate God, Made by His grace alone a lovely, lowly faint. And ftill we hear thee in the infpired \\ ord, Sinking thy long with fweet exultant voice, — " Mv foul doth magnify the living Lord, My fpirit in mv Saviour doth rejoice ! M None e'er a Saviour fought Hut contrite finners, bought By His molt coftly blood, the objects of His choice. LINES FOR AN ADULT BAPTISM. By the very Rev. H. ALFORD, D.D. 't-^hou child of man, fall down * With contrite heart and low — Inheritor by flefhly birth Of exile, death, and woe. Thou child of man, rejoice — The Righteous One hath died : Behold by faith thy feals of love, His hands, His feet, His fide. Thou child of man, that Blood Upon thy door we trace ; The fignal of that mighty Crofs We ftamp upon thy face. Servant of God, go forth, Clad in thy Saviour's name : Like Him, muft thou endure the crofs ; Like Him, defpife the fhame. Servant of God, hope on, Through tempefts and through tears : The Pillar of His prefence fee, Lighting the wafte of years. Servants of All. Servant of God, farewell ! Thy bed of death is made : Go, with His glorious countenance To light thee through the made. Servant of God, all hail ! The bright-hair'd army waits ; And greeting angels round thy path Throng from the jafper gates. " Servant of God, well done ! ' The judgment is His own : Pafs to the inner Light, and lit With Him upon His throne ! SERFs! NTS OF ALL. By Miss ISA CRAIG. rvNE ivvay'd a mighty fceptre, ^^ And wore a lofty crown, And head and hand they^weigh'd him \\ ith a heavy burden down ; To be true king in his kingdom He mult ferve the meaneft clown. Servants of All. One was leader of a nation — Not in name — the man was great; Thinking for its many millions, Lifting many a burden's weight From the peafant at the ploughfhare, From the beggar at the gate. One was mafter of dull thoufands Who ferved him dav by dav — j j j Served him ! he ferved the thoufands ! Travailing forer far than they ; While their work he gather'd for them From the world's ends where it lav. The ftrono- limbs bear the burden Of our conflict with the clay; And cleaving through the fhadows, Sending back a guiding ray, The thinkers clear the darknefs In the world's advancing way. Some think to ferve till kingfhip, Till mafterfhip be won : Higher honour only meaneth Greater fervice to be done, Perfect felf-renunciation — The reward and work is one. For He before whofe fceptre The nations rife and fall, Who gives no leaft commandment, But come to pafs it fhall, — Said, He who was the greateft Should be fervant unto all. 10 A Paraphrafe. And in conflict with the evil Which His bright creation mars, Laid He not afide that fceptre Which can reach to all the ftars ? — Of the fervice which He render'd See on His hands the fears ! A PARAPHRASE. THE COLLECT FOR OJJINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY. By the Rev. J. SEDGWICK, D.D. t ord of Life ! whofe words have taught us *-* How to ferve Thee and obey : Lord of Love ! whofe deeds have brought us Wond'ring at Thy feet to pray : Fill our hearts with ample meafure Of th' abiding Graces three ; Moll of all, with Thy dear treafure, Never-failing Charitv : — Charitv, that ever bindeth Mortal men with cords of love ; Charitv, that ftill remindeth Earthly fouls of Heaven above. Charitv, the Spirit's token Sinners have received of Thee : He whom Jefus Loved hath fpoken — "God Himfelfis Charity." II A CANTICLE. By the late Rev. W. COLTON, B.A. yE works of God, on Him alone * (In earth His footftool, heaven His throne) Be all your praife beftow'd ; Whofe hand the beauteous fabric made, Whofe eye the finifh'd work furvey'd, And faw that all was good. Ye angels, who, with loud acclaim, Admiring view'd the new-born frame, And hail'd the Eternal King, Again proclaim your Maker's praife, Again your thankful voices raife, And touch the tuneful firing. Praife Him, ye bright ethereal plains, Where in full majefty He deigns To fix His awful throne ; Ye waters, that above them roll From orb to orb, from pole to pole, Oh, make His praifes known ! Thrones, dominations, virtues, powers, Oh, join your joyful fongs with ours, With us your voices raife ! From age to age extend the lay, To heaven's Eternal Monarch pay Hymns of eternal praife. 12 A Canticle, Celeftial orb, whofe powerful ray Opes the glad eyelids of the day, Whofe influence all things own ; Praife Him whofe courts effulgent mine, With lio-ht as far excelling thine As thine the paler moon. Ye glittering planets of the iky, Whofe beams the abfent fun fupply, With Him the fong purfue ; And let himfelf fubmimve own, He borrows from a brighter fun The light he lends to you. Ye fhowers and dews, whofe moifture fried Calls into life the opening feed, To Him your praifes yield ; Whofe influence wakes the genial birth, Drops fatnefs on the pregnant earth, And crowns the laughing field. Ye winds, that oft tempelluous fweep The ruffled furface of the deep, With us confefs your God ; See through the heavens the King of king-, Up-borne on your extended wings, Comes flying all abroad. Ye floods of fire, where'er ye flow, Humbly with juit fubmimon bow To I lis fuperior power ; Who ftops the tempeft on its way, ( )r bids the flaming deluge ftay, Or gives it ftrength to roar. A Canticle. 1 3 Ye fummer's heat, and winter's cold, By turns in long fucceffion roll'd, The drooping world to cheer ; Praife Him who gave the fun and moon To lead the various feafons on, And guide the circling year. Ye frofts, that bind the watery plain, Ye filent mowers of fleecy rain, Purfue the heavenly theme ; Praife Him who fheds the driving fnow, Forbids the harden'd waves to flow, And flops the rapid ftream. Ye days and nights, that fwiftly borne, From morn to eve, from eve to morn, Alternate glide away ; Praife Him whofe never-varying light, Abfent adds grandeur to the night, But prefent gives the day. Light, from whofe rays all beauty fprings ; Darknefs, whofe wide expanded wings Involve the dufky globe ; Praife Him who, when the heavens He fpread, Thick darknefs His pavilion made, And light His regal robe. Praife Him, ye lightnings, as ye fly, Wing'd with hot vengeance through the fky, And red with wrath divine ; Praife Him, ye clouds, that fcatter'd ftray, Or fix'd by Him in clofe array, Surround His awful fhrine. 14 A Canticle. Exalt, O earth, thy heavenly King, Who bids the plants that from thee fpring Renew the annual bloom ; Whofe frequent drops of kindly rain, Prolific fwell the rip'ning grain, And blefs the fertile womb. Ye mountains, that ambitious rife, And lift your fummits to the fkies, Revere His awful nod ; Think how ye once affrighted fled, While Jordan fought his fountain-head, And own'd the approaching God ! Ye trees, that fill the rural fcene ; Ye flowers, that o'er the enamell'd green In native beauty reign ; Oh, praife the Ruler of the fkies, Whofe hand the genial fap fupplies, And clothes the thankful plain. Ye fecret fp rings, ye gentle rills, That murmuring rife amongft the hills, Or fill the humble vale, Praife Him at whofe almighty nod The rugged rock diffolving flow'd, And form'd a fpringing well. Praife Him, ye floods and feas profound, Whole waves the fpacious earth Unround, And roll from fhore to Chore ; Awed by His voice, ye leas fubfule, Ye floods within vour channels glide, And tremble and adore. A Canticle, 1 5 Ye whales that ftir the boiling deep, Or in its dark recefles fleep Remote from human eye ; Praife Him by whom ye all are fed, Praife Him without whofe heavenly aid Ye ficken, faint, and die. Ye birds, exalt your Maker's name, Begin and with the important theme, Your artlefs lays improve ; Wake with your fongs the rifing day, Soft warbles breathe from every fpray, And fill the vocal grove. Praife Him, ye beafts, that nightly roam, Amidft the folitary gloom, TV expected prey to feize ; Ye flaves of the laborious plough, Your ftubborn necks fubmimve bow, And bend your wearied knees. Ye fons of men, His praife difplay, Whofe vital breath informs your clay, And gives it power to move ; Ye that in Judah's confines dwell, From age to age fucceffive tell The wonders of His love. Let Aaron's race the lay prolong, Till angels liften to the fong, And bend attention down, Pleafed while they hear a mortal ftrain ; Let wonder feize the heavenly train, So fweet, fo like their own. 1 6 J Canticle. And you your thankful voices join, That oft in Salem's facred fhrine Before His altar kneel, Where throned in majefty He dwells, And from the myftic cloud reveals The dictates of His will. Ye fpirits of the juft and good, That, eager for the bright abode, To heavenly manfions foar ; Oh, let your fongs His praife difplav, Till heaven itfelf fhall melt away, And time fhall be no more. Praife Him, ye meek and humble train, Ye faints whom His decrees ordain The boundlefs blifs to mare ; Oh, praife Him till you take your way To regions of eternal day, And reign for ever there ! Let us, who fee the enclosing fire, Diverted of its rage afpire, And innocently blaze ; While thus we triumph in the flame, Rife and our A4aker's love proclaim, In hymns of endlefs praile. *7 MONITIONS. By EDWARD CAPERN. ttast feen the rainbow of the flow'ry May 1 ■* Stretch through the heavens its many-colour'd band, And crown the day ; A dimpled, fair, and bonny blue-eved maid, A lily with two violets in a nook, In fmiles array'd -, An infant nettling in its mother's arms, Looking into the bright heaven of her eyes, A group of charms ; A rofe, rich as a cherry-parted lip, — A dew-pearl, which the little honey-bees Delight to fip ; The fun walk proudly from his orient gate, The ttar of eve attend the queenly moon In regal ttate > The Spring, whofe happy duty all day long Is juft to wafh her robe of gold and green And fing her fong ; The Summer in her heyday of delight ? Then haft thou loft them as the ftars are loft Some darkfome night ? If fo, live for the world that is to be, Where more than all the beauty thou haft feen Thine eyes fhall fee. c i8 MARRIAGE SONG. By GEORGE MACDONALD, Es<*. Author of " Within and Without" &c. a HpHEY have no more wine," fhe faid. But they had enough of bread ; And the well befide the door Held for thirft a plenteous ftore : Yes, enough ; but Love divine Made the water into wine. When mould wine in plenty flow, But when wanderers homeward go ? And when foul in foul hath found Reft, in bonds of freedom bound, He hath faid, by act divine, Water well may turn to wine. Good is all the feafting then ; Good the merry words of men ; Good the laughter and the fmiles ; Good the wine that grief beguiles ; — Crowning good, the Word divine : Jefus made the water wine. He befide you, all the vears, Into laughter turn vour tears ; In the earthly tones around Make you hear the heavenly found — A Prayer. 1 9 At your table Love divine Often make the water wine. Earth is heaven in homelier drefs ; Hope is unfeen joyfulnefs : Walking in the heavenly light, Soon, with eyes of heavenly fight, You mall know, by vifion fine, Earthly water — heavenly wine. O' A PRATER. By the Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M.A. H, when my hour is come, if fo Thou wilt, Let the fweet blofToms of the bough of Love Hang o'er my bed ! But, howfoe'er it be, Through the night-watches, till the birds awake Their fad importunate mufic, till the morn Pale on the pane, oh, let me wait for God ! Gently, my Saviour ! ftand befide the door ; Gently, my Saviour ! through the lattice glide ; Dip my life's leaves, adult with thought and care, In facramental dews, and make them gold. Reft over me in love, O pierced One ! Smile on me fadly through my mift of fin, Smile on me fweetly from Thy crown of thorns. As the dawn looketh on the great dark hills, As the hills dawn-touch'd on the great dark fea, Dawn on my heart's great darknefs, Prince of Peace. T 20 THE DEJFDROPS. By EMILY ENGLISH. he morning fun with gems lit up the plain, Where dewdrops fhone beneath the riling ray, As though each little blade of grafs were fain A loving tribute to its Lord to pay : I gazed, admiring, on the jewell'd mead, Then afked, " Fair dewdrops, whither do ye fpeed ? The trembling diamonds whifper'd foft and flow, " Led by our God, to yonder rill we go." Onward by moor and mountain-fide I fped To where, with gladfome voice, the fparkling rill Sang, as it danced within its pebbly bed, A fong of praife that echo'd from the hill : Then in its filver path I bid it ftay, To tell me where it took its mazy way ; With gufhing laugh the rivulet replied, " I go to fwell yon river's rapid tide." In midday fkies the fun had let his bow, When I befide a rolling river flood, To mark its meafured, deep, myfterious flow, And lift the deep-toned voices of the flood : " Tell me," I cried, u ve waves of rippling foam, What haven waits your wanderings — what home?" With iullen roar they anfwer me, " We fleep, Rock'd on the bofom of the mighty deep." Time Breaks upon Eternity. 21 'Twas night, — and through the city's ftreets I went, Where forrow, need, and fuffering met my Tight ; But hearts were here on mercy's mefTage bent, And 'mid the gold fhone forth the widow's mite : " To gifts fo fmall," methought, " what place is given ?' : " None is too fmall," faid one, " to reach to heaven We lend them to our gracious Lord, and He In every dewdrop doth an ocean fee." TIME BREAKS UPON ETERNITT. By GEORGE J. CAYLEY, Eso. npo the Eternal Infinite ■*■ Nothing is mighty — nothing mean : Each gliftening grain, each ftar of night, DiftincT: in fpace-pervading light To the All-fearching Eye ferene. The rolling waters ebb and flow — The fands are more from tide to tide The ftarry fyftems come and go, The rolling ages ebb and flow, And moving worlds are multiplied. Our Earth is but a grain of fand That tumbles in the furging fea ' He holds Creation in His hand, With worlds as countlefs as the fand — Time breaks upon Eternity ! 22 A LITANY. By JOHN EMMET, Esq. t ord, leave us not to wandet lonely *~* Through this dark world unloved by Thee All other friends are helplefs only, Though full of love as friends may be. Drear are the fondeft homes around us, Sad like our hearts when Thou art for ; When Thou haft fought us, heard us, found us, How fweet Thv confolations are ! Hear us, cheer us, Lord, and leave us not ! Leave us not when pride and anger In the heart would dare rebel ; Claim us in our utmoft danger, Calm us at the mouth of hell. Leave us not till we inherit Charity that works no ill, And we hear Thy gentle fpirit Inly whifper, « Peace, be (till ! " Hear us, cheer us, Lord, and leave us not ! Leave us not in days of trial, Let us acl at duty's call, Though it lead to felf-denial, Though we have to give up all. A Lit any. 23 Raifed on high, or humbled lowly, Praifed or fcorn'd from land to land, Bear us up, our Father holy, Bear our burdens in Thy hand. Hear us, cheer us, Lord, and leave us not ! Leave us not when all has left us, Health and vifion, ftrength and voice ; When of friends death hath bereft us, Let us ftill in Thee rejoice : Near us when in doubt, to guide us ; Near us when we faint, to cheer ; Near in battle's hour, to hide us ; Nearer ever, and more dear. Hear us, cheer us, Lord, and leave us not ! Leave us not when foes come nigher, Cheer us when the grave looks cold ; Lead us onward, upward, higher, Forward to the gates of gold. Leave us not when ailing, failing, Sore deprefs'd, and bending low ; Be Thy love then moft availing, Then to aid us be not flow. Hear us, cheer us, Lord, and leave us not ! Leave us not till Thou haft brought us To the holy, wealthy place, There to fee Thee who haft bought us, Fought our fight, and won our race : 24 Reft. There to hear no more the fhouting, And the thunder of our foes ; Danger pah 1 , and pan 1 all doubting, And the grave's auftere repofe. Hear us, cheer us, Lord, and leave us not ! REST! By the Hon. Mrs. NORTON. "Oecause we toil and fuffer from our birth, Since Adam's fentence curled offending earth ; Therefore, through every change Life's pilgrim knows, His watch-word of befr. comfort is Repofe. Reft for the weary heart and weeping eyes, — From carelefs labour, and from careful lighs : Reft even from Joy ; let Joy's wild tumult ceafe, And lull the aching gladnefs into Peace ! Yea, when prophetic mufing (bars away, Wing'd like the Dove, to realms of brighter day ; When our ftrain'd fenfes, from their dim world driven, Strive to imagine an All-perfect Heaven, — The heart, (till haunted by that human thirl!, — That baffled wifh, ii> long, fo vainly nurfed, — Dreams what this earth denied, at length pollelt, And calls the Heavenly joy Eternal Rest. I 25 CHRIST ON THE SHORE. By the Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M.A. N the filence of the morning, Of the morning grey and clouded, Mift-enfhrouded, On the more of Galilee, Like a fhape upon a column, Sad and folemn Chrift is branding by the fea, In the filence of the morning. On the waters cold and mifty, Like a rock its dark back lifting Through the drifting Vapours, heaves the fifher's boat. Still, through grey-fog hood and mantle, That moft gentle Watcher looketh where they float On the waters cold and mifty. Hearts are waiting, eyes are weeping : Comes a voice, a fufurration ; Tribulation Melteth, melteth like the mift ; Yet, like mufic rich and olden Hiding golden Words, that fweet voice hideth Chrift From the hearts that wait and weep Him. 26 Chrift on the Shore. In another morning-filence, When a greyer fog falls drearv, And we weary With the fea's beat evermore, Cometh One, and, pale and wounded, Mift-furrounded, Looketh from another more, In another morning-filence. Other waters cold and mifty, On the wet fands grandly finging, Bear a fwinging Little bark, call'd Life by men ; While the bark is fwinging flowly, That rnoft. Holy Watcher looks : Light filvers then, On the waters cold and mifty. Hearts are waiting, eyes are weeping : Falls a voice, O fweet, but broken ! Falls a token Light, bedimm'd with blinding mift. Take us where there are no ocean's Wild commotions ; Where we fhall not know, O Chrift ! Weary hearts, or tear-wet eyelids. 27 HYMN, By the Rev. J. KEBLE, M.A. And He was in the hinder part of the fhip, afleep on a pillow." — Mark, iv. 38. t ord, lift my heart to Thee at morn, *~* For Thou art very near ; Thy voice upon the waves is borne, Thee in the winds I hear. The winds and waves that chime all night, Where I am dreaming laid, A tune fo foothing in its might, I fcarce can be afraid. And yet 'tis awful mufic, fraught With memories fcorn'd at home ; And whifpereth many a boding thought Of trial-years to come. O Love unfeen, we know Thee nigh : When ocean rageth moft, Thou bidd'ft us come to Thee, and cry, " Lord, fave us, we are loft ! " Thou feem'ft to deep, that we may pray ; Full deeply Thou doft hide, Forgotten through the calm, clear day, Nor own'd at even-tide : 28 Hymn. But when the darkfome gales begin, The rude waves urge their race, Man, ftartled from his floth and fin, Seeks out Thine hiding-place. Well if we pray till Thou awake : One word, one breath of Thee, Soft filence in the heart will make Calm peace upon the fea. Lord of our homes and of our graves, If ever, while we lay- Beneath Thy ftars, amid Thy waves, Our fouls have learn'd to pray, Revive that prayer, morn, night, and noon, In city, mine, or dale ; Elfe will the founds of earth too foon O'er the Dread Voice prevail : Help us to fing Thine ocean fong, Each in his home on fhore ; The note Thou gav'ft, do Thou prolong Through life, and evermore. 2 9 GRACE FROM PRATER. By the Rev. J. F. THRUPP, M.A. " And in the morning, rifing up a great while before day, He went out, and departed into a folitary place, and there prayed." — Mark, i. 35. t^ull, full of toil the ended day, * Full, full of toil the coming morrow ; And in that toil, ah ! who mail fay What caufe for care, and pain, and forrow r 'Tis no light tafk to toil for God, To bear for Him the daily load Of rude reproaches on thee hurl'd, And ftill, in faith on Him, to love a thanklefs world. Rife, Chriftian, rife, and if aright The pattern of thy Lord thou readefl, Afk in each early dawning light The grace that for the day thou needeft ; Grace that thy gracious work may be From jar of worldly temper free, And thou thyfelf, where'er thou move, A reflex of God's love to other fouls mayft prove. 'Tis not enough thy aim be good, If evil broiling mar the doing : For holy tafk a holy mood Is meeteft, every fault efchewing : 30 Grace from Prayer. Frefh oil thou needeft from above, To keep alive the flame of love, 'Mid the rude, chilling blafts that blow Athwart thy daily pathway on this earth below. Thy wearied frame its ftrength renews In grateful refts of nightly (lumber : Thou 'It to thy fpirit not refufe, O'erprefs'd with cares that vex and cumber, That it in peaceful morning prayer May for its daily tafk prepare, And in high communing with heaven May nurfe the eagle-ftrength that all thy work mail leaven. Rife, Chriftian, rife, while yet alone, Before the chains of work have bound thee ; Rife, while the hours are yet thine own, Before thy fellow-men furround thee ; Hold converfe with thy God awhile, And then go forth, with radiant fmile, His mefTenger throughout the day, To all the fons of fin that crofs thee in thy way. Thou fhalt not feek a heart of fteel, That will not grieve in others' grieving ; But afk a heart all woes to feel, In patient Love thofe woes relieving ; That fo, when from thy Father's feet Thou iflue forth the throng to meet, In pearly brilliancy may fhine 'Mid tears of human (ympathy thy fmile of peace divine. 3i BE THANKFUL. By Mrs. J. A. LANGFORD. T?or funny fields, and fhelt'ring trees A Whofe green leaves furr to every breeze ; For brooklets murm'ring foft and low ; For ocean's deep unceafing flow ; For fweet green grafs, and daifies fair ; For lilies bright, and rofes rare ; For life, and for our power to love, Let us give thanks to Him above. For Spring's glad promife, Summer's glow, Autumn's rich fruits, and Winter's fnow ; For morning's Eaft-illuming ray ; For the calm time of clofing day ; For fleep with foothing dreams and reft ; For children's merry laugh and jeft; But molt for thofe dear friends we love, Let us give thanks to Him above. For holy peace in grief conceal'd ; For knowledge gain'd, and truth reveal'd ; Religion's afpirations high ; For Faith, for Hope, for Charity ; For memories of joys long past ; For time, which brings the right at laft ; For death, uniting all who love, Let us give thanks to Him above. 32 THE DEAD. By JOHN WILLIAM FLETCHER, Es<^. Author of" The Battle of the Alma" " Cloud-Shadows," &c. " The damfel is not dead, but fleepeth." Mark, v. 39. tt there are the dead ? and are they part * v Away for ever like a blaft, Or the laft lines of funfet caft Along the weft ? Are they fecurely placed in vail Dim realms of reft r Are we to think of them as loft, Like fome bright meteor which croft Our earthly bark, when tempeft-toft And rudely driven, — That fmiled, then faded oft' like froft In yonder heaven ? And is their memory but a beam, The ftarlight fhadow of a dream, Whofe glory paft mall never gleam Upon us more, — The filent ftillnefs of a ftream Without a fhore ? The Dead. 33 The fpirit pafs'd beyond recall, The vacant feat, the darken'd hall, The fhroud, the bier, the fable pall, The hufh of mirth, The gloom, the grave, the rattling fall Of earth to earth ; — And is this all ? As clouds forget, When the great fun they loved has fet, The royal beams that ufed to fret Their forms with fire, — Shall we, like them, unworthy let Our love expire ? Ah, no ! the dead are with us here, As much as when their look did cheer Our eye, their mufic charm our ear, Their prefence fill Our foul's horizon, — never fear, They love us ftill ! They love us, though the fapphire light Of heaven has gleam'd upon their fight ; They love us, though the knell, the night, The noife of time, Has pafs'd into a view more bright And more fublime. They love us, — they ftill love to keep Guard o'er us while we figh and ileep, And watch and work, and wake and weep ; While fmiles and tears, Like clouds and funbeams o'er the deep, Chequer our years. D 34 The Dead. They love us ! Happy thought, when care With venom* d vapour loads the air, When thunders howl and lightnings glare, When winds fling wide Their banner — like the found of prayer At eventide, The prefence of the dead fhall reft Upon the forrow-burden'd breaft, As the wind whifpers from the weft Benignant balm, And bows the billows' foaming creft To cradled calm. Death is no phantom fierce and fell, Weaving fome wild, myfterious fpell, Whofe fummons is the pafling bell, — Whofe home the grave, — Whofe prey the loft we loved fo well, But could not fave. Oh, not in wrath doth Death defcend Our hopes to blight, our ties to rend ; He cometh rather as a friend, He whifpers low, He bids the wild life-battle end, He bids us go. He bringeth reft to thole who weep, He giveth God's beloved fleep, He laps them in a calm as deep As God's own love. And o'er the flood's tempeftuous (weep He fends the do\ e. The Dead. 35 He fmooths the ruffled brow of care, Removes the load fo hard to bear, Which few could fee, and none could mare : To thofe who roam, He brings the love, the fenfe, the air, The heaven of home. With thofe we love 'tis hard to part ; The flefh will feel, the foul muft fmart ; And grief wrings from the ftricken heart A mournful cry : And yet our loved ones but depart, They do not die ! They live, the beautiful, the dead, Like ftars of fire above our head ; They truly live who have been led To God's right hand, — Have found beyond earth's doubt and dread The better land. There is a windiefs, ftormlefs calm ; There is a heaven-fent, healing balm ; There is a fountain and a palm, And heaven's own dew ; The found as of a chanted pfalm, For all who view Above the fighing of the fhroud, Above the thunder low or loud, Above the florin, above the cloud, Above the foam, A reft, God-given, God-endow'd, Their Father's home ! 36 THE CHAMBER, PEACE. By the Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M.A. a summer night that blows, ***■ Fragrant with hay and flowers, on copfe and lawn A window muffled round and round with rofe Fronting the flufh of dawn. O Pilgrim ! well is thee Till the day break, and till the fhadows ceafe, Refting the faint heart and the failing knee, In that fweet Chamber, Peace. The white moon through the trees Sails — but thou fingeft to a heavenly tune, " Needeth no fun the land my fpirit fees, Neither the filver moon." Before thine eyes half clofing, Like ink-black plumes their tops the willows (hake ; Through them thou feeft a little boat repofing Upon a moonlit lake. " And oh," thou fay'lr, " my foul Was like thofe inky plumes the night-winds tofs ; But now it hangs, in one great filver roll, Over a hidden Crofs. Ever on life's wild fwell My heart went drifting, drifting on remote ; But now within the veil 'ti> anchor' d well, Safe as that little boat." The Chamber^ Peace. 37 Or if the mower, that lingers In fleecy clouds of moonlight-tifTued woof, Falls, and the foft rain, with a hundred fingers, Taps on the chamber-roof, — " Chrift," the lone pilgrim faith, " My Saviour, comes, this heart's poor love to win ; Thy locks are fill'd with drops," he murmureth, " O that Thou wouldft come in." So refts the Pilgrim, ever Hearing at folemn intervals a fwell, Mufic as of a grandly falling river On hills delectable. So refts he, till he knows The morning redden in the eaftern fkies, And fronts th' unfolding of heaven's fiery rofe — The beautiful funrife. Another chamber yet — Its curtain is of grafs, and clofely drawn ; But the pale pilgrim, in its portal fet, Looketh toward the dawn. Oft-times red rofes lie On the green curtain of that chamber low, And bloftbms like the deep-blue fummer fky, Or like the winter mow. And when the eves are calmeft, Up in the incenfe-laden aides of lime Some fweet bird meditateth, like a pfaimift, His poefy fublime : 38 Afplration. So lay the pilgrim down — Set thou his feet, and face, and clofed eves, Where they may meet the golden-raying crown Of Chrift's own great funrife. So let him reft, unheard Thy faithlefs mourning : let thy murmur ceafe : Tranflate the grave into a gentler word — Call it the Chamber, Peace ! N ASPIRATION. By Mrs. J. C. SIMPSON, Authorefs of 11 Piety of Daily Life," &c. earer, yet nearer, — oh, to be fo near The great good Prefence, that, above all fear For this fcene or the next, my foul might move Beneath the fhadow of that perfect Love — That Wifdom infinite — Power firm and faft, Which form'd, upholds, and will difcern at laft ! I know His eye is ever on my heart, — Wake I or fleep, His arm is round my way ! Oh, why of Him fee I fo fmall.a part, While me He fearcheth clofely day by day? I would be nearer, holier, higher brought By earnefl aims, untouch'd by earthly leaven : Lord, let the daily fountain of my thought Plow ever 'mid the golden fields of heaven ! 39 LIFE IN DEATH. By W. C. BENNETT. ■pvEATH ! we fpeak the word and tremble *~* Gazing on this cold hVd face, Little feems it to referable All life fhow'd late in its place ; Here there feems of life no trace, Yet here life does but difTemble. Death is life ; what life we know not — What we can but trembling guefs : Through the darknefs our eyes go not To the day beyond : no lefs Is it there, the eyes to blefs That here fign of being fhow not. Lo ! the Spirit has but fhifted Thefe its by-laid robes of earth For thofe wherewith it is gifted In that life of higher worth ; Where it knows a nobler birth In the world to which 'tis lifted. ■ Lifted — yes, for our great forrow Grows more peaceful in the thought, — From which love peace well may borrow,— That fo here thy pure foul wrought, It may well, unfearing aught, Sleep, to know a blefTed morrow. 40 Refignatlon. Lifted — yes, if time may train it To a higher world of light, If the tried foul may attain it By a life of truth and right — Lived as ever in God's fight, Surely thou, O foul, malt gain it ! RESIGNATION. By the Rev. G. BRAITHWAITE, M.A. r\ God, forgive the impatient thought, And liften not to me, If, difcontented with my lot, I murmur againft Thee ! D My portion and Thy Providence Run parallel, I know ; And from that fource alone from whence Flow comforts, forrows flow. To Thee, repentant, I refign My rebel will, content To fuffer for Thee, and as Thine, Whatever lot be lent. Yet help me, Lord, in Thine own ttreno;th, This purpofe to fulfil ; And onward lead, till I at length Stand perfect: in Thy will. 4i THE HARPS OF HEAVEN. By SYDNEY DOBELL. rvN a folemn day ^-s I clomb the fhinino- bulwark of the fkies : Not by the beaten way, But climbing by a prayer, That, like a golden thread, hung by the giddy ftair Fleck'd on the immemorial blue, By the ftrong ftep-ftroke of the brave and few, Who ftirr'd by echoes of far harmonies, Muft either lay them down and die of love, Or dare Thofe empyrean walls that mock their ftarward eyes. But midway in the dread emprife The faint and fainter footfteps ceafe ; And, all my footing gone, Like one who gathers famphire, I hold on, And in the fwaying air look up and down : And up and down through anfwering vafts defcry Nor Earth nor Heaven ; Above, The fheer eternal precipice ; below, The fheer eternal precipice. Then when I, Gigantic with my defperate agony, Felt even The knotted grafp of bodily defpair Relaxing to let go, 42 The Harps of Heaven. A mighty mufic, like a wind of light, Blew from the imminent height, And caught me in its fplendour ; and, as flame That flickers and again afpires, Rofe in a moment thither whence it came ; And I, that thought me loft, PafT'd to the top of all my dear defires, And flood among the everlafting hoft. Then turn'd I to a feraph whofe fwift hands, That lived angelic paflion, ftruck his foul Upon a harp — a feraph fair and ftrong, And faultlefs for his harp and for his throne — And yet, among The Strength and Beauty of the heavenly bands, No more to be remember'd than fome one Poor warrior, when a king of many kings Stamps on the fields, and rears his glittering crop Of ftanding fleel, and the vex'd fpirit wings Above the human harvefl, and in vain Begins from morn till eve to fum the embattled plain ; Or when, After a day of peace, fudden and late The beacon flafhes and the war-drums roll, And through the torches of the city gate, All the long winter night a martial race Streams to the nation's gathering-place, And, like as waterdrop to waterdrop, Pour on in changelefs flood th' innumerable men. I turn'd, and as from footing in mid-leas Looking o'er lefTening waves thou mayft behold The round horizon of unfhadow'd gold, I, (landing on an amethyft, look'd round The Harps of Heaven. 43 The moving; Heaven of Harpers throned and crown'd, And laid, " Was it from theie I heard the great found ;" And he laid — " What found : " Then I, grown bolder, feeing I had thriven To win repiv — w This that I hear from thee, This that everywhere I hear, Rolling a fea of choriirrv Up and down the jewel of Heaven ; A fea which from thy feat of light, That feems more loud and bright Becaufe more near, To the white twinkle of yon furtheit portal, Swells up thofe circling mores of chryfolite, And, like an odorous luminous mill, doth leap th' eternal walls, And falls In wreaths of melody Adown the azure mountain of the fkv ; And round its lower Hopes bedew'd Breathes loft beatitude, And far away Low, low, below the laft of all its lucent fcarps, Sprinkles bewildering drops of immortality. O angel fair, thou know'it what I would fay — This found of harpers that I hear, This found of harpers harping on their harps." Then he bent his head And fried a tear And faid, :c I perceive thou art a mortal." Then I to him — " Not only, O thou bright Seraphic Pity ! to a mortal ear Thefe facred founds are dear, 44 The Harps of Heaven. Or why withholdeth not thy ceafelefs hand ? And why, Far as my dazzled eye Can pierce the luftre of the radiant land, See I the rapt celeftial auditory, Each, while he blefTed hears, give back his blifs With never-tiring touch from golden harps like this ?" Then he to me — " Oh, wherefore halt thou trod Beyond the limit of thine earthly lot ? Thefe that we bear Within our hands are inftruments of glory, Wherewith, day without night, We make the glory of immortal light In the eyes of God. As for the found, we hear it not ; Yet, fpeaking to thee, child of" ignorance, I do remember that I loved it once, In the fweet lower air." — Yet he fpake once more, — " But thou, return to the remember'd fhore ; Why fhouldft thou leave thy nation, Thy city, and the houfe of all mod dear ? Do we not all dwell in eternity ? For we have been as thou, and thou Shalt be as we." And he lean'd and kifsed me, Saying, " But now Rejoice, O child, in other joys than mine ; Hear the dear muflC of thy mortal ear While yet it is the time with thee, Nor make halte to thine exaltation, Though our ftate be better than thine." 45 GOD GLORIFIED. By JAMES MACFARLAN, Author of" City Songs" "Lyrics of Life," &c. " Praife ye Him, fun and moon : praife Him, all ye ftars of light . . . . ye dragons and all deeps . . . ftormy wind fulfilling His word." — Pfalm cxlviii. CC TI7HAT is thy fong, O fea ?" " I afk'd the toiling waves that clomb the beach ; When all the ocean feem'd to gather fpeech : " Mine is the mighty voice that bears abroad The power and grandeur of the living God, — His wonders, glory, and immenfity ! " " What is your fong, ye fpheres ?" And through the night I turn'd up questioning eyes : When, lo ! a mightier refponfe fhook the fides, — " 'Tis ours to chant throughout the myriad years The hymn of Heaven's almighty myfteries ! " " What is thy fong, thou florm, Blowing the trumpet of Euroclydon, Or, heralded by thunder, leading on The lightnings unto battle ? " Then there broke From out the darknefs of that fearful form A voice fublimely terrible, and fpoke, — " Though from the earth an awful voice I raife, I do but whifper in Jehovah's praife ! " 46 Viftory and Defeat. Then, turning to my foul, " Haft thou no long ?" I cried ; " ftill art thou dumb Haft thou nor hymn, nor chant, nor offering meet ? This mufic without thine is incomplete : Oh, lift thy voice, until thofe fongs become Together blent, one great harmonious whole !" VICTORY AND DEFEAT. By WILLIAM SAWYER, Es<^. Author of " Thought and Reverie" &c. tt treaths to him who from the glorious * * Strife of forces comes victorious, Paean and triumphal greeting, — This the meafure of man's meting. All for triumph : nothing heeding Valour fallen, trampled, bleeding, Battle's hotteft brunt fuftaining, Only fhort of victory gaining. But, O brother ! crufh'd, defeated, Not thus is God's meafure meted j Strictly juft, the Father ever Sees the end in the endeavour. And between earth's pure and fainted And her outcaft, foul and tainted, Haply all the gulf extended. In His fight is bridged and ended ! 47 JEPHTHJ'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. TRAFFORD WHITEHEAD, Author ejs of " Gertrude and Emmeline" and other Poems. >-pHE holts of Ifrael flood encamp'd 'gainft Amnion's -*• ruthlefs pride, And to the Lord for victory in anguifh Jephtha cried : " Oh, give me but the battle, Lord, and I will vow to Thee, Whatever from my houfe comes forth to blefs and honour me, When back in peace to Mizpeh a conqueror I go ; Lord, let the flag of Ifrael wave when Ammon lieth low !" Victorious from battle came the flower of Jephtha's hoft — Jephtha, the chief of Gilead, of IfraePs power the boaft ; From Aroer to Minnith, and the vineyards of the plain, He hath triumph'd o'er the mighty in fields of blood and flain. The din of warfare over, to Judah's lafting fame, Back to his houfe at Mizpeh the mighty conqueror came ; And when upon a fudden hill the fcene before him fpread, Behold a maiden dancing came, with a timbrel o'er her head ! He rein'd his chariot on the hill, his horfes back he drew ; But on the maiden came in glee, the ground beneath her flew ; 48 My Prayer. She waved her fhowy arms on high, fhe beat the timbrel loud, — Clear rang her fong of welcome, then at his feet me bow'd. He ftood erecl: in mute defpair, like a lion in the toils ; What then to him his conquefts, their glory and their fpoils ? He gazed upon the maiden, and the drops ftood on his brow, — " O God ! it is my daughter, — my daughter is my vow !" Oh, lonely ftar of Jephtha, fair flower of filial grace, Too well may Ifrael mourn for thee, laft fcion of his race ' The hope of Judah's maidens may never now be thine, But honour for thy father's vow around thy name will fhine : The lefTon of the facred page lies not in Gilead's (laughter, But in the patient lovelinefs of Jephtha's fated daughter. MT PRATER. By MARK LEMON, Escl- >-pHRiCE hath my foeman wrong'd me, Lord, A And I have let him live ; Still may Thy hand keep back my fword ; Lord, teach me to forgive ! For three times three, and thrice again, Have I offended Thee, By felhfh deeds, thoughts proud and vain, And want of charity. 49 RESOLVE AND DO. By H. M. B. " Work your work betimes, and in His time He fhall give you your reward." — Ecclus. li. 30. >-po know the number of my mortal days A I afk not ; be they many, be they few, Each moment the fad voice of fuff'ring prays, " Refolve and do." The temple of thy God in ruin ftands : Go up and build, and take thy trueft arms ; And grafp the gofpel-trumpet in thy hands To found alarms. Lay firmly every ftone ; long years may be, And ftormy winds may rend, ere all be done : But lay the yzr/?; thou mayft not live to fee To-morrow's fun. Build for the future ; let our children fay, " His mind was finely toned and deeply fet : " But look around thee, nor be flow to pay The prefent debt. The " vifion and the faculty divine " Come not by dreaming : he whofe eye is clear To read the prefent, reads the future fign, — The trueft feer. 50 Stars of Glory God deigns to need thy weaknefs ; heed His call, " Unhafting, yet unrefting : " fhort or long The days that wait thee, they are His — yea, all To Him belong. STARS OF GLORY. By the Rev. D. E. FORD, Author of" Decapolis" " Damafcus," &c. "One ftar differeth from another ftar in glory." — St. Paul. D ivinely bleft, the infant foul, On angel-pinions borne away, Ere it could feel this world's control, Or find the path that leads aftray ! But happier far the veteran faint Who lays his long-worn armour by, And quits a life of hard reftraint To fhare the victory on high ! His warfare done, he leaves the field, And enters on his heavenly reft ; While fome young warrior grafps that fhield Which erft he bore, and wears that creft. So, when the prophet's mantle cleft The ftream to make Elilha wav, Elijah pilgrimage had left For realms of everlaiting day. 5i JOHN THE BAPTIST. By PROFESSOR BLACKIE. tttho is he in hairy raiment ^ * Clad, i' the wildernefs Preaching freely without payment Truth and righteoufnefs ? Whofo hears, and not defpifes, Him with water he baptizes, In the contrite hour : Whofo hears with haughty fcorning, Him he fmites with holy warning, And with prophet's power. Swarms the city from its corners, Motley bad and good ; Thoughtlefs hearts and hoary mourners Hafte to Jordan's flood : Some for fin their fouls abafing -, Some to feed their eye with gazing ; Some to fearch and try With captious craft the fhaggy preacher, And themfelves to teach the teacher ; Some they know not why. Comes the Rabbi, with a ftately, Meafured gravity ; With a folemn air, fedately Comes the Pharifee j 52 John the Baptijl. Wide his robe, and on the border Sacred texts, in well-march'd order, Show his purpofe plain — With a nice and fenced exiftence, Far to keep, at holy diftance, Every touch profane. Came fat Prieft, and Pontiff portlv, With a bloated face ; Came Herodian, fmooth and courtly, With a gay grimace. Came the Effene from his ftation Offecluded contemplation; And (ftrange light to fee) With an eye of twinkling keennefs, And a fmile of cold ferenenefs, Came the Sadducee. Came the foldier firm and fteady, Frolicfome and gay, With his quick hand ever ready For the rifing fray. Came the ufurer, dry and meagre ; Came the publican, keen and eager For great Caefar's penny. With a train of (liken pages Comes the rich man ; with fcant wages Come the burden'd mam'. What faith he, the way fide preacher, To this motley crew ? Doth he come a cunning teacher Of lore ftrange and new : John the Baptlft. 53 Hath he drawn without omiffion, Point for point, a long confeffion, To inform the brain ? Piled a fabric theologic, Fenced it round with briftling logic And diftin&ions vain ? Hath he wove a girth to meafure God, a chain to bind The Infinite, and mapp'd at leifure The omnifcient Mind ? Hath he trimm'd an old theogony, Cumbrous rear'd a new cofmogony, To employ the fchools ? Not with fpeculation vaineft Preacheth he; — with wifdom plaineft, And with fimpleft rules. Thus he fpeaks — " Repent ! Repentance Smooths Meffiah's way ; 'Tis an old and weighty fentence, Weigh it well to-day. Haft thou nurfed a fin ? — confefs it ; Haft thou done a wrong? — redrefs it : And with juft defire Afk no more than what is due thee ; Be content, when offer'd to thee, With thy lawful hire. " Say not, with vain pride elated, ' God's own people we,' Tracing high a hoary-dated Patriarch pedigree. 54 John the Baptijt. Peopled earth is thickly ftudded With the children, common-blooded, Of the great I AM. From the hard flint, at His pleafure, God can raife up without meafure Sons to Abraham. cc Hear, whofe barren trunk hath cumber'd Now too long the ground, Saith the Lord, your days are number'd ; Hark ! with crafhing found, Falls the axe that fells the fruitlefs ! Toils He not with labour bootlefs Who now fmites the tree. He my winnow'd wheat fhall garner, But like empty chaff the fcorner Burn with lire fhall He." Thus he preach'd to great and fmall men, Of the human right ; Like the bleffed fun, on all men Shedding fnnple light. O ! wife are they who hear fuch preaching, Not too high for common teaching In life's common ways ; Not with proud pretence ballooning, Not with gay parade felrooning, To catch the vulgar gaze. cr Flap who will the air-borne pinion, Sweeping far and free ; Solid earth be my dominion, Baptift John, with thee ! Sonnet. In the plaineft path of duty, Stamping daily things with beauty, I with thee will tread ; Where thy warning finger pointed I would follow, where the anointed Saviour lowly led. SONNET. By G. S. de M. RUTHERFORD, Esq_. qtray from Thee ? No ! The fpirit in my breaft, ^ That mock'd Thee firft, will love Thee to the laft ; And if my life be wreck'd, all hope o'ercaft, Still unto Thee 'twill turn, its haven of reft. Come to Thee ? Yes ! For there are links divine, That bind me to Thee, Lord, great as Thou art ; And when the dying pulfe mail throb my heart, Death will but nearer draw it unto Thine. When drifted on the waves without a guide, When helplefs borne without a helm or fail, When Love's bright eyes grew cold at Danger's fide — My faith nail'd to Thy maft, Thou didft not fail. Then, dear Lord, e'er be mv abiding gueft, While life, like brooding dove, dwells in my bread. THE ISRAELITES AT THE RED SEA. By Miss ELLEN E. WHITE. j)EHiND them lies the defert wade ; *^ Before, the pathlefs deep ; And on their track with vengeful hafte Egypt's dark fquadrons fweep ; Till in the funfet's laft red glow Flafhes the armour of the foe ! Then rofe to heaven a mighty cry 5 A people's voice was on the air — In every heart, in every eye, Rebellion and defpair : " Why didft thou thus our fteps beguile r Were there no graves befide the Nile ? " Where are the pleafant things and fair That grow by Egypt's ftreams ? Is this lone wafte, the lion's lair, The Canaan of our dreams ? — This dark blue fea, this barren ftrand, The pathway to the Promifed Land ?" The word is fpoken ! — o'er the wave Is ftretch'd the leader's myftic rod ; And fafely, through the yawning grave Where human toot had never trod, They reach at dawn the diftant more — Their buried foes are feen no more ! Pious Training. 57 O Lord ! when, like Thy fons of old, We wander through a barren wafte, Where Hope is faint and Love is cold, And bitter to our earthly tafte The ftream that in the defert flows, The daily bread Thy hand beftows, — When haunting dreams of pleafant things Make the lone wildernefs more drear, Where every hour in palling brings Some prefent pain, fome threat 'ning fear, And ftretch'd before our fhrinking eyes, Like a dark fea, the future lies, — Then, Lord, be Thou at hand to guide, Thy Crofs be there our path to mark : Though high may fwell the ftormy tide, In heaven is light, though earth be dark : Like thofe who crofs'd that Eaftern fea, We Jhall be fafe who truft in Thee ! " B PIOUS TRAINING. By the Hon. Mrs. NORTON. WRITTEN IN MY GODCHILD'S BIBLE. lest is the home where childhood's pious training, Like a clear funrife, ufhers in Life's day ; Our noon beholds the fteadfaft light remaining On flowery track, or thorn-encumber'd way : And when that orient light hath weftward fhifted, Serenely ftill the tranquil radiance mines, While to the eye of faith, in joy uplifted, Heaven mows more glorious as earth's day declines ! 58 ART THOU IN HEALTH? By the Rev. SEPTIMUS SEARS, Author of 11 Sacred Mufings," &c. poME, feeble faint, why lean from dav to day : ^ Has thy feeblenefs no caufe ? Come, let me act the furgeon's part, I prav, And try thee by my Matter's laws. Thy pulfe is beating high towards wealth or fame ; A worldly fever waftes thy might ; A feeblenefs of beating towards the Saviour's name Is proof thy heart with God's not right. That tongue, film'd o'er with levity and earth, Not moift with earneft cries to God, Nor wet with godly moans nor godly mirth, Nor pleading hard a Saviour's blood ; — That eye, inflamed with luft or dim with care, Not looking to yon bleeding crofs, Not wafh'd with godly grief nor railed in prayer, Nor counting all for Chrift but lofs ; — That cheit, fo little heaving by the Spirit's grace, So little breathing at the throne, So feldom panting after Jefus* face, And longing after Him alone ; — That fadly crooked walk ; that (looping gait ; That feeblenefs 5 the frequent fall ; That frrengthleifnefs to rife, to fly, to wait, And grafp the Saviour as thy All ; — Art Thou in Health ? 59 That want of appetite for things divine ; That lack of hunger for the Living Bread ; That little thirlting for the heavenly wine ; Thofe few heart-fighs to Chrift, thy Head ; — All prove thy inward health is truly bad, — Thy foul with ficknefs droops and faints. But, liften ! Though thy cafe, indeed, be fad, There's One can eafe thy heart's complaints ; Balm in abundance in His love is found ; He's tendernefs and fkill combined : Fly to His throne — He'll make His grace abound, And heal the ficknefs of thy mind. I '11 tell thee why thy foul continues fick, — Some idol's harbour'd in thy heart ; Thy hands will always droop, thy knees be weak, Till thou and thy dumb god (hall part. Lord ! wilt Thou take the work in Thine own hands- Chafe out the Dagons from my breaft ? They mull obey Thy high and great commands, Who hufh'd the ftormy fea to reft. Lord ! make my heart at length fincerely fay, u What with dumb gods have I to do ? " I'd fmite upon my thigh, repent and prav, Bemoan my fins, forfake them too : I'd come, with all my heart, to Thy dear crofs, — Thy blood can cure the guilt of fin. Oh, wafh away my ftains and purge my drofs, And make me from my idols clean ! Let me through life fhow forth Thy praife, Yet fink to nothing at Thy feet ; A fruitful branch, yet trufting in Thy grace, Hide in the duft, for me fo meet. God an* M an. Through grace I'd ferve mv generation here, Then lav m . and calmly die ; fing the river, free from doubt or fear, I \J (bar feraphic to the (ky. There, while for ever circling vears roll on, The victor's palm to Thee I '11 wave, Shout to the praife >f I 'reign grace alone, And One His love who died to lave. GOD AND MAX. By Mu JOHNSTON, Autha : : ;i 'L. . S piOD keepeth watch, with never-fleeping t ^-* Over the fouls of men : Angels, with earneft faces, round us fly, And upward foar again. ■ Man, with a laugh, a jeft, from moon to moon Purines his fhort career ! i, now and then, a thought — forgotten loon Of death that mav be he God and Man, 61 God thunders, in His juft and holv ire, Againfl that vile thing, fin ; And writes upon heaven's gates, in words of fire, — " No Tinner enters in." Alan toys with this thing which his Maker hates, And (miles as in a dream ; While thole great words, that blaze on heaven's gates, To him unreal feem. God, with a love (b great that, in amaze, All heaven adoring (rands, Comes down to earth, and bears with human ways, And dies by cruel hands. Alan reads with ferious face, at (rated time-, Of God's great love to men ; But worldly joys ring out their idle chimes, And ileal his heart again. God calls man, from the cradle to the grave, While the ihort feafons roll ; All heaven is itirr'd with earned love to lave This blood-bought, God-made foul. O man ! thou mafterpiece from God's right hand, Trifles are not for thee : Awake, and join awhile God's warrior band ; Then reit eternallv ! 62 REPENTANCE AND FAITH. By the Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M.A. Repentance towards God and faith towards our Lord Jefus Chrift." >TpHERE was a fhip, one eve autumnal, onward * Steer'd o'er an ocean lake ; Steer'd by fome ftrong hand ever as if funward ; Behind an angry wake. Before there ftretch'd a fea that grew intenfer, With filver-fire far fpread, Up to a hill mid-gloried, like a cenfer, With fmoke encompailed : It feem'd as if two feas met brink to brink, A filver flood beyond a lake of ink. There was a foul that eve autumnal failing Beyond the earth's dark bars, Toward the land of funfets never paling, Toward Heaven's fea of ftars ; Behind there was a wake of billows toiling, Before a glory lay. happy foul ! with all fail fet, juft crofting Into the Far-away. The gloom and gleam, the calmnefs and the ftrife, Were death before thee, and behind thee life. And as that (hip went up the waters (lately, Upon her topmalts tall 1 law two fails, whereof the one was greatly Dark, as a funeral pall, Vll think on God. 63 But oh ! the next's pure whitenefs who fhall utter r Like a fhell-fnowy ftrand, Or when a funbeam falleth through the mutter On a dead baby's hand ; But both alike acrofs the furging fea Help'd to the haven where the bark would be. And as that foul went onward, fweetly fpeeding Unto its home and light, Repentance made it forrowful exceeding, Faith made it wondrous bright ; Repentance dark with fhadowy recollections, And longings unfufficed, Faith white and pure with funnier! affections Full from the face of Chrift : But both acrofs the fun-befilver'd tide Help'd to the haven where the heart would ride. I'LL THINK ON GOD. By the Rev. J. LAWSON, M.A. "When I am in heavinefs I will think upon God." — Pf. lxxvii. 3. tt then Sorrow's flood wells o'er its brim, ^ v And eyes with weary watch wax dim, Whilfl: frowns To-morrow's vifage grim — I'll think on God ! 64 I'll think on God. When not old Ocean's fummer blue, Or fkyey mountains' funfet hue, Can my ebb'd fpirit's flow renew — I'll think on God ! When not the vefper ftrain of thrufh, Or blackbird fcreen'd in neighbouring bufh, Avails mine inward throbs to hum — I'll think on God ! When e'en earth's ftars, her flowers, that vie With thofe that nightly gem the fky, Unheeded greet my downcaft eve, — I'll think on God ! Is not His word of well-proved might To pierce affliction's deepen 1 night, Converting darknefs into light ? I'll think on God. Says not His own beloved Son, — " Take comfort in what I have done, In My Salvation truft alone" — I'll think on God. Whatever clouds obfeure my way, Till earthly fhadows fleet away, And dawns the everlafting day, I'll think on God. 65 THE LAY OF THE LOWLY. By the late T. K. HERVEY, Es^. N' ot loft are they whofe journey lies Along the world's moft tangled ways ; Nor need they faint if burning fkies Dry up the wells for many days, — Nor they repine, whofe lot commands A life-path through the defert fands. For lo ! the Gofpel waters clear Are given to their aching eyes, Wherein, though dimm'd by earthly tear, They yet may fee the fkies, — Along whofe margin fpreads the ftrand That ftretches to the Holy Land. We may be poor through all our days, Yet gather great increafe, — Our lives may lead through rugged ways, But all their paths be peace, — And they on earth the ferfs of toil Are heirs of an immortal foil. 'Twas thus the ladder's loweft round Rofe up where, faint and weary thrown, The Patriarch's head no pillow found More gentle than the ftone ; F 66 JValting. Yet there he caught the meflage bright That founded down the golden fpars, And track'd in dreams the fteps of light That climb'd beyond the ftars, — And knew they were the mining road That took the angels up to God. WAITING. By Mrs. J. C. SIMPSON. t am waiting, O my mother ! A Watching, waiting for the day. From this motley fcene fhall take me To that better home away : For the thought with fick'ning forrow Shadows ftill my fpirit o'er, Her who bleft my earlieft being I mall fee on earth no more ! I am waiting, O my daughter ' Watching, waiting to be free From thefe cold, material fetters. That divide my foul from thee : For the memory of thy beauty, Sweetly tender in its tone, Haunts me like a dream moll holy Wafted from the Eternal Throne. Waiting. by I am waiting, O my children ! Sons call'd hence in infant bloom, — Watching, waiting till the Matter Point my pafTage to the tomb : For your childlike fpirit feemeth Like a mantle dropp'd from heaven, Gently o'er my fad heart fallen, And my fins are all forgiven. I am waiting, O my Saviour ! Till Thine angel ope the door, Through whofe myftic portals never Pilgrim pafs'd returneth more : For the lovelinefs hath faded From the things of fenfe and fight, Loft in that excelling glory Of the land of love and light. I am waiting, watching, praying, For that lure and folemn hour, When the Heaven-appointed Reaper Shall cut down the parched flower : Then, oh ! then, to be tranfplanted To that garden's amaranth bed, Where, in full perennial glory, I fhall find my fainted dead ! B 68 HOME. By LLEWELLYNN JEWITT, Esq^. F.S.A. Author of " Antenna" u The Snoiv-path," &c. rother, — in pain, or fadnefs, or joy, Where, where is thy deareft home ? Where wouldft thou fly from the world's annoy, Where, in thy trouble, come ? Where turn for comfort, and hope, and love, Where feek for fympathy ? Where could thy heart, like a fluttering dove, Reft from its mifery ? Say, where is thy home — all homes above ? Brother, thy " home " is a fifter's love. Hufband, — oh, where is thy deareft home, Thy folace in pain or grief? Where, from the falfe world's fcorning, Canft thou turn to find relief? Where, when the fpirit within thee finks, And thy weary foul is opprefs'd, Where canft thou turn for (ympathy, Where find a haven of reft ? Say, where for folace and joy canft thou come? A wife's fond heart is the hufband's " home." Friend, — when in trial and differing, Where doft thou find thy home ? Where in thy pain canft thou leek relief, Where in thy furrows come : The Heart. 69 Where from the world's rude conflict Canft thou find a calm retreat ? Where learn afrefh with courage Thy trials and forrows to meet ? Where is thy fhield from adverfity's dart ? Friend, thy " home " is a loved one's heart. Man, — when thy heart is torn with grief, When thy hopes are for ever gone, When adverfity's cloud hangs over thy head, And earth's troubles weigh thee down, — When thofe whom thou loveft have turn'd away, And cruelly flighted thee, — When thy true heart is crufh'd, and thy joys are gone, — For fhelter, oh ! where canft thou flee ? Man, though from comfort on earth thou'rt driven, Thy " home " and thy joy are with God in heaven. THE HEART. By H. M. B. \to heart fo low but it hath many mountains, "^ Now feal'd in ice, now bathed in fun : No heart fo mallow but hath welling fountains, ReveaPd to God alone. 70 THE SNOTF. By A. J. SYMINGTON, Esq,. Author of 11 The Beautiful in Nature, Art, and Life." "Haft thou entered into the treafures of the fnow?" — Job, xxxviii. 22. t stood gazing, from the window, A On the fleecy mow Falling — falling — ever falling, Solemnly and flow ; And I felt that downy ftillnefs To be more fublime Than the thunder — flakes like ages In the lapfe of Time ! Bright fun ! blue fkies ! Now the orchard Hath no air of gloom, White-clothed, down-weigh'd branches feeming Laden with fummer bloom : Not a fhroud ! an eider mantle Shielding earth from ftorm, Is the friendly mow ; it keepeth Flower and grafs-blade warm ! So with chilly biting trials, Rightly underftood ; God, aye watching thole that love Him, Worketh all for good. 7 1 THE LAMB OF GOD, THE LION OF THE TRIBE OF JVDAH. By Miss CAROLINE HUNT, Author ej "s of" The Voice of Many Waters." xjot fhame nor infult, mockery, fcourging, death, ^^ Could wring one bitter word from Him they flew ; In prayers and bleffings ebb'd His parting breath ; " Father, forgive ! they know not what they do." Yet countlefs legions of the heavenly hoft, His eye could fee array'd around the Throne, Prepared to fave Him, when He feem'd fo loft, Loft and forfaken : But He trod alone That deadly wineprefs. Who can realize His ftrange temptation ? He was human ftill, Felt more than man each mortal pain and ill ; Still in His foul would human yearnings rife ; But meek, fubmiffive to His Father's will, Born the eternal councils to fulfil, The Lamb of God, felf-immolated, dies, For guilty man an all-atoning facrifice. Yet was He angry once ; with flafhing eye The Lion of the Tribe of Judah rofe, Zealous His Father's houfe to purify ; Nerved was that gentle hand with wrath, His blows Drove the rapacious ufurers away ; — The Lord was in His holy temple then. Who mail abide His coming in His day 72 The Lamb of God. Of might and glory, when He comes again To judge the world, His angel court around ? " The elements (hall melt with fervent heat," And Death and Hell fall crunYd beneath His feet : When all Creation hears the trumpet-found, When you and I before His judgment-feat, And they that loved, and they that pierced Him meet, Oh ! where mall we, Thou Lamb of God, be found, Thou Lion of Thy Tribe, unlefs Thy grace abound ? For nought impure, unholy, or defiled, Enters the regions of eternal day. Oh ! let us not, by earth or hell beguiled, Throw all our precious hopes of heaven away. To " purify ourfelves as He is pure," To follow in the path which Jefus trod, To love, to truft, to hope, and to endure, This is the life acceptable to God. Though fin within us wages deadly war, Yet will He fuccour thofe for whom He died : For us the Lord of life was crucified ; His living temples ftill our bodies are ! By His ftrong hand may they be purified, In them may He, the holy Lamb, abide ; And may His glories beaming from afar, Shine on our darken'd fouls, a " bright and morning Star/' 73 THE SANCTUARY OF GOD. By HENRY CECIL, Esq. Author of Various Poems. Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?" — i Cor. iii. 16. tn the light of funfet fading, * In the furge of the wide fea, Wave on wave the fhore abrading, Comes a voice and whifpers me : " Man of fongs, to whom is given Much to fuffer and to know, Sing us of the fongs of heaven — Zion's Song, if warbled lew. " There is tarnifh on the earthy : All things mortal wail the curfe : Only Faith's unfeen is worthy Of the honours of great verfe." And above the funfet fading, Holding me in thrall, I flee ; And above the white invading Surge on furge of the wide fea ; Seeking, if I may but find it, Find it truly of God's grace, 74 The Sanftuary of God. That rent veil, and free behind it The holy and moft holy place. From below the morning; — hearken ! Sweet and low the chant is drawn : But the cherubs' faces darken, And the glory-cloud is gone. Priefts no more, with choral vefture, Raife the pfalm on that high road ; Kingly feet, with lavifh gefture, Move before the ark of God. In no cedar houfe He lingers ; Shawm and cymbal waxen mute, Struck no more by cunning fingers, Crumble at the altar's foot. Now His reft is with the lowlv, With the weakeft foul His might ; With the finful walks the Holy, In the darknefs dwells the Light. And amidft the (urges' (welling, With adoring fear I fee This, God's people are His dwelling, His true temple is in me. 75 SPRING THOUGHTS. By the Rev. J. G. SMALL, M.A. Author of" The Highlands" and " Hymns fir Youthful Voices" &c. pOME, learn from Nature, ye who mourn ^ Some lovely flower's untimely blight, Bv Death's rude, wintry tempefts torn, And fnatch'd from your afflicted fight. Come, on reviving Nature gaze, — For many a thought thefe fcenes may raife To foothe your troubled heart, — To turn your wailing into praife, And richeft balm impart. Erewhile, o'er all this living fcene A dark funereal pall was fpread ; Gone was the gay and lively green, And all the radiant flowers were dead. Yet on the defolation there Ye did not look in blank defpair, But, with prophetic view, Defcried the time when fpring's foft air Should deck the plains anew. And mail ye not as firmly truft, And as rejoicingly believe, The Word that o'er a loved one's duft Forbids you hopeleflly to grieve ? For furely as the lovely bloom Of fpring fucceeds the wintry gloom, 76 Death the Gate of Life. That late o'erfprcad the plain, — So furely from the cheerlefs tomb The dead mail rife again. Though u in corruption it is Town, In incorruption it fhall rife ;" Now earth may claim it for its own, 'Twill then be fitted for the fkies. And as the faireft flower that blows Excels the feed from whence it rofe, Shall that bright form excel The frame, which to its long repofe In death's cold winter fell. A DEATH THE GATE OF LIFE. By the Rev. NEWMAN HALL, LL.B. re death's dark emblems fuited for the grave Of him who dwells in heaven's unclouded light ? For fouls array'd in robes of dazzling white Shall blacked: palls and plumes funereal wave ? Shall lilies drooping with untimely blight, Torches reverfed whofe flame is quench'd in night, And columns fhatter'd, our companion crave For thofe whom Chrift by death did full/ lave, — Who now, made perfect, ferve, and in His fight Drink of the fountain offupreme delight? Rear high the fhaft, new life thereon engrave ! Turn up the torch, it never burnt lb bright ! A richer hue and (cent the lily gives, — Not till the Chriitian dies he fully lives I TIME, DEATH, AND LOVE. By JOHN WILLIAM FLETCHER, Es^. hriME is a prince whofe reiiftlefs fway ■*• Everything earthly muft needs obey : The din of war, and the tyrant's frown, And the fhepherd's crook, and the conqueror's crown, Palaces, pyramids, temples, towers — With the falling leaves, and the fading flowers, And the funfet's fluih and the rainbow's ray — At the touch of Time all are palling away. And Death, with a paflionlefs, cloudlefs eye, And a crown of froft, ftandeth ever by ; He breathes on the brow of the old and the young, He ftays the heart and he ftills the tongue ; From the fetter'd foul he unbinds the chain — And the wave of paffion, the pulfe of pain, And hope's fitful gleam, and woe's hurried breath, Are all lapp'd in the glorious calm of Death ! But Love, on his fun-bright wings fublime, Floats above the weltering foam of Time ; And the power of his paradifal breath Flings a fluih of life o'er the froft of Death. Time mail pafs like a dewdrop at dawn of day, And Death like a rainbow mail fade away ; While Love by the word of God mail be The Sun of the heaven of Eternity ! o THE RESTLESS HEART. By Mrs. ABDY. Thou haft made us for ThyfeK, and our heart is reftlefs till it refts on Thee." — St. Augustine. h, reftlefs heart, uncertain, weak, and changing, Of failing purpofe, and of feeble will, O'er fcenes of vanity now idly ranging, Now gloomily intent on coming ill ; Life's varied fantafies now idly greeting, Now longing to the hermit's cell to flee : Wilt Thou not aid me, Lord, to ftill its beating ? My heart is reftlefs till it refts on Thee. Sometimes it feeks the haunts of proud Ambition, Sometimes for grave and ftudious Leifure fighs ; Exults awhile in Fame's enchanting vifion, Or clings to pure Affection's tender ties. Sometimes, abforb'd in prayer and contemplation, It feeks, through Faith, a better land to fee ; Alas ! why yields it to the world's temptation ? Why mould that reftlefs heart e'er turn from Thee ? Lord, Thou haft made us for Thvlelf, and ever Thy prefence mould within my heart be known, Could I but profper in the poor endeavour I feebly make, to keep it for Thine own. A Proverb Paraphrafed. Lord, I befeech Thee, calm its wild emotion, From earth's deluflve idols fet it free, And fill with holv thoughts of meek devotion The reftlefs heart that fain would reft on Thee ! A PROVERB PARAPHRASED. By ALARIC A. WATTS, Esq,. rvH ! welcome the forrow that fingly is fent ; ^~^ A blemng how oft in difguife, — A fign of God's love and His pity, but meant To famion the foul for the fkies ! Oh ! welcome the forrow that fingly arrives, Nor 'gainft Heaven's temper'd fiat rebel : 'Tis a merciful blow the fond heart that deprives Of fome idol it loved but too well ! Oh ! welcome the grief if God fends vou but one, Though the heart's cherifh'd dream it may dim ; — And rejoice if repentance, though late, may atone For a lifelong eftrangement from Him ! When misfortunes o'ertake us, not feldom thev come In " battalions," our hopes to o'erwhelm ; Yet the wildeft of ftorms may impel us towards home, If the veiTel obeys but her helm ! 8o BAPTISMAL LAY. By the Rev. J. DAYMAN, M.A. Jesus, while the dews of morning Sparkle on the infant brow, Frefhnefs every glance adorning, Write Thy name, O write it now ! Thou wilt watch the opening flow'ret, Cleanfe from every earthy ftain ; Guard, that no vile worm devour it, — Give the firfr and latter rain. When the noon-tide heat opprefTes, And beneath a burning fkv, While no friendly gardener drefTes, Flowers of earth muft droop and die, — Screen'd beneath o'erfhadowing mountain, Bid the fickly plant revive ; Bathed in Thine eternal fountain, Save the bruifed reed alive. And when evening's aged fingers Wrap the world in fober gray, And the colder night-breeze lingers But to grieve o'er fading day, — Jefus, Thou the bloflbm gather With Thine own right hand, to bear To the gardens of Thy Father, CulPd to bloom immortal there. I 81 THE BEST-BELOVED, By ROWLAND BROWN, Author of " Songs of Early Spring,'''' " Lily Leaves" &c. love the gems in the crown of Night, And I love the pearls of the fea ; And the violet-breath of the Spring-time bright Wakes a fweet delight in me. I love the wild-flowers kilT'd by the breeze, And I love the birds on the bough ; And I love the whifpering leaves of the trees, And the dew on the young Morn's brow. I love the voice of the child of fong, Of the wave and the waterfall ; But there's One in the glorious world above That I love far more than all ! I love the fmile of each darling face That lights with its joy my home ; And a mother's and fitter's fond embrace, That greets me when I come. I love the grafp of an honeft hand, And a true friend's kindly word ; And I love the fympathizing band, Whofe hearts by a tear are ftirr'd. I love the found of my father's voice, And the lips from which bleffings fall ; But there's One in the glorious world above That I love far more than all ! 82 EVENING. By IRENE. he weary fun his weftern bed Of wavy gold once more has found, While blufhing clouds his finking head With wreaths of crimfon light have crown'd. T The meadow cowflip, and the rofe That proudly blooms in Beauty's bower, Alike their drowfy petals clofe, And own, calm Eve, thy magic power. No found, no voice the fHllnefs breaks, Save where the ftreamlet warbles clear Her vefper chaunt, and foftly makes Fit mufic for the thoughtful ear. It is the hour when fancy moves Bright fhadows through the poet's brain, When phantom-haunted memory loves Gently to foothe the mourner's pain : When on the fteadfaft wings of prayer Towards the almighty Father rife Pure fouls that own His guardian care, Who heavenward gaze with fearlefs eyes. It is the hour when trembling man The voice of heavenly Juftice heard : Evening. 83 In wrath thofe awful tones began, But clofed in mercy's whifper'd word. The hour when to the death-doom'd plain The herald fpirits fwiftly fped : But merry now began the {train, Ere wrath its fiery ftorm might fhed. It is the hour when wandering flow Forth the lone Ton of Sarah went, Nor deem'd to cheer his filial woe More than a mother's love was fent : For fhe draws near, that maid who loon Unto his dreary tent mail prove Bright fun and fofter beaming moon, Cool honey'd dew and fheltering grove. It is the hour, oh, faddeft thought, At once yet holieft ! when the tomb O'er Him, who man's falvation wrought, Caft her dark made of death and gloom. Sweet Evening, ever may it be My lot beneath thy ftar-gemm'd veil To walk, and meditate with thee, Fann'd by thy lightly ftirring gale. And let no dream of worldly blifs, Grave nymph, invade thy votary's heart ; But let thy warning note be this : " From earth and earthly things we part ! ' o 84 SABBATH HOURS. By the Rev. J. C- BOYCE, M.A. H ! pafs not hence fo fleetly, Bright Sabbath-hours, we pray ; None other tell fo fweetly Of regions far away ; None other half as richly blefs Spirits that yearn to prove The ftrong, bright flame of earneftnefs, The melting mood of love — Of fpeaking and unfpoken truft The long-enduring might ; Or hope, that girdles round the duft Of death with heavenly light. No breath of flowers at eventide, When the rain-cloud's ftore is fpent ; No cooling airs fo foftly glide From the fultry firmament ; No wavelefs calm along the deep, When its fever-pulfe is ftill \ No vifitings of dew-like fleep To eyelids worn with ill \ No filver tone of dropping rain Upon the fparkling pool ; No blending of heart-fires again, That abfence could not cool : — Nothing in earth, or air, or lea, Can paint the nameleis witchery, The foothing, hallowing memory Sabbath Hours, Of Sabbath-time ; When man from his fever* d earth-dream wakes To his real, deathlefs life, and aches For his home fublime. Why art thou bodilefs, Sabbath-calm : Cannot we grafp thee, breath of balm r Why mould the altar-flame grow dim In the heart that has thrill'd with love ? Why mould it fade, that diftant hymn, Caught from the choirs above ? Angel-forms ! ve do but raife A moment from the (pint's gaze The damp and miity veil, clofe-drawn, 'Tween earthlv night and heavenly dawn, A moment onlv may the ear Drink in the mufic of your fphere : — A moment onlv may the brain Be tranced : and all grows dark again, — Dark as thole mimic landfcapes grow (I Hand, and lea, and mountain-height) Traced in the funfet's golden glow On fombre draperies of night. Yet, oh ! as noon-tide iunbeams fhed Bright haloes round the mountain's head, So linger near us, and our feet Shall ever from the world retreat. Born of vour pretence, hovering nigh, The voice of lip and heart mail be E'en as the worfhip of the iky, Burfts of uncloying melodv, Sweet as the river's changelefs tune Beneath the genial warmth of June ; 86 Sabbath Hoars. And vigorous as the fky-lark's lay, Bathed in the glories of mid-day. Yet hum ! for o'er us, hofts of light, Vigil ye keep by day, by night ; And fain would feal upon the breaft Thoughts that more conftant mood mould win : But the dark wings of Evil reft, Diftilling opiate-drops of fin Over each charmed fenfe, to ftill Impatience of committed ill. Too oft, alas ! man's better hour Is refpite only from the pow'r Of his worft foe. Too oft a glance, A figh, a momentary pain, Juft breaks the dire repofe ; then dance Once more athwart the whirling brain The furies of defpair, and fteep Their Have in Lethe's poifon'd fleep. O fin ! O bitter, hateful power, Marring each tranquil Sabbath-hour ! May we not free us from thv fpell ? May we not quit thv dungeon-gloom ? Wilt thou not leave us there to dwell At reft, where faireft graces bloom, Like flow'rets, in the heart's earth-heaven Of hope renew'd, of fins forgiven? — Quicken Thv conquering march, O Lord, Of ftainlefs good ; for hearts are faint With yearnings that Thv mightier (word Should rid the earth of evil-taint : — That each unholy impulfe (hould be (lain, And o'er the ranlbm'd world one endlels Sabbath reign. 87 FAITH. By GEORGE J. CAYLEY, Esq.. ttthat is the Faith that juftifies ? * * A light divine, a kindling grace ; The glory of the Saviour's face, Meeting the gaze of lifted eyes ! What works fuch faith fhall manifeft ? A ftrenuous fpirit-ftruggle, ftill To lead His life and do His will, — Sad lhreds and patches at the beft ! Alas ! in weaknefs we are born : Our childhood's innocence, fo fair, Is flimfy frail as woven air, Made only to be foii'd and torn. But though the thorn of trial tear, And gufh the wounds of bleeding pride, We may not caft the rags afide, Like naked fiends in foul deipair : For He, who yearly rifts the rind To fheathe anew the foreft's growth, With His own righteouihefs fhall clothe The faithful fouls His crofs hath fign'd. Trial is our great Healer's probe To found the ulcerous depths of fin, Shame's tatters all are fhed within The fhelter of the feamlefs robe. 88 CHRIST! J X PHILOSOPHY By thi Rei . W. W. HOW, M.A. n before us VdF& :be dark Portal, 1 11 - . - • i ilent re:: o'er us, Graves index u filent." — Goethe. npHE Poet fcann'd with mightv awe A The mvfterv of man : He fpake the ftrange things that he law, And thus it ran : — " The filent ftars are overhead, The filent graves below ; A dream between — how quickly fled, Is all we know." He pointed up, he pointed down, — The witnelTes were there ; O'er the Between a veil was thrown He could not tear. The Preacher faw the hand he raifed, And heard the words he fpake ; And in his foul, with grief amazed, A hre outbrake. The Sun of Right eoufnefs. " Poet," he cried, " the things we fee, They are not all we know, — The web of thy philofophy, I rend it fo :" — He pointed with his eager hand Behind, and then before ; " And there, and there, for ever ftand Two wonders more : " The filent ftars fing out with mirth The graves with grafs are green Chrift. cometh twice upon the earth — We live between ! ' 5 THE SUN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS. By Mrs. ALEXANDER. lt But unto you that fear my name fhall the Sun of Righteoufnefs arife with healing in His wings." — Mal. iv. 2. npHE fick man in his chamber A Through the long weary night, TofPd on his reftlefs pillow, How longs he for the light ! 90 The Sun of Rigbteoufnefs. He counts the hours that linger, Heavy with clouds and rain, And a great weight of darknefs Lies on his fever'd brain. He hears the loud clock ticking, And the owl hoot afar ; While glimmers the pale night-light, And fades the midnight ftar ; Till eaftward in the Heaven He fees at lafl the iign — O'er the far purple mountain A fingle filver line. It broadens and it deepens To a fea of red and gold, With clouds of rofy amber Around its glory roll'd. Till each pane of his window Is filver'd o'er and o'er, And lines of golden arrows Lie on the dufky floor. The fick foul lieth weary In the world's foft unreft, With clouds of care and iorrow And weight of fins oppreft. Out of the night fhe crieth, Out of the narrow room : O Saviour, gentle Saviour, Wilt Thou not pierce the gloom ? The Sun of Righteoufnefs. 91 Break on this night of longing, Where hand in hand we grope, Through waftes of vain endeavour, 'Neath ftars of fruitlefs hope. O'er the great hills of fadnefs That hem us darkly in, Rough with our tears and loiTes, And black with many a fin ; — Rife, rife above the mountains, With healing on Thy wings ; Break, break into the chambers, Where pain in fecret ftings. Come while the morning tarries, Our waiting eyes to blefs ; Look through the lowly lattice — Bright Sun of Righteoufnefs ! Set for the hearts that love Thee Thy token up above — The white rays of redemption, And the red fire of love. Out of our gloom we call Thee, Out of our helplefs night; Sun of the world, fweet Saviour ! Show us Thy perfect light. 9 2 CONSOLATION. LINES WRITTEN IN VISITING THE SICK. By the Rev. J. MYERS KING, M.A. TjELP me, my God, in faith to feed A The flock Thy Providence decreed Should feek its food from me ! Yet not from me. Oh, be Thy word, In everlafting accents heard, The food that comes from Thee ! Is anguifh on yon fufferer's brow, Futurity fore-fhadow'd now, — Meet chaftifement for fin ? Firft be by Thee the teacher taught, The fhepherd to his Mafter brought, Reproach with felf begin. Who feels the fore the cure may teach ; Who learns of Chrift may Jems preach ; Proftrate, may others raife : The fuppliant beft may lead the prayer ; Who lowlieft proves each daily care, Beft ftrike the note of prailc. Poor is his blifs who ne'er hath felt His foul at its trangreflions melt In falutary grief: Confolation. 93 Poor is the wifdom that can own No folly in itfelf alone, Nor owning find relief. Whofe voice would other finners blame, His own unruly will mult tame ; But he who feeks his God In humble penitence, may fay, " Brother, like thee of finful clay, With thee I kifs the rod." One voice mail then the filence break, One voice to each can pardon fpeak, — One voice, and one alone : 'Tis His, whofe only arm can keep From wolves the fhepherd or the fheep, — The Chriftian foldier crown. Saviour adored, eternal King, The meaneft mounts on golden wing, Whom love afcending bears : And who through all the world fo bright As he who in unclouded light Thy robe all-radiant wears ? Then welcome life's inglorious part, Fame only vainer makes the heart ; And welcome lowly cares : The pilgrim beft may forward go, Whofe ftaff fupports another's woe. He beft his foul prepares, 94 Life Song. Who feeks in unobtrufive round His Mafter where on earth he found His merciful employ : The tear on Refignation's cheek, Mute Sorrow, 'mid her fufferings meek, Will chide him into joy. LIFE SONG. By Mrs. POSTLETHWAITE. ? tteart, O Heart ! why thus bewailing ""- * Calmly o'er Life's wave thou'rt failing. Mufic, why art thou all wailing ? Voice, O Voice, why drown'd in tears r — O'er the ills all deem lie fleeping, Thou a Client watch art keeping, Outward calm, yet inly weeping O'er the ftranded wrecks of years. Heart, poor Heart ! while thus thou'rt bleeding, Faint and anguifh'd in thy needing, Mercy for thy life is pleading — Dews of Pity round thee ihine ; And, as Mercy, grace conferring, Leadeth forth to Light the erring, Hope thy laden depths is ftirring With the might of Faith Divine: Griefs are gifts from Mercy's fhrine, Thou fhalt chaunt Aniens for thine. 95 GRJSS UPON THE HOUSETOP. By FRANCES FREELING BRODERIP, Author tfs of " Way fide Fancies" &c. "Let them be even as the grafs growing upon the houfetops, which withereth afore it be plucked up. " Whereof the mower filleth not his hand, neither he that bindeth up the fheaves his bofom." — Pf. cxxix. 6, 7. w ■hen frefh'ning breezes cool the air, Where'er the mower's ftep doth pafs, Like keel-cut billows lie apart The rippled waves of new-mown grafs. When Autumn, now a matron calm, Her crown of perfect fruitage wears, The fcarlet poppy-pennons mine Among a field of golden fpears. The grateful earth that nurfed the feed, Gives fevenfold back the gift again ; Not mine the fcented flow'ry fwathes, — Not mine the fheaves of golden grain. The dufty houfetop gave me birth, That knows not rill, nor brook, nor fpring ; Fed by the cafual fhower of rain, I wither ere my gathering. No fcented blooms entwine me round, No mower fills with me his hand ; No reaper's bofom takes me in, The while he binds the fheaf in band. 96 God Blejfeth Everywhere. Such, righteous Lord, Thou haft decreed, Shall be their doom, or foon or late, Who blindly warring 'gainft Thy will, Lay Sion's vineyard defolate. And as my fate is, fuch is theirs, To whom the warning fent in vain Was given in days of old, and fince Has ftill been urged, and fcorn'd again. GOD BLESSETH EVERYWHERE. By JOHN EMMET, Esq_. /-pHERE's joy within the cottage door, ■*■ And joy within the hall ; Joy for the rich, and for the poor, For you, and me, and all. God never ftints the meed of blifs, Nor deals too great a fhare ; But loves yon world, yet loveth this — God bleffeth everywhere. Whene'er I fee a cottage rofe Around the doorway creep ; Whene'er I fee the deer-park clofe The palace in its deep, I wonder do ye weep and figh, Or are ye happy there ; And then I fing, and thus fing I — God blciTeth everywhere. God BleJJeth Everywhere. 97 And when I hear a grateful hymn Float down the river's tide, Or fee, within the garden trim, Friends happy fide by fide, — I thank my loving God for what I hear and fee fo fair, And hear and feel with praifes that God blefTeth everywhere. O tenants of the hall and cot, Ye may have raven eyes, Yet figh for blifs that woos ye not, Or woo it till it flies ; Or ye may have no cherry cheek, And yet defy all care ; God heals the heart — it mail not break — God blefTeth everywhere. The birds laugh through the fummer-time In pleafure on the trees, And every harebell rings a chime Of mufic for the bees ; The honey-bee on humming wing Goes roving here and there, And fings with every living thing — God blefTeth everywhere. The clouds lie dreaming on the deep, All in a joyous dream ; The merry ftars do never fleep, So bright with love they feem. 'Tis fung by valley, plain, and hill, Through ocean, earth, and air, — Ye may be happy if ye will, God blefTeth everywhere. H 98 TRUTH. By the Author of "Tom Brown's Schooldays," Sec. "Strive for the truth to the death, and the Lord fliall fight for thee." — Ecclus. iv. 28. "Thou requireft truth in the inward parts." — Ps. li. 6. o God of Truth, whofe living Word Upholds whate'er hath breath, Look down on Thy creation, Lord, Enflaved by fin and death. Set up Thy ftandard, Lord ! that we, Who claim a heavenly birth, May march with Thee to fmite the lies That vex Thy groaning earth. Mount Thy white horfe, Thou W'ord of God, Thy blood-ftain'd vefture don ; To the laft ftrife with death and hell Lead Thy great army on. Ah ! would we join that bleu 1 array, And follow in the might Of Him, the Faithful and the True, In raiment clean and white ! We fight for truth, we fight for God, Poor flaves of lies and fin ! He who would fight for Thee on earth Mult rirlt be true within. Help in Trouble. 99 Then God of Truth, for whom we long, Thou who wilt hear our prayer, Do Thine own battle in our hearts, And flay the falfehood there. Thou fword which goeth from His mouth, Smite thefe falfe hearts in twain ! Here burn, thou never-dying fire ! Fall on, thou fiery rain ! Still fmite ! ftill burn ! till nought is left But God's own truth and love ; Then, Lord, as morning dew come down, Reft on us from above. Yea, come ! then, tried as in the fire, From every lie fet free, Thy perfect truth mail dwell in us, And we fhall live in Thee. HELP IN TROUBLE. By the Rev. A. GORDON, LL.D. Author of"Heart-Effufiom" &c. tt then dire Misfortune, with her wings outfpread, * Darkens the peaceful, heaven-bedew'd abode ; The juft, with heart bow'd down, are not afraid, But truft in God, — Whofe mefTengers defcend to cheer and aid. 100 Help in Trouble. Y'\\{\ comcth loving-hearted Sympathy, — Hallow'd thy footfteps, mefTenger benign ! ? Tis thine to foothe the bofom, hum the figh, With peace divine ; O Sympathy, how foft that touch of thine ' Then cometh Hope, in Iris-colour dight, With afpecl: mild that cheers the tearful eye : As the lone ftar difpels the fhades of night, Glittering on high, — Hope fills the heart with vifions of delight. Then Faith, the child of Piety, all-fair, Pours oil of peace upon the ftricken heart, Supplying every want, difpelling care By no falfe art, But by thofe truths which heavenly peace impart. Child of Misfortune, then dry up thy tears, — Thou doft not fall unfeen, nor ftand alone : They who diftruft our God have caufe for fears, But thou haft none ; Thy God will light the gloom, when Sorrow's cloud appears. 101 THE TIME OF THE SINGING OF BIRDS. By Mrs. JOHNSTON, Author of" Lays of the Left Oner " For, lo ! the winter is paft, the rain is over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the Tinging of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." — Song of Sol. ii. 11, 12. T ^he time of the finging of birds is come, And winter is paft and gone ; Dark clouds are melting from heaven's dome, And larks fpring up from their heather home, To fing to the rifing fun. Come, with the found of thy mufical wing, Thou timid and gentle dove ! With thy modeft garb and fnowy ring, Come, mingle thy notes with the voice of fpring, In a low, fweet fong of love. The winter is over, the rain is ftay'd, And flowers on the earth appear ; From each little grave where the germ was laid, Springs forth in new beauty a frefh green blade, To bloom through another year. Sun of my foul ! mail I fear to lay This dun: where the fpring flowers lie ? No, Thou wilt remember my fleeping clay (For I witnefs Thy truth to the flowers of May), And raife me, no more to die ! 102 The Dread of Death. The times of the finging of birds will come, And the fummer-fun fhine bright ; But a beam more glorious fhall pierce my tomb, And this duft fhall live in unfading bloom, 'Neath the beams of eternal light ! THE DREAD OF DEATH. By the Right Rev. S. HINDS, D.D. Late Bijhop of Norwich. Though I walk in the valley of the fhadow of death I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me." — Ps. xxiii. 4. tf I could live a thoufand years, ■* It would be but to fhed more tears ; Yet life is fweet, I know not why, And it is dreadful ftill to die. O Father, draw me unto Thee, That life, this world's dead life, may be No more the thing I cleave to fo, Through all the wearinefs of woe. I've walk'd with Thee, yet knew it not ; Have known Thee, and as oft forgot ; Elfe now I had not been afraid With Thee to walk in Death's cold (hade. When darknefs terrifies my child, He clafps my hand and is beguiled Of fear — fo I will cling to Thee, O P'ather, and from fear be free. T 103 THE KING SIN By the Rev. R. W. ESSINGTON, M.A. ihe fon of Kifh to battle went, And well his warriors fped ; For by the God of juftice fent, They bore His fword of punifhment ; And though King Agag fled, His heel at Havilah they fmote ; At Shur their spears were at his throat, Their feet upon his neck ; And as the doom'd, the fpell-bound hare, Which eyes the float, or feels the fnare, Shrieks for its life in wild difmay, So, craving mercy, proftrate lay The pride of Amalek. But, fince to fpare would be to fin, The ruthlefs carnage must begin ; And foon it fwept o'er all, The poor, the powerlefs, the old ; As lions crafhing through the fold, Or eagles with their lordly fweep, Make havoc of the cowering fheep ; 'Twas Death's grim carnival. But he their chief — muft Agag's fun Set thus for ever ? He had done More ill than all his recklefs band ; Stain'd was his heart, and ftain'd his hand, With that accurfed thing, 104 The King Sin. Which they who witnefTd, dared not tell ; And now, denounced by Samuel, God's outlaw he ; and yet the fpell, Which guards a fceptred King, Preferves that worthlefs life, what time God's dread avengers dog his crime, And fmite each petty villain down, And burn the hut, and fack the town, And thruft, and hack, and hew. " Shame on thee, Saul ! yea, woe and fhame, : We cry aloud — Yet ours the fame Both fin and ruin too ; Unlefs we turn with faith and prayer, Ere hope unripen'd feels the air Of death's chill winter, and defpair Springs from that foul decaying fruit, And winding round its parent's root, Has gnaw'd it through and through. For at the Font we vow to win A triumph o'er thofe foes within, By God and holy feer accurlt — Of felf the love, of wealth the thirft, Hate, anger, lull:, and pride ; Yet oft-times, though the Holy One Has granted us His benifon, And, fighting on our fide, Has brought within an eafy reach Thofe glories which, furpaffing fpeech, With faintly hearts abide ; We facrifice nor word, nor thought, Which in the killing coirs us aught, But either poor and worthlefs things, The King Sin. 105 Or fiich as tire with buzzing wings ; And having heighten'd the offence With Pharifaical pretence, We vie with recreant Saul, And like the king who, while the lance Of Richard glitter'd in advance Of Europe's armies, fail'd for France, End that crufade which mould have won Jerufalem, at Afcalon, And bid the retribution ceafe, And with the accolade of peace Grace that worft foe of all, Who, with a fallen tyrant's wiles, Wreathes darkeft hate in lacquer'd fmiles, Hides his fork'd tongue, and ferpent's face, Till lovely feems his lithe embrace, And fair his venom'd fting ; And cries, " Let war between us end, The braver foe the firmer friend ; For like mould never war with like, The eagles do not eaglets ftrike, And kings mould fpare a king ! " Oft hear we now that pleading cry, And grant the pardon, or deny, As faith is weak or flrong ; And for a while none feems to heed If God or Mammon ftamp the deed, Or Babel's towering pride to mark, Or faith which builds her landlock'd ark ; But 'tis not thus for long — At death's bleak dawn falfe meteors fade, And they who heard yet difobey'd, 106 The King Sin. Quail at the fate they may not fhun, And are, and know themfelves, undone — While, on the right hand, who are they, The children of the glorious day, Who, mufter'd in God's bright array, The crowns eternal win ? They are the Hero-Saints — the true Crufaders they, who, born anew With fprinklings of the morning dew, Drank from the cloven Rock, and fed At noontide on the Manna-bread, By the free Spirit comforted : And thus, although the world around Deceitful fmiled, or wrathful frown'd, They heeded not, but held their ground. The Sun, declining towards the weft, Might tell of wearinefs and reft, But onward ftill, with panting breaft, They march'd erecl:, nor when the night, Through very penury of light, Had brought the hofts of heaven in fight, And ftill'd the world's dull din, Fear'd they the fhadows lengthening out, But watching error's headlong rout, They raifed the victor's joyous fhout, Remembering that, as (unlet here Is funrife in another fphere, So evening milts around the tomb Tell not of midnight's ghoftly gloom, But of a new and brighter morn Upon the eternal mountains born, For them who braved the heathen's rage, And, lighting for God's heritage, Speak the Truth in Love* 1 07 Struck down the Anakin. Nor refted then, but clear'd the field Of dwarfifh imps, who feign'd to yield, And, with their dagger-points conceal'd In rofebuds, crept beneath the fhield ; And at the laft, with bended knee, And arm'd with Faith's bright panoply, They, though the falchion feem'd to go Through their own hearts, yet laid him low — Their own, their Matter's deadly foe, The King, the Agag Sin. SPEAK THE TRUTH IN LOVE. By the Rev. W. P. BALFERN. qpeak kindly to the broken heart ; ^ Wrath ne'er the will can bend, And gentle words have ever proved To virtue's caufe a friend. The heavy rain that loudly falls, Makes Nature droop her head ; The gentle dew bids her look up, And fmile as from the dead. Oh, who that knows a Saviour's love ? And joy of fin forgiven, — Who would not feek by words of love To guide a foul to heaven ! w 1 08 PARTING. By M. J. POSTLETHWAITE. ■hen the foft night, gently ftealing O'er our half-unwilling eyes — Day's paft good and evil fealing, — Dims the light from yon far ikies ; Round us often vifions feem Of the quiet Paft to gleam, That murmur aye and ever to the heart, How very bitter 'tis — and yet 'tis life — to part. Far from thofe we love, who love us, In life's gloom, — what joy to know, There is but one Heaven above us, But one holy Faith below : In our lonely hours and drear, Oh, be this Faith ever near, To teach us how, with all in faintly reft, Earth's griefs and joys are loft, in one communion bleft ! Ever hold we faft that onenefs, Peaceful, teachable, and pure ; So our dav can ne'er be funlefs, So our faith and love endure : Since for us were Twain made One, GOD and Alan — one Love alone Can fill our finking hearts with heaven's own calm, And (often earth's rude change with its unfailing balm. 109 THE ORCHARD. A LEGEND OF MOUNT CARMEL. By Mrs. ABDY. tjow fair is the orchard ! the wide-fpreading trees -* Are heavy with fruit, fo profufely beftow'd That well may the owner rejoice when he fees The branches bent down by their cluttering load. The holy Elijah is paffing that way, And meekly and humbly he proffers his fuit : " I thirft, I am weary, then give me, I pray, A fhare of your lavifh abundance of fruit." But little the churl for the wayfarer cared ; He anfwer'd, in fcofiing and bantering tones, " Old man, it appears that your fight is impair'd, The trees in my orchard bear nothing but ftones ! " The prophet departed, worn, feeble, and fpent, Denied the poor boons of refrefhment and reft, And utter'd this farewell remark as he went, " True words have been frequently fpoken in jeft ! " Oh, wondrous ! the fruits a ftrange afpec~t affume, Prefenting a profitlefs outline alone ; Their juices are dried, and their foft, dewy bloom Gives place to the dull, rigid hardnefs of ftone ! no Emigrants' Farewell Eucharijl. Paufe, flranger, awhile ! Are you felfifh and cold, When fuppliants come for your bounty to plead ? Look round you — the wreck of the goods to behold, So harmly withheld from a brother in need ! Forget not the orchard : with eloquence mute, This forcible moral it feems to impart, — That a barren allotment of petrified fruit Is a fitting requital for hardnefs of heart ! EMIGRANTS' FAREWELL EUCHARIST. By the Rev. G. W. BRAMELD, M.A. I T is the folemn time Of myfteries fublime ; There is deep filence through the Houfe of Prayer ; For, lo ! with reverence high, A little band draw nigh To eat and drink their lafl Communion there. 'Tis their lafl Sabbath-day Ere the fwift bark away From their own native land fhall bear them tar j And they no more may come To this their holy home, With morning fun or evening's rifing ftar. O CO Emigrants' Farewell Eucharifl. 1 1 1 No more with humble cry Of folemn Litany Their voices ''mid the faithful band mail rife ; Nor in the holy fong, Their lips have hymn'd fo long, Afcend with loud thankfgiving to the fkies. For o'er the diftant fea Their future home mull be, 'Mid lonefome woods, and rocks, and wilds unknown ; Where mail be none to tell Of all they loved fo well, Of houfehold joys and cherifh'd pleafures flown. Then mall their thoughts return To their old homes, and yearn For the fweet Sunday-bell of other times : But they mail yearn in vain, For them never again Shall found the mufic of thofe village chimes. Parting from all befide, To meet on life's dark tide, They know not what of forrow and of change, They fain would lean for reft Upon His loving breaft, Whom from His own no trouble mail eftrange. And therefore 'tis, that now They come with quiv'ring brow, And tearful eye, this laft high Feaft to feek : Matron and fturdy fire, And youth's quench'd glance of fire, And maiden bending low in filence meek. 112 Emigrants' Farewell Eucharijl. O noble Pilgrim band ! 'Tis better thus to ftand, Than girt with brazen helm or gleaming fword. Yours is the fhield of Faith That mocks the darts of Death ; Your falchion is the Spirit of your Lord ! Ye bear no gems nor gold Forth from your homes of old ; Dark penury hath forced you hence away : But ye, we truft, have won, Through God's Eternal Son, That crown of glory which mail not decay. The trials of your lot Soon may be all forgot ; Ye fhall pafs onward to the diftant more, And your remembrance fade, Even as the morning made \ The place that knew you once mall know no more. But in your hearts {hall lie A fweet glad memory Of this blefT'd hour, to guide and cheer you on, Until at length you come To that Eternal Home, Whither your Saviour hath before you gone. "3 MATIN HYMN, FOR EMIGRANTS AT SEA. By the Rev. J. KEBLE, M.A. He walked on the water, to go to Jefus."' — Matt. xiv. 29. q lowly the gleaming ftars retire, ^ The eaftern heaven is all on fire ; The waves have felt the unrifen fun, Their matin fervice is begun. Lord of the boundlefs fky and fea, In loving fear we kneel to Thee : Fain would we grafp the ftrong Right Hand Reach'd to Thine own by fea and land ; The Hand that did Thy Saint uphold, When love had made him over-bold, What time at twilight dawn he flood Half-finking in the boifterous flood. He cried to Thee, and Thou didfb fave ; So we, Thine ocean-wanderers, crave (Ere the bright flufh of morn be o'er) Thy blefling, Lord, for one day more. Still onward as to fouthern ikies We fpread our fail, new ftars arife, New lights upon the glancing tide, Frefh hues where pearl and coral hide. 1 114 Matin Hymn. What are they all, but tokens true Of grace for ever frefh and new : True tokens of Thine awful love Around us, Father, and above ? And we would daily, nightly draw Nearer to Thee in love and awe, Till in Love's home we paufe at laft, Our anchor in the deep Heaven caft. The while, acrofs the changeful fea Feeling our way, we cling to Thee, Unchanging Lord ! and Thou doft mark For each his ftation in Thine ark. Still overhead the faving Sign Streams, and we know that we are Thine : What courfe foe'er our velTel take, The fignal of our King we make. It hallows air and wave, — and, lo ! The Heavens a glorious anfwer fhow ; High and more high, through fouthern fkies We fee the unmoving Crofs arife. The Crofs on board — what need we more ? The Crofs to welcome us afhore : What need we more, if hearts be true ? Our voyage fafe, our port in view. " If hearts be true "—but, O dear Lord ! Which of us all may fay the word ? Thy Spirit breathe this day, or we Shall lofe, ere night, ourfelves and Thee. "5 VESPER HYMN, FOR EMIGRANTS AT SEA. By the Rev. J. KEBLE, M.A. When thou pafTeft through the waters, I will be with thee." — Isa. xliii. 2. T he twilight hour is fweet at home, When founds from brook or woodland come, Or old familiar bells, that bring The memories grave of many a fpring. At fuch foft times the genial air Is fragrant with unbidden prayer, And fouls devout their longings pour To Chriftmas hearth or Whitfun bower. And now upon the twilight fea How may we choofe but kneel to Thee, While airs of Thine own breathing fteal O'er the hot calm, worn hearts to heal ? Now fails are moift with unfeen dews, Aerial lines of all bright hues Lie on the level Weft afar, And here and there one filent ftar. O Lord, our Peace ! and may we dare, With voices marr'd by fin and care, To break the ftillnefs, and upraife The fong of our unworthy praife ? n6 Vefper Hymn, Yea, as of old Thy faints at eve A blefling did of Thee receive, When o'er the waves they took their way, Thou to the mountain, Lord, to pray ; So may we truft that our frail bark, Bearing aloft Thine awful mark, Ere fhe began her ocean race, Had portion in that word of grace. For why ? Thine everlafting Creed Is ours, to fay in hour of need ; We waft the Name from coaft to coaft, Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost. Ours, too, Thy Prayer, according well With Ocean's many-voiced fwell, Which clofe to every ear begins, Its way beyond all hearing wins. The (urging prow, the naming wake, Mufic at hand unwearying make ; Waves upon waves repeat the long, And through unbounded fpace prolong. We fay the Prayer our Saviour taught, As houfehold words, with homely thought : But Angels bear it on and on, In all its meaning, to the Throne. The fraileft bark that ploughs the main, The fimplclr child, may raife the (train ; Heaven, earth, air, leas, will hear the call, " Our Father! " harmonizing all. Sonnet. 117 But, oh ! that to Thy Prayer and Creed Thine high Commands we join'd, indeed, Written in heart, on hand engraven, — Three feals in one of Grace and Heaven ! All we have been, forgive, O Lord ; Keep Thou to-night our watch and ward : Safe may we {lumber on the fea, Thou at the helm, our hearts with Thee. N" SONNET. Britain's houses of prayer her faithful monitors. By the Rev. J. LAWSON, M.A. ature, thy varied charms enchant the eye — Thy fea, thy rocks and hills, thy leaft-deck'd flower, Are fraught with a foul-purifying power, To free from Mammon's bafe idolatry. Spent pilgrim's fev'rifh drought canit thou fupply With flaking rills ? No ! by thy choicefr. bower, Hope's blifsful goal fuggefts the peering tower Of village fane, or fpire that points on high — Sight e'en of Him, to whom they witnefs give — Devotion's " cynofure" aye may they ftand, Attending whence the glory of our land ; And may all thofe whofe portion 'tis to live In Britain's ifle, the facrifice afford Of heart-felt praife to* earth's fupernal Lord ! n8 CHRIST IN GETHSEMANE. By the Rev. C. I. BLACK, M.A. a N earneft Suitor for one final boon, ***• Alone He knelt upon the dewy fod ; 'Twas midnight ; and the cold round Pafchal moon Shone coldly down upon the weeping God. He faid, " If it be poflible, I pray Take, O my Father, take this cup away." A little fpace apart unheeding flept His friends, and heard not that thrice-utter'd prayer ; The riotous city's feftal noifes fwept Loud and tumultuous through the illumined air ; And the complaining wind with murmur low Ruftled the olive-branches to and fro. But there was intent filence up in Heaven — An inexpremve, unexampled calm ; Pale grew the glory of the burning Seven ; Hufh'd was each harp ; unutter'd was the pfalm : Then firft her heavenly ftation Sorrow won, When liftening Ano-els heard — "Thy will be clone." Then from the midft of that abounded throng Rofe one in halte, obedient to liis Lord ; Swift through the night, on pinions fwift and ftrong, Earthward he fped unto the fuffering Word, With power to quell the force of human fears, And check the exuberant fount of thole enfaniiuined tears. ChriJ} in Gethfemane. 119 Not for thofe heedlefs friends — His nation's hate ; Or dubious Pilate, bending to the ftorm ; Or the contempt of His infulted ftate ; Or the keen fhame of His unclothed form ; 'Tis not for thefe the drops of fuffering ftart, And deathly anguifh fettles on His heart. That temper'd feeling, that prophetic eye, Long had they been familiar made with woe ; The torturing crown, the crofs uplifted high, And making under each convulfive throe ; The hiding of God's face ; the gloom obfcure When He muft render up His fpirit pure. But ere the fuccour came, another flood In filent conflict with Emmanuel there; The ancient foe, in fond perfuafive mood, The dim, difcrown'd Archangel of defpair, Lifting Him to the pinnacles of pain, Thence fhow'd Him His love-toil beftow'd in vain. Ages of hatred ; millions who mould take His holy name in vain, or count it vile ; Or murder in defence of it, and make His very Crofs a fhelter for their guile ! Was it a mocking dream that He had dream'd Of hope for Man, if happier unredeem'd ? Therefore it was that thus He knelt and pray'd : Nor yet for thefe alone His tears were fhed ; How on His Own His forrows would be laid, And love to grief on earth be ever wed ; And joy and hope through time for ever be Flowers fown and water'd in Gethfemane. 120 The Sepulchre. And who of ChrifVs, but oft mull fit alone, Sadnefs at hand, and for the future fear ; While that particular burden of his own Deepens each figh, and ftarts the fitful tear — Death, and like changes, and the fallen eftate Of fplendid hopes o'erthrown and defolate ? Moments of awe-ftruck feeling, and forlorn, When that which is within us feems to be Too confeious of itfelf, too fwiftly borne Afar into its own Gethfemane : There let the fpirit fad and lonely pray To drink the cup Chrift did not pafs away. Then as that garden knew not, he fhall know The quickening drops of God's myfterious pain ; And the death-cancelling chalice mail o'erflow With comfort, as the clouds of fpring with rain ; And the dear Lord of forrow fhall be nigh To calm the intemperate grief, and fhare each anxious figh. THE SEPULCHRE. By Miss E. H. ROLLS, Autborefs of" Fhjl F by E. II. R. M tttith weeping eves the Magdalen departed ** To leek her Saviour on the Kaiter morn The Refuge of the poor and broken-hearted Had gone away, and left them all forlorn. The Sepulchre. ill With faltering ftep the mourner pafTes by The rippling fountains and the peaceful palms ; Her only hope, her only wifh, to figh Her foul away in penitential pfalms, She feeks the Sepulchre, ftill fadly weeping ; But, lo ! the grave is full of life and light : Two angels there a holy watch are keeping, Array'd in garments of celeftial white. And as fhe gazes on the tomb, fhe hears A well-known word — a fweet, confoling voice; And, looking up and fmiling through her tears, She turns to meet her Saviour and rejoice. So we on earth are often weak and fainting With dreary memories and hidden fear j And expectation never wearies painting The mournful things fhe fancies lurking near ; And all the pathway of our life feems fhaded With folemn tints of gloominefs and woe ; And not a leaf appears but what is faded, And not a joy but what is foon to go : 'Tis then we feek the graves of the departed, — Departed pleafures and departed friends ; But when on earth we feem moil: broken-hearted, Nearer to God our lonely prayer afcends. Though knowing all the forrows of mankind, Our daily crofs with hopefulnefs we bear ; When Chriftian mourners feek the grave, they find Not only angels, but a Saviour, there ! 122 MY REDEEMER LIVETH. FROM THE GERMAN OF PAUL GERHARDT.* By JOHN OXENFORD, Es<*. I know that my Redeemer lives ; In this my faith is fait ; He lives, and who againft Him ftrives Is fure to fall at laft. He lives, the Mighty One, I know, Whofe arm can crufh the ftrongeft foe, And Death himfelf has conquer'd. Deep joy within my heart I nurfe, No fear difturbs my mind Of him who can my flefh difperfe Like chaff before the wind. My bones and finews he may have To bury in his own dark grave, But ftill he cannot harm me. My Saviour lives, though dull may lie Upon my mouldering head, And He will call me, by-and-by, To quit my earthy bed. Then I fhall waken at His touch, And He will raife me from my couch ; My deep will foon be over. * Born 1606, died 1676. One of the mod celebrated writers of " fpiritual fongs" that ever Jived j and compared, in this refpedt, with Martin Luther. My Redeemer Liveth. 123 And I fhall wear this very fkin, In which I now appear, — Shall be the fame without — within, As you behold me here. My parted limbs, with every vein, Together mall He bind again, All in their fitting; order. Of bone and flefh the frame is made, Which now by man is worn ; And when within the grave he's laid, 'Twill be devour'd and torn By hofts of hungry worms, and all The hideous things that foully crawl 'Twill not be fo for ever. United fhall we be once more, — This frail, this mouldering frame, Will God revive, will God reftore, Its nature (till the fame. All that has been corruption's prey, All that has perifh'd by decay, Again fhall be united. In this I fhall not be deceived, No ! — firm my faith fhall be That Him, who has for ever lived, I in my flefh fhall fee. In this my very flefh that dies, And deep in dull: and afhes lies, My God fhall I fee clearly. 1 24 Our Light Affliaion. Myfelf fhall fee Him in the flefh, With all His radiance bright ; His prefence will my foul refrefh, His face my heart delight. Myfelf mail ever on Him gaze, Myfelf fhall ever found His praife — Myfelf, and not another. The tempters boldly I defy Who feek mv heart to quail ; The ftrong to make my faith may trv, But furely they fhall fail. Prate on of terrors as you will, — Of death, of graves, of coffins \ ftill I know my Saviour liveth. OUR LIGHT AFFLICTION. By the Rev. D. E. FORD, Author cf u Decapdis," " Damafcm" &C. a s the darknefs of night gives a charm to the dawn, ■^ *- As winter the summer endears, And the denfer the cloud on which it is drawn, The brighter the rainbow appears j So trials and furrows the Chriftian prepare For the reft that remaineth above ; In the world tribulation awaits him, but there The fmile of unchangeable love. I2 5 DARKNESS, THE SHADOW OF DEATH* By the Rev. GILBERT N. SMITH, M.A. I rose, and earth, in vefture bright, Reflected heaven's unclouded light : Eve fell too foon — the glory paft, Death over all his fhadow caft. Man I beheld ; his troubled mien Betray'd what molt he wifh'd unfeen, A heart the feat of dark defpair — Death, too, had flung his fhadow there. I look'd again, and One had fhed A heavenly unction on his head ; Care from his breaft had fled, his brow Death's gloomy fhadow veil'd not now. A vacant Crofs his eye, difmay'd, And Tomb, had thoughtfully furvey'd : Death's form lay gafping on the floor, His fhadow could opprefs no more. Life's flame, now quivering to expire, Shot up with an ethereal fire : I faw him pafs a portal fair, — Death nor his fhadow follow'd there. * By a comparifon of Amos v. 8 and Pfalm cvii. 10, with Matthew iv. 16, and Luke i. 79, and Pfalm xxiii. 4, the conclufion feems natural that this metaphor, "The Shadow of Death," was not invented and employed by thofe matters of the fublime and beautiful, the Hebrew poets, to fignify the diflolution of the body, but to exprefs Darkness, whether natural, moral, or fpiritual j in which three fenfes the thought is attempted to be conveyed in the following lines. 126 EASTER-DAT. By the Rev. F. W. KITTERMASTER, M.A. Author of" The Mojlem and the Hindoo," &c. pOME to the grave to mourn, and weep ^ Where Jefus calmly lies ; While lift'ning Silence, ftill and deep, Bids holieft thought arife. Tread foftly, for among the dead With carelefs ftep 'twere wrong to tread ; Or vex with aught the home fo dread, Where thoughtlefs laughter dies. But, fee ! the morning dawns, and ileals Clofe on the track of night ; Earth's glitt'ring dew-veil'd face reveals, And flues of woven light, As day awakes : — another week Breaks with its cares, while fad we feek The dead ; but, lo ! the living fpeak, Clad in pure robes of white. " Why feek the living 'mong the dead ? The Saviour did not die To make the difmal tomb His bed, Where He for aye muft lie. Heard ye no fhoutr the far worlds ring, Angels rejoice around their King, While with triumphant fhout they bring Chriit to His throne on high." Eajler-Day. 127 Lift up your heads, eternal gates ! Admit the King who reigns. The Conqueror comes ! befide Him waits Sin, bound in captive chains ; And Death's dark form ; — thefe deadly foes Are powerlefs now : the Saviour rofe And burft their band, and bore the throes Of their acuteft pains. This is our day, a holy feaft. ! — With willing hearts obey. Draw near with faith, nor let the leafr. In hope turn cold away. Here by the fymbols of His love The mind is drawn to things above, And ftrength and grace imparted prove We meet the Lord to-day. This is our day ! we will rejoice : Sin reigns in us no more ; Grace triumphs — let us lift our voice, The Saviour to adore ! He broke the cruel tyrant's fway, — He took the fting from death away ; Let us with trueft love obey, Till this fhort life is o'er. And when through death's dark gate we go To happier worlds unknown, Where we myfterious love mail know, And ruling wifdom own, — Divinely taught His praife to fing, Spontaneous then our thoughts will fpring To Him, our God, Redeemer, King, On His eternal Throne. 128 PRAISE JVA1TETH. By Miss TOUGH, Autboreji of " "The Offering," &e. t cannot praife Thee now, Lord, * I cannot praife Thee now ; For my heart is forely riven, And a cloud is on my brow. But praife is waiting for Thee In the glorious future time, Amid the bright revealings, When Zion's hill we climb. I cannot praife Thee here, Lord, I cannot praife Thee here ; For in my foul is forrow, And in mine eye a tear : But praife is waiting for Thee, When the chequer'd pad appears In the funfhine of the future, All fmilino; through thole tears. I cannot praife Thee now, Lord, I cannot praife Thee now, Though beneath Thy fore chaftifings I fain would meekly bow. But praife is waiting for Thee Iji the glorious future time, When we read our hidden ftorv, And reach our fpirit's prime. Praife Waiteth. 129 I cannot praife Thee here, Lord, I cannot praife Thee here ; For my pathway lies through fhadows, And my heart is lone and drear. But praife is waiting for Thee, When the pilgrimage is paft, And at our home in glory We gather in at laft. And I will praife Thee there, Lord, When Zion's heights I gain ; But might I not be tuning A prelude to the ftrain ? While praife is waiting for Thee, Thou'lt bend a liftening ear To its low and faint rehearfal, In faltering accents here. Then let me praife Thee now, Lord, In the dark and cloudy day, Though fad and fore difquieted By reafon of the way. For the praife that's waiting for Thee, Good caufe fhall yet appear, And I'll wake the golden harp-ftrings, Beneath the falling tear. *3° CHRISTIAN LOVE. By the Rev. A. H. WRATISLAW, M.A. Tranjlator of the " Queen's Court Manujcript" and other Bohemian Poems. t ove hath defcended from His throne on high, -■^ And taken brotherhood with man below, Suffering for ranfom of His enemy, To cleanfe the finful hands that wrought His woe. What furer proof could belt affection fhow Than thus to fuffer ? And for us if He, Shall we not for His fake fome fuff'ring know, That we, as loved, may alio loving be, And for Love's fake by Love from fin and fhame fet free? But Love doth not in contemplation dwell, Lock'd in the bofom's innermoft recefs ; Which it doth ftill with fighs of longing fwell, But never paffeth ; which it may opprefs By brooding thoughts to utter hopcleffnefs, But never eafe by action ; forth it goes, And doth itfelf to that high talk addrefs, Whence only cometh folace to all woes, And which alone the fount of endlefs gladnefs knows. Love's talk, it is the tafk of man below, Fulfilment of the law of God above, The only tafk which doth perfection know, And which for its own fake doth merit Love, The Shadow of Thy Wings, 131 And upon earth, as not of earth, doth move ; O happy, happy, who Love's tafk fulfil, Nor from affection's fettled purpofe rove, But their true loving Lord do copy frill, And for Love's fake by Love do execute Love's will ! THE SHADOW OF THT WINGS. By Miss E. H. ROLLS, Authorefs of" Firji Fruits: Poems by E. H. R." A /TY Saviour ! weary pilgrims tell ■^ A Of valleys rich in glorious things ; I heed them not, if I may dwell Beneath the fhadow of Thy wings. I hear them praife each joyful bird, That fwiftly flies and fweetly fings ; But lovelier mufic I have heard Beneath the fhadow of Thy wings ! The mountaineer may proudly tell Of cryftal founts and pearly fprings ; But I have found a living well Beneath the fhadow of Thy wings. On defert-fand or ocean-foam My faith to Thee for ever clings ; I have an everlafting home Beneath the fhadow of Thy wings. 132 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. By W. R. NEALE, Es^. " And when the Lord faw her, He had companion on her, and faid unto her, Weep not." — Luke vii. 13. rpoRTH from the city gate, As evening fhadows lengthen o'er the plain, And the hufh'd crowd in reverent filence wait, PafT'd out a funeral train. Only one mourner there, Slowly, with feeble fteps, following the dead, In the fad travail of the foul's defpair Bow'd down her ftricken head. For him me wept forlorn, Of care the folace, and of age the itav, Whofe filver chord was broken ere the morn Had brighten'd into day. Thus hath it ever been, — Time the deftroyer fweeps relentlefs by, When h>>pcs are ftrong and leaves ofpromife green, And manhood's heart beats high. Who comes of flatelv mien, As one with travel weary, feeking reft, — W hole afpe£t gentle, and whole brow ferene, Speak of a million blcit ? The Widow of N a in. 133 'Tis He, with power to fave, Who where defponding grief his vigil kept, Knowing all human fufferings, at the grave Of Lazarus wept. Thus fpake He, — " Weep no more ! Be ftill, fad heart ! Be dry, ye moiften'd eyes ! Thus to the living I the dead reftore : Sleeper, awake, arife ! " Then at His bidding came To thofe cold lips the warm, returning breath ; Then did He kindle life's extinguifh'd flame, Victor o'er Sin and Death. And thus He ever ftands, — Friend of the fallen, wiping all tears away, Wherever Sorrow lifts her fuppliant hands, And Faith remains to pray. Where'er the wretched flee, From the rude conflict of this world diftreft, Confoling words He whifpers, — " Come to me, And I will give you reft ! " Till at the fecond birth, He bids the woes and wrongs of ages ceafe, And brings to an emancipated earth, Judgment, and truth, and peace ; And gathers all His own From the four winds to that eternal more, Where Mercy fits upon the great white throne, And Death mall be no more. 134 THE OXE FA MILT. THOUGHTS FOR THE FEAST OF ST. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS. By the Rev. F. MINDEN KNOLLIS, D.D. Author of" Wreath for the Altar ^ &c. " Who haft ordained and conftituted the fervices of angels and men in a wonderful order." — Collect. " The whole family in heaven and earth. 1 ' — Eph. iii. 15. >-pHERE is no night in heaven : *- In that bleft world above Work never can bring wearinefs, For work itfelf is love. There is no nivbt in heaven : o Yet nightly round each bed Of every Chriftian (lumberer, Faith hears an angel tread. There is no grief in heaven : There all is " perfect day ;" There tears are 'mid thole " former things " Which all "have paff'd away." There is no grief in heaven : Yet angels from on high Glide down on golden pinions, The Chriftian's tears to dry. The One Family. 135 There is no want in heaven : The Lamb of" God fupplies Life's Tree of twelve-fold fruitage — Life's Spring which never dries. There is no want in heaven : Yet in a defert land The fainting Prophet was fuftain'd, E'en by an angel's hand. There is no fin in heaven, Amid that blefTed throng : All-holy is their fpotlefs robe, All holy is their fong. There is no fin in heaven : Here who from fin is free ? Yet angels aid us in our ftrife For Chrift's own liberty. There is no death in heaven : For they who gain that more Have won their immortality, And " they can die no more." There is no death in heaven : But when the Chriftian dies (Made thus co-heirs with angels), They waft him to the fkies. 136 HEAVEN OUR HOME. By the Rev. WILLIAM PARKINSON, M.A. Author of " Poems." Here we have no continuing city, but we feek one to come." — Heb. xiii. 14. R osy-bright the morning Shed its early beams Over dewy meadows, Over filver ftreams ; And the breezes whifper'd Meflages of peace, Through the woodlands crying, " Joy fhall never ceafe ; " And the birds made anfwer, In their fweeteft lay, " Pipe to us, ye breezes, We'll rejoice to-day." Hoarfely-fweet the torrents Murmur'd from the hills ; Through the flowery valleys Danced the laughing rills ; And with fights of beauty, And with founds of mirth, Spells of power were binding All my hopes to earth. All things full of rapture, All things order'd well, — Here, I thought, for ever It were good to dwell. Heaven our Home. 137 But the fky grew darker, And with fhriller tone Through the woods the wild wind Made a difmal moan ; Faded all the brightnefs From the fparkling rills ; Fail'd the torrent-voices From the ftorm-trod hills ; And the birds, that lately- Such fweet mufic made, Trembled fad and filent In the deepeft made. Then, amid the tempeft Came a ftill fmall voice, Saying, " Lo ! an emblem Of thy foolifh choice. Life is not all funfhine ; Should the morn be fair, Noon may bring its tempeft Black with woe or care. This is not thy dwelling ; Let whatever come, Thou art but a pilgrim ; Make not here thy home. Life has joys to try thee, — Falfe-fair lures to prove Whether thou art worthy Of a Father's love. Life has ftorms to warn thee, — That this barren fand Is but thy rough pafTage To a better land. 138 Blejfed are the Poor in Spirit. Forward, Chriftian pilgrim, Fix not here thy tent ; Look not back in envy, Doubt, or difcontent : Forward, Chriftian runner, To the mark prefs on, Till of thy high calling Thou the prize hair, won : Forward, Chriftian foldier, Firm to do or die ; Let no fear defraud thee Of thy victory. Here are pain and forrow, Here are grief and care ; To that good land haften, Only joy is there." BLESSED ARE THE POOR IN SPIRIT. By the Rev. W. W. HOW, M.A. np wo things have fhone with golden light ■*■ Upon the way where we are lent, — A rich man poor in his own fight, And a poor man rich in his content. But a nobler thing than even thele, And mining with a light more pure, Is a poor man kneeling on his knees, And thanking God that he is poor. B J 39 THE STRIFE OF THE CHURCH. By the Rev. ROWLAND WILLIAMS, D.D. ridegroom of Zion, and of faints the Lord, Say, fhall thy chofen fervants ftrive for ever ? Goodwill and peace to men — is this a fword Thy children's yearning hearts with grief to fever ? Pour out Thy Spirit, and Thy kingdom fhow, Where reconciled they dwell who ftrove below. Thine own Apoftles they, and brothers twain, Whom Jewry and the Gentiles parted here ; Thy foldiers fworn, and conquerors of fin, Twin olive-trees, whofe leaves are never fere ; Twin lamps, whofe radiant light can never die ; Twin ftars, whofe diverfe glory blends on high. But on the earth Thy Spirit came in part, Their faith fcarce ripen'd into charity ; Each knew his own, but not his brother's heart, And as they ran, they ftrove for maftery. Learn, O my foul, how both their work abides, And truft no difcord now their life divides. We each in twilight fee our little part ; God of our parts can make harmonious whole : One drinks of fprings born deep in lonely heart, And thou, where choral rivers blending roll ; He fpeaks of faith, by inward prayer, divine, And thou of grace through church and heavenly fign. 140 The Strife of the Church. So Bunyan darkling trod his pilgrim path, While Laud for wifdom fearch'd primaeval fhore ; So Milton wreak'd on fhrines his giant wrath, Where Taylor's equal genius ftoop'd t' adore ; So Baxter left, for chains, the rite unlaid, Where Hammond's foul found peace and heavenly bread. Where was Thy Spirit, Lord, in that fad hour, When all Thy pictured fhrines were rent and torn, And tempeft wrack'd the nation : poet's bower, And paftor's home of prayer, alike forlorn ? Where was Thy love, when Zeal gave red right hand To Wrath and Crime, and raven'd o'er the land ? Haft thou not balm, O thou all-healing Time, In all thy ftore, to heal that ancient wound ? Saith not thv ftoried page, how Truth fublime, Half loofed by each, by each in turn was bound ? God of all nefh, fhall ne'er Thy children learn That which Thine eyes through every change difcern : Ah ! flow our hearts to learn, while, erring ftill, Each ftrives for part, and both the whole difclaim ! Champion of Eld ! full well on Zion's hill Thou feeft, not built of Man, our Citv's frame ; Yet His, though blamed, is deeper truth, who knows By what indwelling Life the temple role. How near thofe two, bv worldlings deem'd " extreme''— How near thofe two, afunder far, agree ! Both know our life of faith no idle dream ; Both on the Rock would build, not landv lea ; Alien to both, cold fneer, and wealthy frown, And on the might of both the world looks down. The True Friend. 141 Go back, ye howling waters, which the ftorm, Raifed by the Prince of air, has lafh'd between ; And ye more perilous, in fmoother form Of moderate art, with grace of rippling fheen ; Waves of that fea of death, which ne'er for weal The Angel ftirs, to wake the powers which heal. But Thou, O quickening Spirit, not of Man, By Thee fince Peter watch'd the infant fold, Thy breath in Paul's o'erpowering accents ran, Thy touch makes pure the young, and warm the old- Spirit of comfort Thou, and chaftening fear, Teach us, how thofe afar, in Thee, are near. Purge Thou our glance to gaze where ftrife is o'er ; Teach us, how Faith is lefs than Charity : Thy kingdom come, where error is no more, Nor Death, nor Mourning, nor Captivity ; But on the earth, Lord, grant us at Thy fhrine War with the world, but peace with Thee and Thine. THE TRUE FRIEND. By E. F. G. tt is finifh'd ! and now my true Friend I have gain'd, A Who ftrengthens my heart, when by evil 'tis pain'd; O God, my fole wealth, in whom all things are mine, My light, and my life, I for ever am Thine ! 1 4 2 DIFFERENT PATHS. By HAMILTON AIDE, Esq.. t lately talk'd with one who ftrove A To fhow that all my faith is dim, That his alone the road to heaven ; And thus it was I anfwer'd him : — " The ftaff I hold ftrike not away, You cannot give me yours, dear friend ; Up the fleep hill our paths are let In different wife, to one fure end. " What though, with eagle-glance upfixt On heights beyond our mortal ken, You tread the broad fure ftones of faith More firmly than do weaker men ; " Snatch not away the glimmering light The father holds, the fon rejects, Nor thrufr your candle in their eyes, And blind them — into narrow feels. " To each according to his ftrength : But as we leave the plains below, Let us carve out a wider Hair, A broader pathway through the (how. M And when upon the golden creft We ftand at lalt together, freed From milts that gather round the bafe, And clouds that but obfeure our creed, JVorJhlp. 143 " We fhall perceive that though our fteps Have wander'd wide apart, dear friend, No pathway can be wholly wrong That leads unto one perfect end." WORSHIP. By WILLIAM SAWYER, Esq. Author of (l Thought and Reverie" and other Poems. ttthat need of words in prayer or praife, v v Of tinkling rhyme or rounded phrafe,- Why lift the hat, or bend the knee ; Since God the inner heart can fee, The thought can as the language read, And in the purpofe fee the deed ? A feeming truth ; and vet beware, Only the half-truth may be there : The man is not of foul alone, But foul and body knit in one ; And will the Maker look for lefs Than the whole being's earneftnefs ? i 4 4 THE CRT OF THE POOR. By the Hon. Mrs. NORTON. Bccaufe of the deep fighing of the Poor, I will up, faith the Lord." — Ps. xii. 5, 6. a wail hath gone over the earth, ^* Sad, hollow, and difmally drear ; Like the florm in the hour of its birth, Or the wind at the fall of the year. It hath fwept paft the hovel and hut, And Dives hath faften'd his door ; But it howls where his portals are fhut — 'Tis the cry of the famifhing poor ! The child in the arms of its nurfe Shall Hart as it fvvells on the air, For that found is the found of a curfe, And that voice is the voice of defpair ! Lo ! laughter and revelry's fhout, And warmth, and indulgence, and fin : There is death, and ftarvation without — There is mufic and dancing within. But thy deathbed, O Dives ! draws near : Thus levell'd with commoner men, The crv thou refufeft to hear, Shall found terribly loud to thee then ; The whifpers of doctors and friends, Yea, lobs from the loving and loved, Shall be loft, as that echo alcends Which once found thee hard and unmoved ! The Cry of the Poor. 145 In vain from all parts of the globe Shall thy couch with rich comforts be fpread ; Thy heart, 'neath its miniver* d robe, Shall freeze with a pitiful dread. The pendulum, heavy and dull, As it fwings to and fro in the gloom, Shall ftart thee, when opiates would lull, As if ftriking the knell of thy doom. Then — naked returning to God (Who fent thee, frail perifhing worm, To creep awhile over this clod, The tafk of thy life to perform), The earth thy remains mail enfold, And thy corpfe in a bed be inurn'd As narrow, as dark, and as cold As the grave of the wretch thou haft fpurn'd. But thy foul " cannot number in duft ;" Thee its fhuddering wings muft upbear To the throne of the Holy and Juft, For a flat of hope or defpair. There ftand, O thou fpirit of woe, And anfwer to Father and Son, For the good which thou failedft to do, As well as the ill thou haft done. Repeat (what on earth would not ceafe) All the fophiftries hollow and vain, Why thy lot fhould be plenty and peace, And thy fellow's privation and pain. L 146 The Cry of the Poor. Mock God with fome blafphemous text, Pointing out with a fcriptural hand, How in this world, if not in the next, "The poor cannot ceafe from the land." Make that which was written to urge A brotherly pity of heart, Seem meant as a fentence and fcourge To fet life's conditions apart ; Prove, prove that thy conduct was right, When the famifhing clamour'd for bread, While the huge waxen torches fhone bright On the meats at thy feftivals fpread ; Prove, prove that thy heart was not cold, But that fear to encourage the bale Was the motive that bade thee withhold The alms that were begg'd as a grace ! Ay ! prove it, — while, throng after throng, Good angels re-echo the cr\', " How long wilt Thou fuffer, how long ? O Lord of the earth and the fky ! " As the voice of the drowning is loft In the ft rife of the winds and the waves, Or the ftorm-beaten wanderer's croft By the fore It-trees crafhing like ftaves i So thou, in the hour of thy need, Heaven's mercy fhalt vainly implore; Unrefcued, unheard, Qialt thou plead, — Becaufe of the Cry of the Poor ! H7 THE MOURNER'S LAMENT. FROM THE FRE-\"CH OF VINET, ON THE DEATH OF HIS DAUGHTER. By the Rev. T. SALWEY, B.D. Why doft Thou take from me, O God of Charity, The crown of joy from off my brow ? Or if my bleft eftate Muff have fo fhort a date, Then why that blifs didft Thou beftow ? Speak, Saviour, for Thy works are great, Whilft I am blind and flow. My health, alas ! is gone ; My heart is chill'd to ftone ; Each day takes fomewhat of delight : J D My weary life complains, Stripp'd by the wind and rains Of leaves and fruit that made it bright; My fky is dark, and naught remains But latenefs, cold, and night. Beneath my roof's dark made Grew up a humble maid ; Love had its dwelling in her breaft : I faw with fmiling eyes Her early dawn arife, When my own fun was in the weft. She's gone, and Thou alone canft check my fighs, And fay where 's now her reft. 148 The Mourner's Lament. Why doft Thou take from me, O God of Charitv, The crown of joy from off my brow : Or if my bleft eftate Muft have fo fhort a date, Then why that blifs didft Thou beftow ? Speak, Saviour, for Thy works are great, Whilft I am blind and flow. Thy voice did fpeak the word, And like a fharpen'd fword Through all my heart did penetrate ; And now my foul can fay, It knows the truths that lay 'Neath what did rigour feem, or hate : It is, O God, Thy love's true way New bleflings to create. 'Tis ever thus the fame ; No harveft ever came But fuch as from the feed muft grow ; Be it profperity, Or be it poverty, They both from love alone can flow : 'Tis thus Thy juftice quicken'd me Who, under grace, was flow. O God of my delight, Direct my path aright To Eden, or Come defert fcene; For if I love, ami call Thee my chief good, no fall Or lols mall hurt, but all things fcreen j E'en in the wildcrnefs (hall all Be flowery, frefh, and green. The Mourner's Lament. 14c, The only Saint complete, Of faith the example meet, Jefus, hath died the death foretold : To die is to be born, To rife to a new morn, And garments new to take for old \ With Jefus bleft, from evil torn, Death gives me Chrift to hold. To vain philofophy, And wifdom, which in Thee No root poiTefs, I wifh to die ; Nay, e'en to everything I would be dead, O King, Which does Thy majefty deny ; And through the life which faith does bring: Efcape my agony. O Father, fpare me not From any painful lot To make me fakhful, loving, true ; That, in Thy furnace tried, • I may be purified, And as pure gold come forth to view ; And graven by Thine art abide, In glory clothed anew. Then Thou mayft take from me, God of Charity, The crown of joy from off my brow ; And that my blefb eftate Should have fo fhort a date, Why Thou didft give that blifs I know ; The fecret of Thy works fo great 1 fee, though blind and flow. 150 SORROWS SOLACE. By the Rev. W. J. BROCK, M.A. Author of " Wayfidc Verfes" and other Poems. "For we have not a High Prieft who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities 5 but was in all points tempted like as we are." — Heb. iv. 15. A nd doft thou weep in forrovv, brother ? Think not thou haft a lonely lot ; The very pang now thine, another Endured for thee, and murmur'd not. To confecrate the path of forrow, He left the glory of the fkies ; And deign'd our fuffering nefh to borrow, That He with grief might Sympathize. Doft mourn beneath the fierce temptation r On Him the tempter's fhafts were caft. Are thine the waves of tribulation ? Oft o'er His foul thofe waters pafPd. Each fuffering that enthorns thy pillow Is felt within thy Saviour's heart ; His hand will hold thee o'er each billow, For He hath felt thy every i'mart. He who flood by the fitters weeping, Their brother railed, and dropt the tear, Marks all thy tears with eye unfleeping, When grief bends o'er the recent bier. Endure and Wait. 151 Though far removed from mortal vifion, His heart ftill be^ts with fympathy ; The fufferings of His earthly million Have left deep fears which plead for thee. And oft 'mid pangs of fuffering grievous, When faith grows weak and droops the foul, He fends bright angels to relieve us, And check the whelming waves which roll. In all thy fufFerings think not, brother, Thine is a lone, unfriended lot ; Look up, and feel there is another, In fympathy who ceafeth not. ENDURE AND WAIT. By Miss E. W. FRENCH, Author efs of " Pebbles and Shells : Poems/'' tt "that though the hands be idly preiT'd * * To dull the pain of thine own heart, That gladly had themfelves addrefT'd To foothe another's fmart ; The leflbn of thine earthly ftate May be but this, — Endure and Wait. 152 Endure and JValt. What though life's burfting flowers be torn And fcatter'd ere the fruit is fet, — What though the heart be paflion-worn Where joy fcarce bloffom'd yet, — What though thy grief have bound nor date, Accept thy lot, — Endure and Wait. What though thy fpirit vainly yearn For aught to love, for aught to do, — Though thy mod paflionate prayers return Unbleft, even when they fue Only for frrength to bear thy fate, — Still patiently Endure and Wait. Not in the ftern, heroic pride, That chills and hardens but to break, — Not angrily thy doom abide ; Nor, recklefs of the flake, Seek acrid ftreams thy thirir. to fate, But trull fully Endure and Wait. It is not yet, perchance, nor here, Their hope and blefling mall be given, Through lonelinefs, and pain, and fear, Who faithfully have driven ; Sweet the reward may be, though late, Of thofe who louo: Endure and Wait. J 53 THE LAMENT OF DAVID OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN By WILLIAM STIRLING, Eso^. of Keir. >-pHE beauty of our land lies flain on wild Gilboa's fide, ■^ Our mighty ones are fallen in their valour and their pride : Tell not in Gath nor Afkelon that they are lying low, Left fierce Philiftia's mocking maids be joyous in our woe. Ye mountains of Gilboa, be never more on you The mowers and promife of the fpring, nor fummer's gentle dew ! For on your fteeps the royal fhield was vilely caft away, And dead amongft the countlefs flain the anointed monarch lay. Foremoft in fight the matchlefs bow of Jonathan was bent, Foremoft in fight the fiery fword of Saul deftroying went ; Like eagles fwift, like lions ftrong, their lovely lives were one, And now, unparted in the grave, they number, fire and fon. Daughters of Ifrael, weep for them whofe valiant hearts are cold, Who gave you fcarlet robes ye wear, and wreathed your locks with gold ! 154 Truths and Fancies. O Jonathan ! full fore I weep for thee, fweet brother mine, For palling woman's love to me was that dear love of thine ! How are the mighty fallen on high Gilboa's fide, In the thickeft of the battle, in their glorv and their pride ! How are the mighty fallen, on the red accurfed field, With bow and blade befide them laid, and broken fpear and fhield ! TRUTHS AND FANCIES. By the Authoress of "Poems by L." '-pRUTHS are verities eternal, * Changelefs, that can never die : Fancies are the idle dreamings We relinquifh with a figh. Truths, according to our vifion, Now or dark or light appear, — They themfelves the fame remaining Evermore from year to pear. Like the palace in the northland — Like the phantom-fhip at fea — Like the mirage in the defert, Ok our cherifh'd fancies be ; Truths and Fancies. 155 Refembling the bafelefs fabric Of the clouds that float in air, — Strive to grafp them, and they vanifh — Vanifh, mocking our defpair ! Every heavenly truth we garner In our hearts is golden ore, That as fwiftly time advanceth Shineth ever more and more. And will mine until the glory Rifeth of the perfect day, When the fhadows of the earthland Shall for ever pafs away. Oft celeftial truths we banifh — Banifh, while for them we yearn ; Truths that we at laft through anguifti And experience mull learn ; Learn dejected, broken-hearted, — Learn in forrow, learn in fadnefs ; Learn, perchance, while no kind fpirit Whifpereth of peace and gladnefs. But refplendent is the jewel That the foul at laft hath won, When our warfare is accompiifh'd, When our pilgrimage is run ; Radiating bright effulgence O'er life's pathway, erft fo drear, Till for us commenceth furely In that light " The Heavenly Year." i 5 6 ABRAHAM AND THE FIRE-WORSHIPPER. A LEGEND. By EDWIN W. SIMCOX, Esg. Author of " Aizim y or the Way to Happ'ineji^ &c. npHE dews of eve were falling faft o'er bright Judea's *~ plain ; The camel, calmly browfing then, forgot the noontide's pain ; The winds of eve were whifpering foft the ftately palms among, Which, waving high their feathery tops, unto the night- wind fung Day's fweet yet melancholy dirge. At this flill hour of eafe, To bathe his high and faintly brow in evening's cooler breeze, The Father of the Faithful fat before his tent's dark fold, And watch'd, with mild, delighted eye, the funfet's fading gold. Juit then, an ancient toil-worn man, his faltering footfteps bent Towards Abraham's feat, and craved that night the flicker of his tent. Right fwarthy was the ftranger's brow, mark'd with the furrows deep Of evil paffions foiter'd long, though now they feem'd to ileep ; Abraham and the Flre-worjhipper. 157 Right evil was that Granger's eye — its envious look afkance Shone balefully, as if it threw a curfe with every glance : — But now fatigue has dimm'd its pride, and that fell wanderer lone For aid his fupplication pours, in lowly, humble tone. Swift fprang the Patriarch from his place when that re- queft he heard, And fwift, with hofpitable hand, the evening meal pre- pared : The miniftering damfels foon pour water for the feet, And change of vefture gladly bring, for way-worn pilgrim meet. Wafh'd and array'd, he takes his place all welcome at the board ; But, ere they tafte, good Abraham faid, " Come, let us thanks afford To Him who all thefe bleffings fair to us hath freely given, The Great Creator of the earth, who dwelleth in the heaven." Sour fmiled the ftranger, and he fpake, " Servant of Fire am I — I will not thank, nor bow before, thy viewlefs Deity ! " Wrath burn'd in holy Abraham's breaft, and flufh'd his honeft cheek With indignation, as he heard the bold blafphemer fpeak : To thruft that ftranger from his tent, his ftrenuous hand was rear'd ; 158 In Affliction. But ere it could defccnd, a calm vet awful Voice was heard — The Patriarch trembled as it fpoke, and thus that Voice did fay : "I've borne with this man threefcore years, and can ft not thou a dav ?" IN AFFLICTION. By Miss ISA CRAIG. f^vH, fpare the rod ! ^^ Thy wrath remove, And vifit me in love, My Father-God ! Thou art all-wife ! Erring V ve been, And Thou haft feen Need to chaftife. But now I fay, " Thy will be done ! " My will with Thine make one, Father, I pray ! Yet, fpare the rod ' Thv wrath remove, And vifit me in love, My Father-God. *59 THE HARVEST-HOME. By Mrs. PENNEFATHER. " And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life eternal : that both he that foweth and he that reapeth may rejoice together." — John iv. 36. T^rom the far-off fields of earthly toil, * A goodly hoft they come, And founds of mufic are on the air, — 'Tis the fong of the harveft-home. The wearinefs and the weeping, The darknefs has all paff'd by, And a glorious Sun has rifen, The Sun of Eternity. We've feen thofe faces in days of yore, When the duff was on their brow, And the fcalding tear upon their cheek — Let us look at the labourers now ! We think of the life-long forrow, And the wildernefs-days of care ; We try to trace the teardrops, But no furrows of grief are there. There's a myftery of foul-chaften'd joy, Lit up with funlight hues ; Like morning flowers, moft beautiful When wet with midnight dews. i6c The Harveft-Hm There are depths of earner!: meaning In each true and truftful gaze, Telling of wondrous ierTons Learnt in their pilgrim-c.. ;. And a confcious confidence of blils, That [hall tic ag in remove, — All the . I hope of journeying years Gathered up in that look of love. Tne \ rag-waiting - Lre over, They've received their wages nov For they've gazed upon their Matter, :. His Name is on their brow. They've feen the fafelv-garner'd {heaves, 2 as been palling fweet Which welcomed the laft in-coming one, Laid down at the Saviour's feet. Oh ! well does His heart remember, thofe notes of praiie (weep _-, plaintive muiic Of earth's ladder minitxelfy. And well does He know each chequer'd tale, - He looks on the joyous band, — All the Lig ts - that cruffd their path In the diftant pug - rid ; ! :ifh, . The Harvefl-Home. 161 One had climb'd the rugged mountain-fide, 'Twas a bleak and wintry day, The tempefl had fcatter'd his precious feed, And he wept as he turn'd away. But a ftranger-hand had water'd That feed on a diftant more, And the labourers now are meeting Who had never met before. And one, he had toil'd amid burning lands, When the fcorching fun was high ; He had grafp'd the plough with a fever'd hand, And then laid him down to die : But another, and yet another, Had fill'd that deferted field, Nor vainly the feed they fcatter'd Where a brother's care had till'd. Some with eager ftep went boldly forth, Broad-cafting o'er the land ; Some water'd the fcarcely budding blade, With a tender, gentle hand. There's one — her young life was blighted By the withering touch of woe ; Her days were fad and weary, And me never went forth to fow : But there rofe from her lonely couch of pain The fervent, pleading prayer ; She looks on many a radiant brow, And reads the anfwers there ! Yes ! fowers and reapers are meeting ; A rejoicing hoft they come ! Will you join that echoing chorus ? — 'Tis the fong of the harveft-home ! M 162 THE SECRET OF HAPPIXESS. By the Rev. J. D. HULL, B.A. Author of n The Rural Parjcnage^ and ether Poems. /^vH, what a bleflednefs fublime, ^ True life to realize : To walk, amid the things of Time, In commerce with the fkies ! To inhale, in this domain of Death, The atmofphere of Heaven ; Like thofe who dive the fea beneath, Frefh air each moment given : To know our debts to juftice paid By a Redeemer's blood ; And thus, were earth in ruins laid, We mould be fafe in God ! To live with the Almighty join'd, Pavilion'd in His light ; And recognize th' Eternal Mind In all that's rare and bright. The world can nothing equal (how, — All parallel it ba A being with his feet below, His head above the ft; ide the illuftrious irate of him, Thus ftamp'd with the Divine, All human dignities grow dim, — Yea, fceptres ceafe to mine. The Secret of Happinefs. 163 When gloom the minds of others fhrouds, His, in a clime ferene, Towers above the rolling clouds, That wrap the lower fcene. Or, mould dark fhades around him clofe, He hails the day anon, Like loftier Alps, the laft to lofe, The nrft to catch, the fun. On a Protector, frrong to keep, Securely he relies ; While o'er affliction's ftormy deep Fair lands, celeftial, rife. To Christ, as to the central Light, Lifted by faith, his foul Around her fees — entrancing fight ! — Truth's mighty fyftem roll ! Then Nature, in th' enlivening hue Religion on it throws, Wears to his eye an afpecl: new, And with expremon glows. Creation's beamy face, fo rich In varied beauty, feems A window finely ftain'd, through which The Maker's glory ftreams. Thus unto him the primal curfe Is partially repeal'd ; A renovated Univerfe Already half-reveal'd. 164 The Burden of Tyre. Ah ! they who heaven-touch'd minds porTers, Of mortals they alone The fecret have of happinefs, If under heaven 'tis known. THE BURDEN OF TTRE. By J. A. LANGFORD, Esq.. Author of " The Lamp of Life," &c. he burden of Tyre : though over the waters, In triumph and fplendour her argofies ride ; Though proud be her fons, and far prouder her daughters, She mail fall, faith the Lord, fhe mail fall in her pride ! T Her wealth and her glory mall nothing avail, Her merchants and traders, though princes they be ; I will rafe every fortrefs, and rend every fail Of this lord of the land, of this queen of the fea. Her palace and mart I will level to earth, The ftrength of her arm I will wholly deltrov j Her daughters' wild weeping (hall follow their mirth, And the low wail of forrow fucceed to their joy. She is doom'd ! me is doom'd ! Where her children have fed Shall the wolf and the raven find flicker and food; O'er her pride and her glory My wrath will I fhcd, And her name (hall he ihrouded in darkncfs and blood. i6 5 ODE FOR THE NEW TEAR. By the Rev. F. W. MANT, B.A. Author of" Hijiorical Ballads and Lays,'"'' and other Poems. Joy to the New Year, health to the New Year ! May it be better than years that are gone ! Vifions of gladnefs, and triumph, and fadnefs, Float in dim fhadows its furface upon. Ring out the merry peals Till the tall fteeple reels, Whilft on his chariot-wheels Time prefTes on. And health to the New Year, and joy to the New Year ! May it be better than years that are gone ! Long to look forward on, fhort to look back upon, So flit the years of our lifetime along. Ever offending, repenting, contending, Choofing the right, and yet following the wrong ; Flufh'd with frefh energies, Sad for deficiencies ; So, amidft fmiles and fighs, Life paffes on. Then health to the New Year, joy to the New Year ! May it be better than years that are gone ! See how Time's finger, conftraining to linger, Points to the fins of the year that is paft — See how it beckons us backward, and reckons Every dark blot on its hiftory carl. 1 66 The CbriJ}ian 9 s Old Age. Yet not in (corning Receive we the warning, Nor hopeleffly mourning Paft frailties upon : But pray for the New Year, and hope for the New Year, That it may be better than years that are gone. What though denial, and forrow, and trial Mix in the diftance, as night does with day — Through the glad tifTue of morning fhall ifTue Hope's glorious promife to brighten our way : God's mercy o'er us, And Chrift's blood fhed for us, And Heaven's joys before us, Still urging us on. Then may not the New Year, and fhall not the New Year, Be better, far better, than thofe that are gone ? THE CHRISTIAN'S OLD AGE. By the Rev. RICHARD COBBOLD, M.A. r of* Margaret CatchpoU? - N ow age hath filver'd o'er my brow, And all my friends arc gone. Let me with refignation bow — Thy will, () Lord, be done. Tlie Chilian's Old Age. 167 Whilft patiently Thy will I wait, And fee that all things change, Let me ftill keep Thy better ftate Within my Chriftian range. Though oft and oft my heart and mind Have wander'd here and there, I fought for Thee, and now I find My conftant hope in prayer. Yes, prayer for all — for every one — Or friend or foe to me \ Oh, let me harbour ill to none, But fix my heart on Thee ! Though old my years, I'm young in heart ; Hope has not fled away ; For, if my foul mould now depart, 'Twill fee a happier day. I do not murmur nor complain, Patience has made me ftrong : Thank God who eafes all my pain, — My God can do no wrong. Yet hear me, Lord ! Oh, hear my prayer, — The prayer of cheerful age : On Thee, my God, I caft my care, — Thou doft all grief affuage, My foul and body both are Thine, Bought with Thy precious blood \ Oh ! let me never, Lord, repine, Fill me with heavenly food. So fhall I fleep — but fleep with Thee, At reft from every care : I look to rife, and hope to be Where all Thy children are. 1 68 Good Friday. Then keep me now as moments wane, And time has almoft fped : Let none Thy holy Name profane Who hope to rife when dead. GOOD FRIDAY. By ARTHUR J. MUNBY, Esn. M.A. qaviour, who died for us to-day, ^ Sighing a tender prayer Of love and pardon from the crofs For thofe who nail'd Thee there ; Oh, by that wondrous death of Thine May we be taught to live, — Be taught how much of heaven there is In that one word, " Forgive !" Keep, Lord, our fouls for ever young, For ever undefiled, Nor let the gifts of manhood drown The graces of the child ; So, nurfed through all our wintry days, Through time, and grief, and ill, Thy grafted Lilv of the heart Shall bloom within us Hill. Amen ! And leave, in this Thine hour,- Leave with us, while we pray, That deep, unutterable peace Which doth not pal's away. 169 FAITH THE LAMP TO THE PATH. By Miss ISA CRAIG. " There arifeth light in darknefs." — Ps. cxii. 4. T ihere was no funfet on the day The mift fwept upward from the fea, And mrouded all things drearily ; The fun went down without a ray, And the night mingled with the mift, And there was darknefs ere we wift. And as we went upon our way, We could not fee each other's face ; The homeward path we could not trace, Though ftraight before our feet it lay. It feem'd — things grew fo ftrange and vaft An unknown land through which we part. Yet ftill we ftep by ftep did fare ; And though I could not fee thy fmile, Yet, looking down on me the while, Thy tender fmile I knew was there ; And in the light of home anon, Into my gladden'd heart it fhone. Even fo the mifts of fear and doubt Come fweeping upward from the fea Of fathomlefs Eternity, Blotting the waning prefent out, And, mingling with the night of death, Darken our vifion with their breath. 70 Life Song. And from us fades the face of love, And home-lights mine not through the gloom ; Around us giant fhadows loom, And darknefs falleth from above ; Yet ftep by ftep in Faith we fare, The Light we fee not ftill is there. w ] LIFE SONG. By Mrs. POSTLETHWAITE. ■hen the full heart, yearning, To its loft ones turning, Faints, yet nought difcerning, In the mifts around, Faith alone relieving Stays the (pirit-grieving, Faith her forrows leaving For the Pearl refound. Far apart from weeping, Angel-guards arc keeping, For our loft ones Qeeping, Sate an Eden bleft. There, where joys are beaming, Faith and I lope are gleaming — There, where Love redeeming Hath prepared reft. I 7 I THE MERCY OF GOD. By the Rev. W. TIDD MATSON. " Thy mercy, O God, is from everlafting to everlafting, upon all them that fear Thy Name." npHOUGH clouds be dark and tempefts brood around, A Though faireft hopes betray, and dreams deceive, The mercy of our God is ever fure ; Time cannot bound it, nor can earth confine, Nor death deftroy, nor the cold grave entomb ; But 'twill furvive the feverance of all ties, When Time and Time's dominion are no more. The thrones and palaces of earth decay, The high-imagined works of genius fade, The bright creations of the artift's thought — The glory, and the grandeur, and the dream, Muft all be fwallow'd in the night of years. The fweeteft of affections here have end, The tenderer!: links of love are reft in twain, The loved is fever'd from the loving one, And of the heart's emotions the warm tide Is at the grave's mouth frozen. Here, I know, I am a pilgrim in a place of tombs, And all things round me have a voice to tell I do but move amid a fleeting mow. I J2 The Mercy of God. Flowers wither, Nature's greennefs fades ; whate'er Of life or lovelinefs on earth I view Is pafling fwift away. I join the throng, I mingle with the bufy tribes of men, — With them engage in the concerns of life, And hold communion with my kind ; but they, Or loved, defpifed, or fear'd, from off the ftage Are pafling fwift away. The folid earth On which I tread, — the mountains and the meads,- The feas and ftreams, — the azure firmament, With all its vaft array of funs and fpheres, Have each a death-like whifpering voice that thev Are pafling fwift away. Pafling away ! And I am pafling, too. A little while, And the big fwelling waves of grief will lie In this breaft hufh'd for ever. O'er my head Long plumes of grafs will flutter in the breeze, While I fhall reft unheeding in the grave. But joy ! amid this univerfal change, One thing ne'er changes : 'midft the ebb and (urge Of Time's wild-rocking billows, like a light It burns, and lamps a dying univerfe As with the radiance of immortal day, And whifpers to my fpirit, as 1 go Down into the dull charnel, of the joy And endlefs rapture of the blifs to be. It is the loving-kindnefs of my God, — () glorious pledge, feal'd with the Saviour's blood ! W ith His dear promile to alline my foul, Vidjjitude. 173 I will take heart upon my pilgrim way, Infcribing on the battle-flag of life, As the heraldic motto of my truft, " Thy mercy is for ever and for ever, O God ! on all that fear Thv Name." VICISSITUDE. By the Rev. A. H. WRATISLAW, M.A. 5 "-pis but too oft we turn our joy to woe, -*■ 'Tis but too oft abufe each good doth mar ; 'Tis well that man from change his ftate mould know, And dwell on earth beneath a varying ftar. 'Tis not by joy alone, 'tis not by forrow, That moft are fitted for eternity ; There are who know but One, — to whom to-morrow Appears but as to-day unvaryingly. But thefe are few : more oft a changeful fate Doth with rewards and punifhments inftrucl:, As annual feafons fruits by varying ftate Of weather to maturity conduct. Lord, be it mine from evil good to draw, — Good to more good unceafing to apply ; That, in the end, of change th' unchanging law May ripen blifs, that by no change fhall die ! 174 HERE AND TOXDER. By the Rev. HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. tqits of forrow and of gladnefs, ^ Strangely crofT'd and interlaid ; Shreds of cloud-belt and of rainbow, In alternate ftripe and braid ; Bits of ftorm when winds are warring ; Bits of calm, when blafts are ftaid ; Bits of filence and of uproar, Bits of funlight and of fhade ; Bits of foreft-fmother'd hollow, Bits of open funny glade ; Bits of garden and of moorland, Heath and rofe together laid ; Sereft. leaf of brown October, April's earlieft, greeneft blade; — Thefe are the mingled feeds, Some flowers, fome idle weeds, Some crowded, fome alone, With which man's field is (own ; And from which (prings the one Great harveft of a life, that can Be lived but once by man ! With thefe the threads of hope and fear, Of ill and good, thou weaveir here, O dweller in this fallen clime, Thy portion of the web of time ! Here and Yonder. 175 Thefe are the flones with which, O man, Thou build'ft, too oft without a plan, Life's lordly hall or lowly cot, The Babel or the Salem of thy lot. Bits of day-fpring and of funfet, Of the midnight, of the noon; Snow and ice of pale December, Living flufh of crimfon June ; Tinfel-patchwork, jewell'd fplendour, All the little and the great ; True and falfe together mingled, Now the crooked, now the ftraight ; Broken fhafts of Tyrian columns, RolPd and worn by wave and time ; Miles of colonnade and grandeur, Luxor's ftill majeftic prime ; Now the garland, now the coffin ; Now the wedding, now the tomb \ Now the feftal fhout of thoufands, Now the churchyard's lonely gloom ; Now the fong amid the living, Now the chaunt above the dead ; The fmooth cheek of infant beauty, Age's wan and furrow'd head ; Days of fever and of fretting, Hours of kind and bleiTed calm ; Boughs of cedar and of cyprefs, Wreaths of olive and of palm ; Noons of mufing, nights of dreaming, Words of love and ways of ftrife ; Tears of parting, fmiles of meeting ; Paths of fmooth and rugged life ; 176 Here and Yonder. Moods of finking, when the fpirit, Overftrain'd, is downward borne ; Moods of foaring, when the fpirit Springs elaftic to the morn ; Sands of Egypt, fields of Sharon, Rufh of Jordan, fweep of Nile ; Wells of Marah, fhades of Elim, Sinai's frown and Carmel's fmile ; Depths of valley, peaks of mountain, Stretch of verdure-loving plain, With the croffing and recroffing, And the croffing o'er again ; Notes of mufic, jars of difcord, Voice of trumpet and of lute; The thunder-fhower's loud lafhing, And the dew-fall loft and mute ; All the doing and undoing, And the doing o'er again ; All the fattening and the loofino- Of the many-linked chain ; Bits of brightening and of darkening, Bits of wearinefs and reft ; All the hoping and delpairing Of the full or hollow brealt ; Bits of flumb'ring and of waking, Weary toffing to and fro ; Bits of living and of dying, Being's daily ebb and flow ; — With thefe is life begun and doled, Of thcic its llrange tnofaic is compofed, Such arc our annals upon earth, Our tale from very hour of birth, Here and Yonder. 177 Each foul's time-hiftory ; Yet of fuch changes is made up The changelefs myftery, Nov/ hidden from our view, Of man's eternity. Eternity ! The fum of time's brief numbers here, Thyfelf unnumber'd ftill ; The iiTue of all mortal change, thyfelf Unchanged, unchangeable ; The fruit of what we daily feel and fee, Thyfelf unfeen, invifible ; Form'd out of many hues, Or dark or bright, Thyfelf uncolour'd and unmix'd, All dark or light. O wondrous day ! God's day, not man's, as heretofore ; Chrift's day, not Satan's more ; When right fhall all be might, And might fhall all be right ; And truth, for ages forely tried, By error mock'd, reviled, defied, No longer on the lofing fide, Shall celebrate its victory, And wave its ancient palm on high ; When good and ill, unmix'd, Flow on for ever, Each in its diftant channel flx'd, An everlafting river ; When grief and joy difjoin'd, The true and falfe untwined, N 178 Here and Yonder. Each to its feparate place At the flern fentence s;one, Shall dwell alone, Each on its far-off fhore, And fee each other's face No more ! O wondrous day ! When things that are fhall pafs away; Earth's fkies take on their evening gloom, And the great funfet come ; When, with far-echoing fwell, Like monarch's funeral knell, The world's great vefper-bell (Deeper than that by far, Which, 'neath St. Saba's evening ftar, Sounds over Sodom's fullen fea, From the grey peaks of Engedi, Or from red Sinai's fiery Hope, Like wail of earth's expiring hope, Swung out in wild, flow-pealing ftrain Acrofs Er-Rahah's fandy plain), Shall found o'er earth, and tell That the great Judge has come, Long waiting at the door, — Come, too, the day of doom, So long for man in ftore. End of " Lays ok the Sanxtuary." &a£l3^=» ^^wmmmm&im URBAN THE MONK. BY J. STANYAN BIGG, Esq,. TO THE RT. HON. THE COUNTESS OF ABINGDON, IN SINCERE ADMIRATION OF HER SYMPATHY AND CHARITY, THE FLOW OF WHICH DISTANCE NEITHER WEAKENS NOR CONTRACTS, THIS POEM, WITH KIND PERMISSION, RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. Urban the Monk THE LIBRARY. Y oung Urban keeps the burnifh'd keys Of the fcriptorium ; and he fits Through funny noons in dreamful eafe, Reading or copying by fits ; Or adding quaint and golden tints, Or plumy purples to the page Of Mafs-book, or of Breviary, Of holy father, bard, or fage, Till all the full-lored vellums fwim In crimfons and in purples dim, And common words in foft array Prance down the page, like palfreys gay Trapp'd all in gold to bear away The faery form of princefs prim : — And whether round the abbey blow The foft fouth-winds, with overflow 1 84 Urban the Monk. Of balm and honey, or the fnow Lies white upon the ground below, And tempefts round the belfry go, 'Tis all the fame to him ! All through the fultry fummer noon, When lilies over wallflowers fwoon, And, in the honey'd heart of June, The bee on rofes feeds, — He pores, amid the fhadieft nooks, Over the gold-illumined books, With earneft face and eager looks, Believing all he reads. o Legends of faints fill up the gloom Of winter nights and drizzling days ; He fees them fwim along his room, And then wind upward in a bloom Of rofy wings, with rich perfume, Wrapp'd in a trembling haze Of cloudy fplendour, bulging low. Billows of fire as white as fnow Roll with pale crimfons down below Their fandall'd feet ; with motion flow, And round about their bare heads go Haloes like funfet rays ! Of holy martyrs, too, he reads, — Ofbleff'd Blandina, Appian, Ouinta the [Hire, and L Ipian, Metra, and blamelefs Adrian, — L T i)til his young heart pants and bleeds For thofe who for the true faith died ; The Library. 185 How fome were torn by wild beafts, fome Flung into boiling pitch, and fome, Tormented in the murderous hum Of Rome, were crucified ; How mangled Porphyry dauntlefs flood, With flay'd ribs flowly dripping blood, Daring the tyrant's ire ; How Polycarp, with garments riven, Went with a holy fhout to heaven On trembling wings of fire ! Mingled with thefe were legends old Of wondrous knights and ladies gay : — The Cid, Sir Roland, Triflram bold, Stream'd in rich trappings, jingling gold, Over the crimfon funfet wold, Adown the finking day ; And ladies, with a filken fwim, Flutter'd along the mofly brim Of meres, by deep woods hufh'd and dim, On to the bright tournay. But chief he loved the myftic ftory Of faintly knights, with faces pale, Who fpurn'd the earth, and earthly glory, And went in queft of Holy-Grail : He follow'd them on by land and flood, — Sir Parzival, brave and holy knight, And bold Sir Galahad, the good ; He heard them clanging through the night Over the pavements frill and white, 1 86 Urban the Monk. Their ftudded bridles jingling light, Flaming amid the foft moonlight ; And faw them fkim along the wood, Up alleys of moonbeams trembling-pale, Paft church and city and lordly tower, And abbey and hall and lady's bower, All in the hum of the midnight hour, In queft of Holy-Grail ! Titurel's temple o'er him rofe, Blufhing with gems and gorgeous glows Of golden domes and twinkling fpires ; Rofes of rubies, and pale fires Of clufter'd diamonds, fhook about The wondrous fabric, in and out ; And in the central Sanctuary, On a thick flab of porphyry, Wrapp'd in white famite flood the Grail, Out-fhimmering like a cloudy moon, — And o'er it fwell'd a mimic noon Of topaz and of jafper bright, Hung in the fapphire ceiling light ; Outfide, the dome bulged up red gold, With blue enamel fretted o'er ; And banners, with unruffled fold, Hung filken out at every door ; And round about the Holy-Grail Roll- two-and-feventy chapels, pale With pearl and diamonds, — every two Shot up a tower into the blue Like fudden flame ; and over thofe Doubting Caftle. 187 Shook cryftal crofles in the light, Clutch'd from above, within the claws Of gold fpread-eagles, day and night ; And o'er the central dome there rofe A huge carbuncle with red glows And fullen fplendour, like a fun Lighting the cyprefs-foreft dun, That round about the temple flood, Filling its fhadowy heart with blood ; And none might tread that myftic height Of hufh'd Montfalvage, fave the knight Chofen of Him of Holy-Rood ! And ftill he turns the gilded leaves, And, rich in faith, the monk believes Farther than logic e'er hath got ; His creed foars higher than his fight, Reafon is not his only light, — Still through the hot, bewilder'd night, Angels go heavenward, clad in white, — And fo he reads, — and doubteth not ! A DOUBTING CASTLE. las the day ! Alas the hour ! The fullen clouds, with downward roll And heart of hidden thunders, lower Over the brightnefs of his foul ! 1 88 Urban the Monk. He fits in fadnefs in his room, Wrapp'd in the old Tartarean gloom, Murmuring in dire perplexity, " This is a fearful mvftery, — I cannot think how this may be ! " It is the holy Sabbath-day : The Bible refts upon his knee ; He cannot read, — he cannot pray ; Although his lips the words may fay With muddering effort, yet the " Nay " Is in his heart ; and piteouflv He murmurs low, " A mvftery, — I cannot think how this may be !' Ye confcious heavens, help him now, And take the cloud from off his brow, And draw the fang from out his fmart Into the garden of his heart The ftorm hath gone, with cruel cry, And all is dead from fward to fky. For he has read how unto Him Who ruleth all things with a nod, Time is as naught — how unto God A thou land years arc as a day, Or as a night-watch, and he feels His heart rock in the ftormy Ck X. That will be heard both night and day, Although he ftruggles hard to pray, And cannot, though be kneels. At church he teems a guilty thing; He hears the full-choir \1 anthems ring With roll and (urge and golden (wing Doubting Caftle. 189 The banner'd aifles about ; But they have loft the air divine — Seems all a blank and idiot-fign, The bright foul fhaken out ! Through the eaft window fhines the fun With mellow fplendour, warm and dun, — Through violet tints, and gorgeous ftreams Of falling robes, and fofteft creams Of rapt faints' haloes — flaming gleams Of rofes darkling, mingled beams Rich as the filks of Trebizond. He marks the funlight as it paints That gorgeous cloud of holy faints, Until his fhuddering fpirit faints ; For though he fees that heaven of faints, There is no other heaven beyond ! He hears the golden guft and rufh Of rich and mellow organ-thunder, Now winding heavenward in a gufh Of fwelling praife and holy wonder, Now falling with a foft rebound, Rolling deep baffes round and round ; Till fluted notes again afpire With upward flutterings higher and higher, In lark-like dartings. From the choir One note, rich-throbbing in defire, Goes giddy in a whirl of fire Up fhuddering folitudes of found ; And then returning Earthward yearning, 190 Urban the Monk. Lo ! the luted mufic falls Soft as water down the walls Of fparry grottoes under ground ! Then like fword-blades glancing brightly, Plunge the fudden notes out lightly, Till the treble fwerves and fkips, And the muffled thunder low, Rolling inward, heaves and dips Like a midnight fea-fwell — lo ! Clarion bugles feem to blow, And all the loofen'd grandeurs go Rocking richly to and fro In a fumptuous overflow, And throbbing harmonies kifs like lips. Still amid the golden blare Rolling thunders through the air The banner'd ifles about, Like a curfe flung into prayer Hears he ruffing his wild doubt, — And he feels the holy chapel Holier were, were he without. O THE LITTLE BIRD. ut from the books and (tiding room, Out of the fhadows and the gloom, Into the cloifter garden bright, Into the Cummer air and light ! The Little Bird. 191 He wanders in the humming breeze, Amid the fhadows of the trees, Himfelf a fhadow, ill at eafe. When, lo ! from out a neighbouring copfe, With richeit plumage funny bright, Making a wheel of colour'd light, A little bird a-flutter drops Down upon the pear-tree tops, Hopping lightly, Glancing brightly, 'Mid the twifted fhadowy boughs, Raining- lightnings round his brows. A glory and a wonder are Its crefted colours to the fight ; It makes with mufic, as a ftar Trembles with excefs of light. Round about its throat aflemble Blufhes of the damafk rofe, And a deepening violet goes Sleeking down its back a-tremble ; Rich and hazy flutterings Glow about its yellow wings, Dancing golden in the light ; — Like a crowd of finging funbeams Gleams the little vifion bright. Tame it feems, too, as a bird Born amid the tropics hufh'd, Where no flower is ever crufh'd, And no voice of man is heard — Nothing but a gorgeous noon 192 Urban the Monk. And a foft and filken river, And an endlefs, endlefs June Sinking down into a fwoon, Or a low and bulging moon, For ever and for ever. Up among the twigs it ran, Hopping, wheeling, full of graces,- 'Mid the apples, with the tan Summering all their jocund faces ; When the monk, advancing near it, Strove to touch it with his finger, Scarcely feem'd the bird to fear it, Only, with a fidelong linger, Hopp'd it on a twig or two, All its purples in a fhiver, Shaking like a gloffy river, In the ftorm of notes it blew. All along the garden allevs, Pail the dial on the lawn, Follow'd he the happy fallies Of this creature of the dawn, — Out, into the folitude Of the fummer-haunted wood. Out, amid the ftirlefs hufh Of the twilight (hadows dun, Glancing on from bufh to bufh, Glowing like a burning blufh, Follow'd he with check a-flufh, This gleaming creature of the fun The Return. 193 On about three hundred paces From the cloifter garden door, Join'd he in the wheeling races, Through the copfe and open fpaces — Sudden fummer on their faces As the branches backward bore, — Juft about three hundred paces From the little Gothic door, Juft three hundred and no more. When, behold ! a Hope of funbeams Smote athwart the inner gloom, Steeping all the fluttering plumage In a ruddier golden bloom : And the little bird went winging, Showering mufic down like rain, Up the Hope of funbeams, finging, — And he faw it not again ! THE RE1URN. woung Urban, mufing ftill, return'd ; His pious foul within him yearn'd As in the days of old to pray : But ftill he clutch'd his mifery : " A thoufand long-drawn years ! " quoth he. " I cannot, though I wifh it, fee o 194 Urban the Monk. How centuries can roll away, Muffled in filent myftery, Juft as a night-watch hufh'd ; or be, Even to God, but as a daw" Wonder of wonders ! as he fpoke, A vifion on his fenfes broke, — A mighty abbey met his eyes Juft like his own, but thrice its fize ; And where, not half an hour before, The little cloifter garden ftood, The garden with the Gothic door That open'd out upon the wood, A huge cathedral rofe on high, Three-fteepled — every vaned fpire Flung up into the fummer fkv Great mining fpokes of ftedfaft fire ! About the abbey all was hufh'd, Juft as it was an hour before ; The corbels in the funlight flufh'd, The great eaft window glow'd and blufh'd,- He could not find the Gothic door ; And where the fun-dial erft was feen Rofe a new wing above the wood, And where the Abbot's houfe had been A grand refectory bulging ftood ; And where the apples were, a Hood Of painted windows glimmer' d keen ; — And all the ftrange and myftic fcene Fill'd him with wonder where he ftood. All in amaze he (ought the door, The Return. 195 And as he flretch'd his hand to knock, Behold, a purfy facriftan (Whom he had never feen before), Defcending from the fteeple-clock, No fooner faw him, than he ran Pale with affright — his ftarting eves Both wide a-goggle, twice their fize. He heard the noife of banging doors, Sounding up long corridors, " Deo gratias" quoth the porter, As he drew the bolt afide ; " Bene" — but ere it was utter'd, On white lips the blemng died. He fought the ftately chapter-hall, Where the brethren were affembled, And he whilper'd — " Strangers all ! — What a change an hour may make ! " As he bent his figure tall, Every limb among them trembled, Every eve was feen to quake, Every hand was feen to make ; And he unfolded his brief tale Unto lifteners hufh'd and pale ! But ere the narrative was told, Through both his ears ftrange noifes rung, He felt his limbs were growing cold, He fhook with palfy like the old, He faw his filver beard had roll'd Down to his girdle fold on fold, — The girdle where the keys were hung, — 196 Urban the Monk. And all the keys, though almoft new, Look'd red with ruft, and worn out too. When, lo ! from out the grated cafe, With tottering itep and blanched face, A monk a written parchment bore, Illumined all and bright with gold And coftly crimfon ; and it told How, juft three hundred years before, The young Monk Urban firft was mifT'd, And never had been heard of more. Deep filence was there as he read, Silence, and wonder, and great dread ; Ouoth the Monk Urban, young no more, Sighing deeply, " Oh, I fee, Forefl: bird that fung to me In the wondrous days of yore, Myftic ages roll'd away As I watchM thy happy play, And the little Gothic door Open'd on eternity ! All my faith I owe to thee, And, adoring God, I fee How a thoufand years may be Even as a Tingle day ! " Then he bow'd his reverend head, — All the fathers gathering near, HulhM their very breath to hear Every word that might be (aid : — Ouoth the Abbot ihortly, " Brethren, Back to prayers — he is dead !" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, %*#&Mg£ ■*F TO THE HON. GEORGINA IRBY, AS A GRATEFUL BUT INADEQUATE ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF lDEQU HER SYMPATHIZING KINDNESS TO AN AGED AND IMPOVERISHED WIDOW, THESE POEMS ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. Mifcellaneous Poems STARS, By HAMILTON AIDE, Es<^. *-pHE ftars fhoot from us as we gaze, and bear * Their little lights from our dark world away ; The many twinkling pleafures of the day Fade into night, and leave us all unbleft ; But the great planets burn unchanging there, And the true glories of our life we wear, Like jewels in our breaft. Nothing can rob us of them ; ours they are When God hath faid, " Let there be light" within ; And while our earth-lamps fail us, and the din Of this dark world grows diftant in our ears, We are led onward by our jewel-ftar, As fhepherds once were guided from afar To the low-cradled promife of pad. years. 202 THE PRATING MAIDEN. By S. H. BRADBURY (Quallon). qhe kneels befide her humble couch, ^ And there alone like marble feems ; Calm as a ftatue in the night, Whofe bofom white as mow-flake beams ! She prays, her hands together preft, In attitude of fweeteft grace ; And brings to mind the glorious thought Of angel in an earthly place. Her hands are white as lily-leaves, Her arms ofmoft exquifite mould ; Half-hidden by her auburn curls, Like ivory funn'd with rays of gold ! Her voice is low, but with a tone, That mufic's magic cannot aid ; Sweet as the murmur of a rill Whofe ftream the bluihin$r woodbines made. o There's eloquence in every word, The fimple charm allied to prayer ; As though fome chord from heaven had reach'd Her heart, and Lightly trembled there ! A heart as tender as the (lower, That clofes when the daylight dies ; And treafures beauty as a ftream The whiten'd cloud that o'er it lies ! Let her Stay. 20; She rifes gently from her prayer, And reads fome fimple poet's rhymes ; And feels that Eden vet might bloom, And hide the world's uncounted crimes. So fair fhe looks, fo fair fhe lives, A picture of what earth micrht be ; Then take the leflbn, World, for I Would have its moral learnt bv thee ! LET HER STAT. By the Right Rev. S. HINDS, D.D. t et her ftay — oh, thofe moments are fweeter *^ Than all her young davs yet have given ; For he whofe fmile brightens to meet her, Shall meet her no more but in heaven. Let her ftill clafp that pale, wafted hand, She once thought was with hers to be join'd : By her fide never bridegroom fhall ftand, When to God fhe that hand has refign'd. Let her ftay, — her heart's dream is not ended ; While it lafts let its vifions be cherifh'd ; And may hope with thofe vifions be blended, When all that is earthly has perifh'd ! One dark, defolate, life-long to-morrow Will begin when her laft look is taken ; Let her watch by the dear couch of forrow, Till love's fmile his cold lips has forlaken. 204 SONNET. By WESTLAND MARSTON, Esq. LOVE : A WOMAN'S THOUGHT. qhall I fet any blefling this fide heaven ^ Againft thy love for me — the light that fhows All other joy, the light whereby it grows ? Yes, one boon richer than thy love is given — The right to love thee ! If thy ftrength of wing Can bear me with thee on thy luminous track Of duty, take me ; but I would not cling With an encumbering clafp to keep thee back. 'Tis dear to think thee of myfelf a part ; More dear, though loft, to know thee what thou art And if, being fuch, thou vanifh from my eyes, I, nurfing thoughts of thee, will wait the day When at my fide a fhadowy friend mail fay, — " Thou, too, haft pinions ; follow him and rife ! " FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE. Ky E. F. G. '-pHE volume ofexiftence is a hook, that men * Can neither open at their will, nor dole again We read but once the pafTage that we molt adore, Then of its own accord the fatal leaf turns o'er: We leek again the page before fo fondly read, But 'neath our finger find the page of death inftead. 205 PARTING. By Mrs. W. SAWYER, Authoreji of 11 The Quiet Hour," &c. a nd now farewell ! If part indeed we muft, ^** I give into thy hands a facred truft ; A fingle, fimple word comprifes all, It is " Thyfelf." Whatever mall befall Of power, wealth, in all remember this : Thou art alone thine own defpair or blifs. Fate is a fallacy : whate'er was meant, Error was never the Divine intent. Remember, though I am not by to fee, Thou art refponfible in thought to me. I afk no vow : what Love cannot fulfil By Love alone, by oaths it never will. There is a dignity of confcience, known Unto the pure and true of heart alone, Which may be thine, all loffes thus regain'd, — So keep thine honour, as thy love, unftain'd. Remember, that if falfe to Love and me, Still falfer to thyfelf it is to be ; Falfe to thy reafon, nave unto thy foe, — And that is Impulfe. Sweeter far to know One danger paft, than countlefs dangers dare ; One joy efcape, than perilous joys to fhare. Thy heart is peaceful now ? Oh, keep that peace, A precious gain that time will but increafe. 206 Parting. If from fome pleafures thou malt be debarr'd, For thy fidelity I give reward : What fealty a fubjecl: owes a king Who is no tyrant, fuch my love will bring ; A love that is a weaknefs, yet is ftrong To bear all trials that to Love belong ; Child-like in truft, yet powerful above All mortal forces, — a true woman's love. If for a time we part, or here love ends, Remember, on thyfelf alone depends. Give me thy hand — 'tis mine : no vows can bind A clofer tie than in our love we find. If that dark Shadow, unfeen now, mould crofs Our feparate paths, to me no greater lofs Should even that certain agony appal ; For lofs of love is death-in-life to all ! Farewell, beloved ! With dry eyes we part ; A heavier grief than tears is at my heart, — Something I fain would hide beneath control : But do not fpeak, — no words can now confole. What ! " If we mould not meet ?" Oh, ves ! be fure Love is not over-tafk'd ; though we endure This abfence, dear one, we mall live to tell Sweet memories of conihmev. Farewell ! 22- THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE. By the Rev. R. B. EXTOX, M.A. The Nightingale fang the birth of the Rofe his well-beloved; and at the fame time lamented her lhort-lived beauty." tjear'st thou that {train of mingled melody : — *~ -*• Too wildlv fweet for Echo's mimic (kill, It floateth on the night-breeze light and free, And, blent with murmurs of the bafhfui rill, Mounts in rich undulations to the fkv, A welcome tribute to the raptured fpheres on high. The wondering liars in filence earthward peer, Unconfcious whence the liquid harmonies, Thus calmly itealing on celeitial ear From 'neath their own pure dwelling-place, arife ; Yet plealed that forms of fublunarv mould, Congenial powers of kindred eloquence unfold. For of their theme no ear attuned in heaven, Or on the teeming earth, or in mid air, If right attuned, but hath the power given The lbul-entrancing fvmpathv to fhare : — From central fhades to thrones of light above, Through all creation thrills the full warm pulfe of L< 208 The Nightingale and the Rofe. Thus, hidden in his bower of eglantine, Whereon the moonbeam weaves a filvery creft, The enamour'd minftrel from his leafy fhrine Breathes the pure incenfe of his pamonate breaft, Watching the while beneath their verdant fcreen, The charmed (lumbers of his young betrothed queen. To earth his joyous homage, peal'd around, Sings of her foft maternal bofom bared, At whofe life-giving fprings his loved one found, Among the myriads that her nurture fhared, The boon of being — while to her alone, And high above the reft, earth cedes the Floral throne. Nor you, ye zephyrs, doth fweet Philomel Forget, as he inhales the odorous fighs, Borne on your wing from that fecluded dell Where fleeps the Queen of flowers in beauty's guife ; But grateful cheers your wanderings through the night, And with his dulcet notes doth harmonize your flight. And, for her fleeplefs care of that dear fpot, Trills his mild benifons towards Cynthia's car ; Nor fcant of praife, as (lie remember'd not (Borrowing awhile from each attendant ftar) With Beauty's coronal of dew-wrought gems To deck her morning fmile — brighteit of diadems ! But chief, Hyperion, to thine orient beam, Lighting the pure tints on his miftrefs' brow, That flumes from its lair her tranquil dream, Kindling her graces to intenier glow ; Chiefly to thee his lengthen'd ferenade, By duteous adoration prompted, is fondly paid. The Nightingale and the Roje. 209 For then, upfpringing from their moffy beds, In cinctures clad of every vernal hue, And feathering perfumes from their beauteous heads, To greet their fovereign with obeifance due, He heard the bright-eyed children of the Spring On the frefh gale their whifper'd gratulations fling : The while his well-beloved meekly bent Her graceful brow amid th' admiring throng ; And ever and anon her glances fent Upward to him, the fount of that clear fong ; At each fond glance ftill quickening more and more The tuneful fpirit of her amorous troubadour. Thus through the glowing morn he pour'd his ftrains Of rapturous blifs. The winged hours, attent, Wafted his mufic o'er the far-off plains, Till, with all melodies of Nature blent, The choral fwell, piercing the clouds above, From earth to fky proclaim'd the empery of Love ! But ah ! the lover's quick inftinclive dread, As through mid-ether fhot the noontide ray, Saw on its fervid fmile infidious fped The harbinger of beauty's fwift decay — Saw Death's terrific frown in ambufh lower Impatient o'er the form of his now drooping Flower i And thence in querulous and fitful mood His broken plaints are heard defpondent ; then Flits he in mades impervious, far to brood In widow'd filence from the haunts of men. O Love ! thy dwelling is with all things fair ; Yet with the lovely and beloved Death is there ! p 210 EVENING. By the Rev. E. D. JACKSON, B.C.L. Author of " Lays of Ancient Palefiine" and other P:en:s. >-pHE funbeams are dying * Along the pale fea, The night-winds are fighing Lone vefpers to me ; The young dews are weeping On Nature's fond breaft, The tired world is fleeping, And labour is bleft. Woodland ftreamlets are moaning Strange tales to the trees, And the flowers are all owning Their loves to the breeze ; Drowfy fongfters, repining, Sing plaintive farewells To the pale glow-worms mining Along the green dells. Now darknefs is reigning, Now triumphs the gloom, — Sweet Day, why complaining Sink down to the tomb ? Refurrection awaiting, Go, calmly recline \ Frefh empires creating, To-morrow is thine ! Epitaph on Niohe. 21 1 The ilars are all waking To ravifh the night, The darknels is breaking And flumber grov. Broken (pints are turning Their wet eves above, Like wean' doves yearning For fhelter and love. My fad heart too, (baring, A\ ouid climb the blue pole, Yonder ether exploring, — True home of the foul ! Orbs of beautv ! afcending, My Might I'd purfue, Till loft, fweetlv blendi For ever with vou ' EPITAPH ON XI QBE. FROM THE GREEK OF AGATHIAS. By EDGAR BO WRING, Es t TT71THIN this tomb no corpfe was ever laid ; To hold this corpfe no tomb was ever mad: But tomb and corpfe in one are here difplay'd. 212 THE MIRAGE OF LIFE. By Miss TOUGH, Authorefs of " The Offering : Teems." j->ver and ever it floateth on, — *^ That airy nothing, that phantom form ! Years upon years have come and gone, With their hours of funmine and days of rtorm, And ftill it floateth, that wandering gleam, Like the fhadowy brightnefs of a dream ; Like the flickering moonbeam on the river, Luring me onward — ever ! ever ! I know thou haft mock'd me many a time, As I follow'd the track of thy painted wing, Pointing away to fome happier clime Frefh with the bloom of immortal fpring. — Nay, charge me not thus, 'tis thy eager hafte For Eden's fruits in this wilding waire, — Stretching impatient hands too foon : t> I could not give thee (o poor a boon. Thou laved I mock thee with vifions of light, That from following footfteps ever recede, — With the gleam of waters, (b cool and bright, All vanifh'd and dried in thine hour of need. I lure thee on^ for thou fain wouldfl ftay To fport with the flowers that bloom on thy way cc Arife ! depart ' this is not thy reft ! " Is the fong 1 waft thee from ifles of the bleft. Sonnet — Genius. 213 I am not a creature of earth at all ; In my robes of light I come from afar, — I come at thy yearning fpirit's call, To fhine on thy path like a guiding ftar. I know thou art weary, and fick, and fad, And I come from the homes where all are glad, To whifper that earth has no Eden for thee, — Then gird up thy garments, and ftill follow me ! I SONNET. By WESTLAND MARSTON, E SQj GENIUS. N its deep efTence, genius means but worth ; For who would paint the various qualities Of man and nature, trace their growth and birth, Muft make their being his by fympathies, Whofe root is love. Thus, genius in the bad Is ftill the reflex of a better life There lingering, though with fplendour fhorn and fad, Love draws the circle of imagination, And in the heart's full day the wide creation Lies clear, in beauty garb'd, with meaning rife ; And as love's fun declines, fo fancy's ken Contracts, and the mean will doth only crave Light for itfelf, forgets the world and men, And on its dim path ftumbles to the grave ! 2I 4 GOOD IN EVIL. By the Rev. GREVILLE J. CHESTER, M.A. | n thorny thickets blow the fweeteft rofes ; Lilies in damp woods droop their mow-white bells ; The vellow primrofe 'neath the brier repofes ; The pureft water fprings from deepefr. wells. From common clay are form'd the faireft vefTels ; The diamond glitters in the darkfome mine ; The g-olden wren in her mug dwelling; nettles, D DO' Slung from the branches of the gloomy pine. The fcarlet feaweeds wave their trembling trefTes In the deep ocean-caves by man unieen ; And rocks, all black and bleak, the lea-fern dreiles With fpiny tufts of gliitening evergreen. And fo from out the gloom and fmoke of cities Deeds of deep love and meek endurance fhine ; In fqualid lanes is found the heart that pities, The foul that hungers after things Divine. In foetid courts the fteadfaft love of woman Makes oftentimes the houle of toil feem bright ; princely hearts, which beat 'neath garments common. In nmlit of wrong are ruled by truth and right. No! men of high degree alone in llorv, In human hearts, and hiftories, are enfhrined ; The poor and humble have their meed of glorv, — Some wreaths of laurel poor men's foreheads bind. 2I 5 THREE SCENES. By Mrs. ALFRED M. MUNSTER (MARY C. F. MONCK). I. -pv awn, on a golden river, the dawn of a bright May- U day,- ' Bathed in the laughing funfhine water and woodland lay : Birds in the green boughs caroll'd, wild bees fail'd hum- ming by, And cloudlets of filvery whitenefs dappled the morning Iky. One on the bank lay dreaming, youth on his broad, fair brow, — Life hath no fweeter vifions than float o'er his fancy now ; Wealth on his path hath fcatter'd all that fhe hath to give, Pleafure and Love aye murmur, " Sweet 'tis for us to live!" Was there no voice to whifper, " Put not thy trufl: in them, Froft- blights mail mar the blofToms wreathing their diadem, — Theirs are no flowers immortal, fearlefs of all decay, — All they can give is earthly, pafling with earth away." 216 Tk iree scenes. None ! — but the world's gay welcome greeted its willing flave ; Fame fhower'd triumphs on him, Beauty her guerdon gave : Wildly the dizzy victim drain'd the fweet poifoo dry, Thoughtlefs that earth-born gladnefs ever muft fade and die. II. Grey fell the wintry twilight over a city ftreet, Sullied and dark the fnow-drifts muffled men's hurrying feet; Cold was the cloudy heaven, colder the frozen earth, But colder the friendlefs being that crouch'd by a firelefs hearth. Hoarfely the wind came wailing, freighted with fleet and fnow, Waking the old man's heavy heart to dreams of the long ago; Feebly his thin voice mutter'd of fcenes that had paiT'd away, As confcience, awaken'd, pictured the deeds of a bygone day : — " Faithlefs among the faithlcfs, how was my talent placed ? Goodly was once my portion, how hath it run to wafte ? Oh, for the deeds of mercy might have been mine to do ! Oh, for the fins and forrows that thick in mv pathway grew ! Three Scenes. 217 " Proud in my day of triumph, Father, I turn'd from Thee ! Many and fore were the ftripes I bore, ere I bow'd the ftubborn knee ; Darknefs was denfe around me, friends one by one had flown, Ere I bent to the healing fountain that flows from Thine awful throne. " Hopelefs, fave in Thy mercy, Father, to Thee I come ! Long did my finful heart rebel, — long did my footfteps roam : Yet wilt Thou heed the forrow breathed in the contrite f. g h,- Yet will Thy loving-kindnefs hearken the finner's cry." III. Drearily broke the morning over the filent town, On many a homelefs outcaft the fhimmering light look'd down ; Into one difmal chamber it ftole with a mournful gleam, And there lay the old man fleeping the flumber that knows no dream. Strange were the hands that bore him on to his long, laft reft; Carelefs they piled the frozen clay on the planks above his breaft : But He, in whofe fight all creatures are worthy of equal care, Hath welcomed the pauper's fpirit, borne up on the wings of prayer. 2l8 MUTABILITY, By JOHN FRANCIS WALLER, Esq^. LL.D. t sail'd on the midnight ocean, A Beneath a fair fummer fkv, And, lull'd by the languid motion, I thought how life flows by. The Wind, with mournful greeting, Still told its ancient tale : " All earthly things are fleeting As breath of fummer gale." The Waves, as they murmuring bore me, Still chanted the fame old drain They fang to the age before me : u 'No earthly things remain." The Ship, with heaving motion, Proclaim'd again the tale, Rock'd on the treacherous ocean : " All earthly things are frail." The Stars, in their folemn glory, That clufter'd the peaceful lkv, Still utter'd the lame grand ftory To age on age gone by, — That tale profound repeating, In light ferene and pme : " All earthly things are fleeting, All heavenly things endure." 219 THE LAST DAT IN AN OLD HOME. 1840 By the Author of " The Memorials of Hedley Vicars" &c. a nd can it be, in this loved home ^ For the laft time I ftand, Where ten years fince we had juft come A glad, unbroken band, To twine our love round every tree, And fun the fpot with our own glee ? And, oh ! what tones and fmiles of mirth Have rung and fparkled here, When we have gather'd round one hearth With all we held moft dear ! What words of fondnefs have been breathed, What parting bleflings here bequeathed ! Shell-like, it keeps the murmuring found Of joy's far-ebbing fea, And every haunt my ftep has found Hath ft ill its memory. My own fweet mother, 'tis of thee Each fpot is eloquent to me. I linger on the hallow'd ground, Where once thy feet have been ; A fpell hath my fad fpirit bound Where laft thy fmile was feen ; And every flower and tree is fraught With themes for grave and holy thought. 220 The Laji Day in an Old Home. And I, while looking thus mv laft, Pour out my heart in tears, Where once in three dark days we pafT'd A life of hopes and fears ; And kneel where laft I knelt by thee In thofe long hours of mifery. They tell me there are other ties As tender and as true ; That life has ftill its fvmpathies, As fweet and faithful too : But well I know no love like thine Can blefs this yearning heart of mine. And yet, for all its pricelefs worth, We would not wifh thee back, To wander with us on this earth, And tread our weary track : We know it was a Father's love Which call'd our precious one above. Thou art gone home, to calmer reft Than aught that here hath part ; A holier than a mother's breaft, A furer than her heart : Oh, may we fhare that home with thee, Beloved, through eternity ! 221 REGRET. By the Rev. R. B. SLIPPER, M.A. Author of" The Country Parijb : A Poem." a way with vain regret ! Who can recall -^* The joyous paft, or bring back youth again ? Ah, no ! though tears from every eye mould fall, And every tongue lament, 'twere all in vain. Fair is the morn ; forth from the eaftern fides The rifing fun its boundlefs light imparts ; Moves on its glorious courfe amid the fighs, The countlefs tears, of fad and bleeding hearts. The noontide comes : fainting beneath the heat, The heavy burden of the fultry ray, They yearn for evening breezes cool and fweet, And the long lhadows of declining day, Wouldft thou recall the morning, ere the night Gave to the filent earth its needful reft ; Call man again to labour by its light, His powers by fleep unfoothed and unrefrefh'd ? Would any blefs thee ? Man and beaft united With curfes deep thy hated name would load — With frames o'er-worn and hearts with care benighted, Deteft a gift fo deftitute of good. 222 Epitaph on an Idiot Girl. So though to thee it might feen beautiful, To hurl old Time upon a backward courfe, And to renovate the hues of life grown dull, With rainbow colours from their primal fource — Yet if thou couldft not renovate the mind, Nor quench that knowledge which the world affords — Thy heart in youthful ftrength no charm could find, Nor laughter light be thine, nor joyous words. If this were done, 'twere but to live again ; To mourn again o'er blighted hopes for years ; To run the felf-fame race of grief and pain, Now dark with doubt, now chequer'd o'er with fears. Be wife and be content ; the pall is gone, For ever gone : the prefent hour employ ; So (halt thou backward look when life is done, Nor vain regret thy peace of mind deftroy. EPITAPH ON AN IDIOT GIRL. By ALARIC A. WAITS. Es^. if the innocent are favourites of Hen en, * And God but little afks where little's given. Thy juft Creator hath for thee in (tore Eternal joys ! — Can wifefl men have more : w 223 WE CANNOT STAT. By JOHN EMMET, Es^. •E cannot ftay, faid the winter Stars ; We fhall fet to-night, to-morrow to rife Upon other worlds and other eyes : Gaze fondly and well on our glorious light, For our filver lamps mull go out to-night : We cannot ftay. We are hurrying on from our mother hills, Said the little Springs ; we fhall foon be gone : Drink a long draught as we hurry on ; With the falling eve we fhall join the river, To-morrow be loft in the fea for ever : We cannot ftay. We cannot ftay, faid my petted Flowers ; Gay tendrils next year fhall cover your door, But we fhall have fled to bloom no more : Go, gather fome leaves to keep for our fake, For next year there fhall be no leaves to take ; We cannot ftay. I follow thofe ftars, faid a dying child ; And all my hopes, faid I, follow thofe waves, And they fleep like thofe flowers in perfumed graves ; And I heard them fing, as I faw them flee, There's a brighter world for us, and for thee : We cannot ftay. 224 Sonnet. Changing friends of a changing world, Keep heart ! — we may love what we have loved bell: In a changelefs world, where all are bleft ; Where only the forrows that make us mourn, And only our fighs fhall figh in their turn ; We cannot flay. A SONNET. WRITTEN AT LAUSANNE. By the Very Rev. W. F. HOOK, D.D. mid the vineyards of ferene Laufanne, Serene I walk, or in her rofeate bowers I while away the foftlv gliding hours, 'Mid foothinir nVhts and founds, and all that can DO ' Becalm yet elevate the foul of man : Yet there, where in the dilhmce Nature cowers Beneath the avalanche, and the ftorm lowers Upon a lea of ice, — e'en there I lean The alpine path I late with labour trod : And thus the foul, in the calm eve of life, Amazed at dangers it found grace to ihun, And foothed by the eternal peace ofGod, Looks back upon a couile of duty run, Reined ferenelv from .1 world offtrife. 225 OUR LITTLE CHILD. By GERALD MASSEY. tttith feeking hearts we ftill grope on ^* Where dropp'd our jewel in the duft The looking crowd have long fince gone, And ftill we feek, with lonely truft, Our little child with radiant eyes ! In all our heartach we are drawn Unweeting to your little grave ; There, on the heavenly mores of dawn, Breaks gentlier forrow's fobbing wave, O little child with radiant eyes ! Dark underneath the brightening fod, The fweeteft life of all our years Is crowded in ae gift to God : We ftand without the gate in tears ! — O little child with radiant eyes ! Heart-empty as the acorn-cup, That only fills with wintry fhowers, The breaking cloud but brimmeth up With tears this pleading life of ours, O little child with radiant eyes ! We think of you, our angel-kith, Till life grows light with ftarry leaven ; We never forget you, darling, with The golden hair waving high in heaven — ;yes 226 The Pearls of Time. Your white wings grown, you will conquer Death ; You are coming through our dreams e'en now, With two blue peeps of heaven beneath The arching glory of your brow, — Our little child with radiant eyes ! We cannot pierce the dark, but oft You fee us with looks of pitying balm ; A hint of heaven, a touch more foft Than kifTes. All the trouble is calm, O little child with radiant eyes ! Think of us wearied in the frrife ; And when we fit by forrow's ftreams, Shake down upon our drooping life The dew that brings immortal dreams, O little child with radiant eyes ! THE PEARLS OF TIME. '-pur. flood of Time throws out upon the ftrand, A Its many-colour'd (tones, with (hells and land, But genuine pearls among them lie : Mankind, upon the margin where they're thrown, Like children picking up the pebbles cry — " Another Wonc, another precious itone !" And pais the pearls unheeded by. 227 SAINT OUEN. By WILLIAM SAWYER, Es 8 . '-pHROUGH the market-place of Rouen ** PafT'd St. Ouen on a day j Clamorous difeafe and fqualor Throng'd about him on his way. On his heart, fo pure and fainted, Smote thefe horrors like a pain, — With a fickening fenfe of loathing Clofe he grafp'd his purple train : — Grafp'd it clofe and hurried onward, Paffing leper, cripple, on, — In his ears wild curfes ringing, Like a devil's benifon. Onward yet, till on a fudden Started he, — as men will ftart Hearing the fmall voice of confcience Speaking in the guilty heart. Not the curfing, not the loathing From his cheek the blood beguiled ; It was but the piteous wailing Of a feeble, outcaft child. Hideous, filthy, red with fever, He beheld it at his feet, — " Pardon, Lord," he cried, " the horror In this bofom all unmeet ! 228 Saint Ouen. u As to me the foulefr. creature — So am I to Thee, the pure — And as Thou with me endured:, Shall I not with thefe endure ? " Pardon ! pardon ! " In his bofom, Neftled clofe, the child he bore, Onward to the great cathedral, Inward through the lowly door. To Our Lady's fhrine he bore it (Seven tapers burning there), Then before the loathfome burden Falling, clafp'd his brow in prayer. " Pardon, Jem, my difdaining Aught that Thou doff: not difdain ; This my penance, for Thy fervice This poor babe to rear and train." Glow'd the father's wafted ringers Crimfon'd to his (haded fight; Starting, he beheld the chapel Radiant with a wondrous light ; Felt the air perfumed with incenfe, As from unfeen cenfers thrown ; Saw a fmile celefria] playing Round the Virgin's lips of (tone ; Saw no child before the altar, Saw above the tapers feven, Where no longer child, but feraph, It went mining up to heaven. 229 THE WIND'S MISSION. By MARY SANDERSON ED.MONDSTON. t have fvvept over defert, city, and plain, — A Ye may track my itep on the mighty main : Yon noble fhip, that in triumph bore A thoufand hearts to their native more, I met in my mad career of joy, And fhatter'd her as an infant's toy; Bravely me toil'd, but I laugh'd in fcorn, — Her drowning wail on my blaft is borne. To the icy North, on my viewlefs wing, I have carried tidings of early fpring j In the funny land where the orange grows, I have fipp'd the dewdrop from the rofe ; They chain'd me awhile in a laughing bower, Where I ftole the fcent from many a flower ; And I fang a lullaby foft and low, As I rock'd a cradle to and fro, Where an Indian mother had laid to reft Her babe, like a bird, in its leafy neft ; I have prefT'd my finger, hot and dry, On the burning lids of a traveller's eye, Who laid him down in the defert to die. I have fann'd the dying maiden's cheek, — How pure fhe feem'd, how faintly meek ! And I kiff'd her forrowing lover's brow, As I bore through her cafement his laft fond vow. I have hung over groves of fpices rare — In the jungle fwept o'er the tiger's lair ; 230 Sonnet — Peace and JVar. I have moan'd a dirge o'er the lowly bed Where the hope of a widov/'d heart was laid ; I have hurl'd the avalanche from mountains fteep, And I've flept in caves of ocean deep. I have wafted the found of a Sabbath-bell ; As it rofe from the depths of a fhadv dell, On an erring heart its fummons fell : Then I bore on my pinions light to heaven The anthem of praife from that foul forgiven. M SONNET. By WESTLAND MARSTOX, Es<>. PEACE AND WAR. an is God's living temple, and the hand Is impious that, for conqueit, gain, or hate, The hallow'd walls of rlefh would defecrate With bloody violence. For ever bann'd Be they that joy in war ! But fince no fane Exifts but for a worfhip, and our Lord, Being Lord of Juftice, llill is Lord ofHofts, When 'neath the oppreflbr's yoke the lands complain, Or thought and freedom riv the invaded coafts, — Deem it religion then to bear the fword ! The fortrefs is a temple in that hour, A priefl the chief who fights for Right with Tower. Strike down even man for what makes man divine, Nor dilobey the God to lave the lhrine ! 231 THE TWO DEATHS. By PATRICK SCOTT, Esq, Author of '" Footpaths between Tivo Worlds" &c. T)ENEATH an Indian fun, *-* His young limbs bound and bent To the rough plain, a foldier kneels, And calmly looks on earth, and feels He has no future there, content With duty done. Strong-arm'd in faith, he feems more like A conqueror than a captive. " Strike ! " He cries, impatient, as the foe O'er his white neck fufpends the blow : " Live ! " they exclaim, — " life, all we give ; But, Chriftian, curfe thy God, and live ! " To them he deigns no words, But turns his naked head where near A fellow-captive ftands in fear Of the fharp heathen fwords. Older he was in years, but ftill Lefs grown in fpirit than the firft, With breaft more fitted for the burft. Of battle, with the chance to kill, Than thus before his hated foes To ftand, without the power to ward The coward death defcending down : He felt the martyr's fate was hard, Nor clear enough before him rofe The vifion of its crown. 232 The Two Deaths. To him the younger warrior cries, " Turn from thefe murderers, — turn To our good Heaven your eyes, It fends thefe trials to difcern The traitor from the true ; Short is whate'er their rage can do. By a falfe foe's fair words enticed, Stoop not, ignobly fafe, to live ; Nor barter the eternal Chrifr. For aught that Time can give ! " Alas ! though low in nVht of men, Red-gafh'd the youthful hero lies ; When fouls are fummon'd to the ikies, Death but ennobles then. Once in a Chrifrian land there lav, Far from the bruit of battle-fray, A ftricken noble. Wealth was fpent, And (kill was tafk'd in vain, to cheer That fdent room, where Death had lent To fay that he was near : Friends watch'd befide the fick man's bed, While menials troop'd with noifelefs tread, And artful Luxurv lirove to fteal The lling from wounds it could not heal. On coronet and purple veil — The brazen ferpents of his rank — He might have gazed to foothe his foul; Or bound the lrar upon his brealr To frill its heavings, as he drank His drugs from golden bowl. ComforU 233 He could have look'd upon the pair, — Upon an ancient line — his fires ; And on a life of vice — his own : How placidly, if birth alone Could make the prefent pageant laft, Or quench the future and its fires ! But he look'd forward, and afraid To meet the view, fhriek'd out for aid, — Yet not to Heaven, and not in prayer, But ftruggling feebly with the air, As if in the laft mortal ftrife j And thefe his laft of mortal founds, — " O Hell ! I'll give a thoufand pounds For one more hour of life ! " The rude grave for the rudely flain, Or marble tomb and funeral train ; Do thefe, when bodies part from breath, Make up for fouls the whole of death ? COMFORT. FROM THE GERMAN OF BUERGER. ■hen Slander's tongue is wounding thee, Then let this thought thy comfort be The worft of apples are not they Selected by the wafps for prey. W 234 SONG FOR THE NEW YEAR. By the Rev. HENRY BURGESS. LL.D. Ph.D. '-pOLL the bell ! old Time has juft departed ; A Ring the chimes ; a New Year now advances. We loved the dead, vet are not broken-hearted ; Young Time fucceeds, and joy is in his glances : We'll twine a wreath of mingled light and gloom, Bright flowers for life, dark cvprefs for the tomb. Toll the bell ! the pair, feems made of lighs ; Ring the chimes ! the future may be gladnefs. For davs to come hope pleafures ftill fupplies ; To dwell on vanifh'd things, it were but madnefs ; We'll clofe the ear againft that palling bell, Which is of Time for ever gone the knell. Toll the bell ! 'tis memorv hears its wailing ; Ring the chimes ! 'tis hope their found enhances. Alas ! the pall will ever be prevail!: . The future is to man a thing of chances. A iMemn note the pair may fitly borrow ; Will joyous peal> fo well befeem the morrow : Toll the bell ! with notes ferenelv fad ; Rini: the chimes ! and make their mufic fweet : The future mav be hail'd with feelings glad, When o'er the pail we bend with reverence meet. Thus hope and memory ever ihould combine, And let the cvprefs with (pring flower* entwine. To a Thrujh finging in December. 235 Toll the bell ! with utterance deep and clear ; Ring the chimes ! each merry note defining. A harmony proceeds to wifdom dear, The melody of earth and heaven combining. Then hail ! ye founds of days of coming gladnefs, Thus mellow'd, not o'erpower'd, by notes of fadnefs. TO A THRUSH SINGING IN DECEMBER, By the Rev. G. BRAITHWAITE, M.A. T 10 winter thou art telling fpring-tide tales, Dear bird, that warbleft in yon funny tree ; Thou wouldft withdraw me into budding vales, With love attuning Nature's minftrelfy. 'Tis fweet — yet ftill forbear to antedate The balmy breezes and the vernal fides ; Thy notes are all too gay — it is too late — Lift, lift thofe founds, the old year's lateft fighs. So have I feen in fome fequefterM nook, The carelefs dear one, of fome two years' fpa*i, Conning the pictures of an infant's book And making all the merriment fhe can ; Unwitting of the tears that fteep meanwhile The fading cheek fhe dearly loves to kifs ; Unwitting that the mournful, cheerful fmile To-morrow morning fhe may wake and mifs. 236 THROUGH THE VEIL. By ARTHUR J. MUNBY, M.A. t->air leaf, fo crifp and curl'd, and yet fo fair, * Whofe veined purples fhading into bronze Make autumn lovely — is it hard for once To fall thus gently through the filent air And die ? Fair bird, uprifing from the ftartled brake On wings that only bear thee into death — Is it fuch pain, to leave thy haunt beneath The hazels, and of wounds that man can make To die ? Fair rofe, yet lingering where the topmoft fpray Climbs through the trellis o'er the garden wall — Is it fuch grief, to fee thy petals fall So fail, and having watch'd them all away, To die ? Thus while I fit and murmur, half in dreams, Acrofs the valley like a parted foul Shoots the white (learn of travel : though its goal Be far, it dips into the earth, and feems To die : " Ah, then !" I (aid, " if death be only this — Through the dark hills a channel Giort and wide That leads to funihine on the other fide — Then better than the belt of life it is To die." 2 37 AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. By J. SMART LINWOOD, Es 9 . Author of" T/ie Dream of Freedom,'' and other Poems. »-pHE ftrife is pad ; the life is fpent ; * The heat of fight is o'er ; I'll lay me down befide my bride Who long fince went before. I'll lay me down befide the tomb That hides her winfome form ; The calm grows fweet, I love no more The turmoil of the ftorm. The fpectres of long-buried hours Throng round me thick and faft, The might-have-been of life is loll In the unreturning paft ; And I ftand alone, amid the wrecks Of hopes that once loom'd warm Through dreams of tranquil joys, unvex'd By dread of coming ftorm. The beacon-light of Fame that mines From labour's lofty hill Is ever within reach of toil, And energy, and will ; But, oh ! the heart that would afpire Muft love no earthly form, Or bid a long farewell to calm, And brave the bitter ftorm. 238 An Old Mans Reverie. Ambition thirfts for human life, And ever claims her prey ; And thofe who feek her arms muft call All other love away. She was my jealous paramour — Her touch laid low the form That elfe had nettled to my heart In funfhine or in ftorm. And from that hour, a mournful man, The fmile of Fame I woo'd ; A long and cheerlefs way I wallc'd, Yet not in folitude ; For ever by my fide there ftood A radiant angel form, That foothed mv fpirit when I met And fiercely braved the ftorm. The goal is reach'd, and now I feel How barren mv defire ; We live for duty, and In vain Seek Fame's confuming fire. I '11 lay me now befide the tomb That hides mv loll: love's form : Sweet calm conies down ; farewell for aye The turmoil of the llonn. 239 TRIAL. By ROBERT W. BUCHANAN, Esq^. Author of " Mary : and other Poems." tt then folding up my forrow I have hidden it * * Beyond the reach of eyes, I think of that ftrange time when firft, unbidden, it Leapt from the memory in which it lies, And breathed its ftrong foul on my deftinies. Acting my part upon the ftage of this Mortality, I think That there is lefs of beautiful in blifs, Than in fuch tearful peace as on the brink Of trial we may fafhion, link by link. One touch of natural woe, and I collect The awful calm that muft Lie even in defpair, and ftand erect ; So, fprinkling pious tears upon her duft, I grafp my folemn agony, and truft. The. feeble calm that I have filch'd from pride, — All unction I have dared To flatter mifery with, are caft afide ; And by the phantom of my wrongs unfcared, I ftand erect with brow and bofom bared. 240 THE LIVING CROSS. A LEGEND. By WILLIAM CYPLES, Es the he.. :he hear: : > liveth, but hath fpoken , when left to weep alone ; To * _■ mind and Ipirit brok How falfe th , and bufy mart, Rep eat 1 : the hea ^hieen Guinivere. 253 And hear, O men, if ve would have God blefs Your days with peace, or future blifs decree, Never forget a mother's firft carefs, Nor flight one hand that hath befriended ye ! So fhall ye rind, as year by year departs, God is your friend — a friend that knows all hearts ! QUEEN GUINIVERE. By Miss MARY SEYTON. wear a crown of gems upon mv brow, Bright gems drop down upon my yellow hair, And none can tell, beneath their grandeur, how Mv brain is rack'd with care ; I How wicked love my loft foul is enchaining : As finful men are chain'd to torture's wheel, So I the prifoner of my griefs remaining My own dark doom do feal. There is a figure that I mould not fafhion, W hole form I fhape from every changing fhade \ The fhadow of my wild and wicked pamon, I meet in grove and glade. There is a voice, whofe mufic, ever changing, I hear in every murmur of the fea, In every wind o'er moor and mountain ranging, In every ruffling tree. 254 $* ■uinrjcrc. There is a face, I fee in mournful fplendour, In each ftar-jewel of the crown of night, Whofe lineaments all nature's beauties render, In fhadow and in light. There is a dream that I mould perifh dreaming, A dream that haunts me ltill by night and day ; But yet fo fubtle am I in fair feeming, None dare my fame gainfav. And thus I murmur, O my Launcelot ! Firft of all warriors breathing heaven's breath •, I pray to die, that thou may it be forgot — If we forget in death. my loft foul ! O my loved Launcelot ! My broken faith ! Thofe deep and dreaming eyes, 1 cannot hide me where thou Cornell not, To fhut me from the fkies. O weary earth without my Launcelot ! O dreary life bereft of end or aim ! Save to feelc out fome folitarv fpot Wherein to hide my Oiame. O fatal paffion that abforbs my life ! () dreadful madnefs that confumes my foul ' A Queen ! ay, worfe, () mifery, a wife ! God give me fel£*control. God give me ftrength to bear and filence ke< Angels, once women, pity woman's pain, And hulh me to that Qumber calm and d From which none wake again ! A The Sailor s Bride. 255 THE SAILOR'S BRIDE. By J. W. KING, Author of " Ernejl the Pilgrim : a Poem." sound came over the booming Deep, The heaving Deep, Where the dark waves leap ; It came with a wildering, wailful glee, Which told of a giant agony, Made ftrong men ftart, made ftout hearts weep. A cry came up from the defolate more, The ftorm-rent more, 'Mid the breaker's roar ; A rifted bark, with a fhuddering crafh, Whirl'd down, deep down, in the lightning's flam, To rife no more, to rife no more ! To the wreck-ftrewn beach flew a womanly form, A fhrinking form, With a bofom warm ; Wrung her pale hands, and clutch'd her hair, Shriek'd through the dark in a wild defpair, And plunged in the ftorm, the pitilefs ftorm. By the ghoftly moon they fearch'd for men, For drown in or men, In the ftorm-fiend's den ; Their fhouts rang out o'er the temper!: hoarfe, As they fnatch'd from the furf a cold, cold code, Then fearch'd again, and fearch'd again. 256 To my Little Louifa. Morn fwept the Deep : — The death-howl fled, The wild waxes fled, The fierce winds fped ; Caff on the ftrand all bleak and bare, A gentle form, fo young and fair, Lay dead and cold, lay cold and dead. Seeking her love poor Mary died, So lonely died By the fevering tide : — 'Mid the bittern's fhriek and the tempefVs roar, A weird wail haunts the defolate fhore : " The Sailor's Bride ! — the Sailor's Bride ! " TO MY LITTLE LOUISA. WHO LIES IN ST. GILES'S CHURCHYARD, CAMBERWELL. By EDWIN F. ROBERTS, Es 8 . Author of " Athanaje : a Dramatic . /^h ! my darling little Louie, thpu art lying very ftill, ^^^ In thy wintry grave fo warmly, in the bofom of the hill; Paie is the pretty mouth, and doled, I loved fo oft to kifs, And ilill that tongue whole prattle was to me unfpeaking blifs. Still are the tiny feet I oft heard pattering up the ltairs, Vv hen in thy frolic moments thou wouldfl catch me unawai 1 To my Little Louifa. 257 And ftill the merry laughter, that was mufic, whofe deep glee Stirr'd up an echo in my heart, divine as minftrelfy. For thy tiny voice was mufic, but, ah me ! 'tis now at reft— Still, oh ! fo ftill, my Louie, that its echo in my breaft, But to think upon and love fo well, yet makes my fad eyes gliften ; The voice which once lifp'd forth thofe prayers, the angels love to liften. And ftill the limbs that gamboll'd in the garden o'er the grafs — And oft in thought I fee thee, when the well-known fpot I pafs ; I hear thy voice, I know each tone, I fee thee fkip and play j But, 'tis only memory, darling — thou art very far away ! Thou'rt ftill as death, my Louie ! thou'rt lying 'mong the dead, And I fometimes would be with thee, and lay there my aching head ; For thy fweet brown eyes they haunt me : would to kifs thee it were given ! But the great wings of Our Father " fold thee in His radiant Heaven ! " Cold thy once warm lips, my darling; they are rofy now no longer ; Never more, love, fhall I kifs them, with a love that grew the ftronger, s 258 To my Little Louija. As they cried cc Papa ! " in accents that oft made mv heartftrings thrill — They are cold now, my fweet Louie, as a frozen winter- rill. And thofe dimpled hands are folded, palm to palm, upon thy cheft — How I figh and yearn to fee thee, in my moments of unreft ! Like an angel's was thy coming ; like* an angel's, fhort thy flay, Leaving us to live and mifs thee — thou wert on thv rear- ward way. Now and then thy loving mother turns thy baby-clothes all o'er ; Cherifh'd treafures, prized memorials, unforgotten ever- more. And I fee her in a tremble, her lips qiuVring, her hands preft, As though again me held the loved one fo often neftling in her bread. God hath taken thee, and blefPd thee ; thou art happy now, my love — Thou art dwelling with the feraphs and the hierarchs above. Though we both have often (igh'd, dear, for the lofs which is thy gain, May God be good, and grant that we meet OUf Louie The Fall of the Oak. 259 THE FALL OF THE OAK. By the Rev. T. DAVIS, M.A. Author of " Devotional Verje for a Month,'' &c. >-pHE woodman lifts his axe on high, A And ftrikes the giant oak ; While Echo, as fhe watcheth nigh, Laughs at the puny ftroke. The lifted axe defcends again ; Again, in rocky cell, The merry maiden laughs, and then Flies laughing through the dell. And ftill, as every blow defcends, Her joyous note is heard, And fweetly with the warbling blends Of ftreamlet and of bird. Ah ! wherefore laughs the maiden fo ? She deems the woodman's ftroke Is idle as an infant's blow Againft the giant oak. For that old oak hath borne the ftorm Through many changeful years, And ftill his venerable form In fteadfaft might uprears. 260 The Fall of the Oak. He feemeth, too, with fullen pride To bear the woodman's blow ; And as his arms, outltretching wide, Could crufh the feeble foe. But wider, deeper, grows the wound The frrokes refounding make ; And white it gleams the trunk around, And the light branches make. Tr^en on one gaping fide alone, The certain axe defcends ; Until the woodman, weary grown, His pitilefs work fufpends. Awhile he irands and fetches breath, And wipes his dewy brow ; And Echo, too, is frill as death ; She feems appalled now. The little birds have hufh'd their long Around the folemn fcene ; And, hidden the green brakes among, Do marvel much, I ween. All, all is frill ! the breeze that flgh'd But now hath pafPd away ; Or in the old trees funk and died, AN here once it loved to play. Then, bent upon his ruthlefs work, An upward gazing eye The woodman turns, wherein doth lurk The pride of victorv. The Fall of the Oak. 261 He looks that he may judge aright, Where next the blows mould be, That from his arm of gathering might Shall fell the doomed tree. 'Tis done : the fwift ftrokes fall again Deep in the wound around : The leaf-crown'd monarch leans — and then Falls crafhing to the ground. Ah ! dread the found, and fad the fight ! And yet, crufh'd, broken tree, One thought fhall cheer : no child of night Shall make a God from thee. No ; go to ferve far nobler ufe : While dies thy hidden root, In human hearts for Heaven produce Earth's faireft living; fruit. Teach man to blefs the Love that yields Earth, fea, and azure dome ; And thee through life to adorn his fields ; Then build, grace, cheer his home. 262 AN APRICOT TREE'S EXPERIENCE. By the Rev. W. PARKINSON, M.A. " Tongues in trees." — sis ycu Like it. '-pHE nights were damp, the winds were cold, * And milts and vapours gather'd round, The fun in narrower orbit roll'd, The fall'n leaves rotted on the ground ; And through my veins, now fhrunk and dry, A paralyzing numbneis crept, That in a long, long lethargy Prifon'd my fenfes, and I flept. What paiT'd in that long interval, What froft or ftorm the air perplex'd, I know not ; nor can I recall My dreams, if dreams my (lumber vex'd ; Until a (oft, delicious fenfe Over my (luggifh nature ftole. Of warmth and rapture too intenfe i' or ileep to ftifle or control \ And life as from a hidden fpring Gufh'd forth, and emuloufly fill'd Each little channel, munll'iing To the fweet want that in it thrill'd ; An Apricot Tree's Experience. 263 Till, overflowing with excefs Of its exuberant delight, Out of its dull unconfcioufnefs It burft and blofTom'd into light. Then peering forth with myriad eyes I faw the young grafs bright with dew, I faw the glory of the fkies, I faw the bees their toil renew. And now it was a bird's blithe lay, And now an infect, flitting by, And now the. calm of doling day, And now the fouth wind's balmy figh, That blotted out the dreary paft, And, left the future mould appal, A veil over the future caft, And made the prefent all in all. Ah ! treach'rous warmth ! Ah ! falfe, foft breath ! That woo'd the earth with wanton wing, And fow'd my tender boughs with death : Unreal mockery of fpring ! For from the biting eaft a blaft Suddenly, like an icy hand, Over my glowing bloflbms pafPd, And changed my golden hope to fand. But when, in grief's flrft bitternefs, I curfed th' inconftancy of fpring, Out of the depths of my diftrefs This voice feem'd in my ear to ring : 264 The Birkenhead. " The fault is all thine own, if pride, Too forward grown, has had a fall. There is a hope which will abide : Temptation is the lot of all. " Let not a few falfe gleams of light Lure thee to think thy day is come, Left in a profitlefs delight Thou lofe the promife of thy bloom. cc Be ftill, and in the throbbing vein Bid the loud feverifh pulfe be mute : Time's prefent lofs is future gain, The flower's delay its perfect fruit." THE BIRKENHEAD. By the Rev. E. D. JACKSON, B.C.L. Author of " Lays of .-. "There was a regiment on board when the vcfTel went down : the men folded their arms, and funk in the waters, as calmly as heroes going to after a great victory." — A.. Ship." TT7EF.P for the true and brave, Under the dark, dark waters King ! Over them rolls the ftormy wave, Am! the (lartled Pea-birds fhrill are crying; The boaflful tempeils howl with angry breath, And the hoarle thunder peals the hymn of death. The Birkenhead. 265 Peace ! peace ! tumultuous furge ! And ye, O winds ! more gently blow ; Indite fome pleafing, tuneful dirge, And let your faddeft numbers flow. O arched roofs ! and myftic caves profound ! Re-echo foft the plaintive, folemn found. We afk no pageant : no, Nor awful plumes, nor blazon'd hearfe : Let no mock tears of forrow flow, Nor pomp of monitory verfe ! Truce, truce to chifell'd ftone, or facred fod ; Leave them, O leave them, only with their God. Why mould ye idly weep r Without a figh, and unappall'd, They eyed the grimly yawning deep, By honour's voice and duty call'd ; Down to thofe gulfs ye faw them calm depart, God and his country written on each heart. In cluttering rank and file They calmly watch'd their doom, And, almoff with a fmile They ftepp'd into the tomb. Down with the finking fhip they fteadfaft went, And fcorn'd to fear the greedy element. There peal'd no trumpet's cry, No roufing fife, no thundering drum -, And yet fo brightly flafh'd their eye, As if the foe were come, 266 The Birkenhead. And thrill'd once more the fpirit-ftirring call, " For England conquer, or for England fall ! " There is for him no death Who lives for virtue, truth alone. The ruining of a little breath, A few fharp pangs, a parting groan, And then, oh, then, beatitude for ever, Where ftorms are hufh'd, and wrongs and ftrifes are never. Ye fpirits of the billow, V* ho watchful guard the £ood man's reft, Smooth down, I pray, their lonely piL. By all our prayers and wifhes bleft ; Let no rude current's voice, nor whirlwind's thr Break the long rapture of their deep rep And oft when funs are dying, And Cummer twilight paints the fens, V\ hen golden waters low are flghing Refponfive to the vefper bre. U fit and willful eye the dimpling wave, And breathe a blefling o'er the foJ ive. & Brave hearts, farewell ! deep 0:1 in p< Not long (hall tvrant-ocean reign, — Soon will thy thr. , lion ! C< And all be Liberty again. Rife, then, () loll ! for ever nobly found ! A rife, immortal ones ! and be ye erown'd ! 267 MOCHRAS. A SHELL-STREWN BEACH NEAR HARLECH, NORTH WALES. By the Rev. C. LESINGHAM SMITH, M.A. Tjow fweet a paitime 'tis to wander, *-*• Mochras, on thy lonely more, And o'er thy many treafures ponder, Lift'ning to th' Atlantic roar ! Every tide, and every billow, Bears to thee fome lovely prey, And ftrands it on the pebbly pillow, Glitt'ring from the ocean fpray. The cockles lie in rich profufion, Buffeted by furge and ftorm ; And frill, unbroken, fweet delufion ! Mimic human hearts in form. How beauteoufly the pecten fparkles, Fan-like, on the fandy bed ! With purple tint at times it darkles, Gleams with white, or glows with red. The limpet, like a fmall umbrella, Multiplies beneath the feet : In equal crowds the turritella Shows a fpire prolong'd and neat. 268 Mochras. Oh ! pafs not by the fwoln dofina, 1 Nor the tellen, light 2 or flout ; 3 Nor elegantly fhaped cyprina, Cream within and filk without. Obferve the folen, like a fabre, 4 Near the fhorten'd mya 5 lie, And with them many a graceful neighbour, Riveting the vagrant eye. The magic trochus, f) half enfhrouded 'Mid the heap, adorns the bank, Its fnowy white with crimfon clouded, Painted pearl of nobleft rank. Ianthinas, though frail, are fcatter'd, After feas have raged anew, At times along the beach, unmatter'd, Of a rainbow violet hue. The waves have oft in their incurfion Strewn the echinus on th' weed, Mocking the turban of the Perlian With its rows of pearl and bead. Nor do thefe lifelefs objects only Looks of admiration crave ; For countlefs birds in crowds, or lonely, Haunt the lhore, or dare the wave. 1 Dofina turgida. - Tellina 1 ' rellina craflTa. 4 Solen enfii. " Trochus magus. Mochras. 269 The gull is now with gentle motion Pacing on the dripping fand ; And, arrow-like, now fkims the ocean, Where the waves are white and grand. Here pretty fandpipers are racing O'er the beach, a nimble flock ; And there each other are they chafing Sportfully from rock to rock. The gannet overhead is sailing, Where her eggs unguarded lie Amid the fhells, and loud is wailing When fhe deems the danger nigh. t> to And o'er the zones of weed flill dripping, Limit of each tidal fea, Myriads of little fhrimps are fkipping Luitily, with wondrous glee. Nor fcorn to mark the vegetation, Humbly though its beauties woo, Which He who framed the whole creation Spreads for thoughtful eyes to view. The fucus, with its beaded bladder, Covers all the rocks around ; But when the ftormy waves are madder, Larger plants are driv'n aground. The ftrap-weed, glofTy and gigantic, Deck'd with neatly-plaited frill, Is rifted from the far Atlantic, Where it once grew dark and flill. 270 Mochras. In quiet pools, or deep or fhallow, Corallines difplay their charms, And white or purple, red or yellow, Spread their nicely-jointed arms. Anemones are here adhering To the rock with lufty power ; Now like a jellied mafs appearing, Now expanded like a flower. Thefe are Thy glorious works, Eternal ! All things which we hear or fee, Beneath, around us, or fupernal, Have their being but from Thee. Thy whole creation fpread before us Breathes to Thee one hymn of love ; And hark ! Thine angels fwell the chorus, Chanting from the ikies above ! And, oh : if earth is now unfolding Scenes thus lovely to our view, What rapture will be our's beholding Earth and Heav'n alike made new ! 271 LEARNING FROM NATURE. By JOHN EMMET, Esq.. -pvRiNK of the alpine ftream, -*-' Eat of the garner'd corn ; Go, lie on the fummer fvvard and dream, And fetch new light from the violet beam That brings the morn. Sit in the moonlit tower, Sit where the night-bird fings, And watch the bat to its breezy bower, And the moth, as it folds in the folding flower, Its amber wings. Rife with the moorland bee, Sing with the mountain breeze, And gather ltrength from the healthy fea, And bring love and peace from the hawthorn lea And folemn trees. Weep with the drops of dew, Laugh with the golden ftar, Open your foul as wide as the blue, And with granite old headlands climb, and view The lands afar. Toil with the crater's glow, Play with the wild flower's creft, Be firm and bold as the rocks below, And as kind and calm as the arching bow On the ftorm-o-od's breaft. 272 Learning from Nature. Search in the jewell'd minus, Stray on the coral ftrand, Grow rich by the fapphire cloud that lines The couch of the fun, when the monarch mines Adieu to land. Love with the gentle birds, Praife with the hoar cafcade, And utter joy with the lambkin herds, That bleat to their dams their mufical words, In the pine-wood's made. Dive into hidden caves Like the merman in the fea, Swim with the nautilus over the waves, And mufe with the owlet among the graves, Where dead men be. Think with a hearty brain, Breathe with a joyous breath, Let the mow bleach each innocent (lain, And the wild heart warm with a holy (train That knows not death. Feel with the (mailed worm, Learn from the lowefl clod, (jet truth in the flam of the lambent iiorm, And beauty and good from every form That tells of ( rod. 273 IN A CATHEDRAL. By MARIE J. EWEN FOTHERBY. ere let me reft. Through pictured pane aflant, Enrich 'd and foften'd, funfet-fplendours fall ; No ftep 'mid thefe fair aifles, no voice of chant, But a moft rev'rent filence over all. H In this great calm there is deep harmony, A dream, a prefence, and a power of love : In trembling rapture and high thought muft be The fong to which alone the foul can move. With healing power, foft fanning airs are borne From heaven athwart my foul. I feel this place, In truth, is holy. When the heart is torn, Beneath calm brows none read the forrow's trace ; But not the lefs 'tis there. Then, oh, to dwell Beneath the fhadow of fuch folitude, Where no vain world can break the hallow'd fpell, And on the peace of God no ftorms intrude ! And while I watch, the deep'ning funfet throws Unearthly fplendours o'er the diftant fhrine ; The veined pavement iris-colour'd glows, And all is wrapp'd in lovelinefs divine. Pure marble figures with their clafped hands, And brows that funlight hath with glory crown'd. With heavenward glance each like a fpirit ftands As it were waiting for the trumpet-found. T 274 Glajionhury Abbey. Soft breeze of incenfe from the heavenly more, Without the cenfer, floats 'mid arches fair ; And the carved Hunts in prayer for evermore Gaze with fuch fmile as blefTed angels wear. Here let me reft alone : move gently, world, That no rude tumult break the deep repofe ; u Banner of love " is over all unfurFd, And in a voicelefs pfalm the foul o'erflows. GLASTONBURY ABBEY. By the Rev. CLAUDE MAGNAY, M.A. qee now where Order rifes from the tomb, ^ And Ruin finds a glorv and a home. No fretted ceiling holds the tuneful choir — To Heaven's high arch the tuneful longs alpirc. No clattering pavement, echoing to the tread, Difturbs the awe which breathes above the dead ' lis garden all — a living temple, free To earth, air, fkv, to nature, and to me. Should Fancy ftrive to reeonftrucl the lane, Soon Fancy, giddy, Tails to earth again ; And, loll in wonder, is content to fing — " A fitting reft lor virtue and a Line.' 1 I 275 THOUGHTS ON THE SEASHORE. By the Rev. THEODORE SHURT, M.A. stood upon the more, and gazed alone Upon the reftless wave, and heard it moan : It was an emblem of this turbid life — This pafTage to eternity through ftrife : And much I thought upon the ceafelefs cares That chequer life, and compafs it with fnares. Mem'ry and fancy both were bufy then, And told me of the heartleflhefs of men ; How rarely love prevails — how few have trod The path directed by the Son of God. Nature inanimate, inceflant groans O'er man's fad ruin — e'en the very ftones On this lone feafhore mow the ftamp of pain, And bear the mark of Sin and Satan's reign. But man goes forward, nor will deign to paufe, Nor think one moment of himfelf, the caufe Of all this mifery — this fallen world, In one vaft univerfal ruin hurl'd. Spirit ! that erft upon the deep didft brood, And curb the chaos of the primal flood, Oh ! fhine once more, Thy vital beams impart, And drive the gloom from man's benighted heart O'er the fad ruin fried Thy heavenly love ; Pour fire celeftial from Thy throne above ; Where hell once reign'd let heaven itfelf arife ; Save the loft foul, and bid him fcale the ikies ! 7 6 LIFE, A SOXG OF PRAISE. By MRS. POSTLETHWAITE. t ife is a pleafant tale childhood is telling **-* In its pure Eden of finlefs delight, — Thought that of ill hath nought, faith all excelling, Blefled in day-dreams, and dreamlefs in night. Life is an antique fane beauty hath hallow'd ; Youth hand in hand tread the pathways of old, And its fond memories linger, time-mellow'd, Lighting true hearts till the life-ftream be cold. Life is a mountain-height brave hearts are climbing, On its far headlands the blue heavens reft ; Hark ! ere they gain the fteep, vefpers are chiming, Dim in the milt lies the realm of the bleft. Life is an idle dream, dreamers are dreaming, Dawning in phantom, light fading in gloom ; Life is a Sibyl's Leaf, loll in the reading, Life is .1 myftery hid in the tomb. Life is but death to which mortals are clingii To life's true portal '; leads the Life is a fong ofpraife angels arc hymning On through eternal days, ever and 277 THE MARTYR-BOY. A TRUE NARRATIVE. By the Rev. R. TOMLINS, M.A. a young child's heart ! — of all weak things ***■ The weakeft to the proud world's eye ; To Faith's intenie imaginings A field where unfeen armies vie. Oh, there are times when to our fight, E'en on this fide the grave, is given A glimpfe revealing in full light The triumphs gain'd on earth by Heaven ! We fee on earth the Bethlehem Child Turning to flight the lion dread ; We fee the Virgin's Offspring miid Stamping in duff, the ferpent's head. In Him our little ones are great, In Him our feeble folk are ilrong ; And childhood fits in high eftate Amid the martyrs' noble throng. One of thefe little ones ere now, A brother of th' Almighty Child, Hath made the hoary finner bow In fear, or rage in frenzy wild. TJje Martyr-Boy. The wide Atlantic knows one place (It was but as the other day), Where childhood's ftrong baptiimal grace Kept man, and more than man, at bay. 'Tis a fad tale, — but grief is full Of joy in refignation's cup ; And churchyard-mounds look beautiful When funfet-glory lights them up. 'Tis of a twinkling itar, whofe name In heaven was written clear and brig ; And a fierce buril of hellifh flame, Faft crackling down to endlefs night. That, — a bright, blue-eved, holy thing, An orphan in a foreign clime ; Eight times — no more — the buds of fpring Had fweetly hail'd his vernal prime. This, — a man's form, whofe human heart To fome fierce beaft's had yielded place — If haply beait might own a part In one fo like to Satan's race. The child had feen that tyrant fin, And heard unmoved each bribe and threat Nor might could force, nor fraud could win, The willing memory to forget. 'Twas night : the lad had clofed his prayer, The monfter ftoodjuft where he knelt, Luring with fafcinating glare The gaze hunlelf lels law than felt. The Martyr-Boy. 279 " Now, in this inftant, make thy choice, Unfay thy word, or feel my rod ! " He chofe, with no uncertain voice, The ftripes of man, the hand of God. The fcourge grew weary of its talk ; Many the blows, the words were few, Save when the tempter paufed to afk, " Now wilt thou own thy word untrue ? " Two long, long hours, that little child Quiver'd beneath the oft-changed whip, Then, upward gazing, faintly fmiled, And faintly fpoke with trembling lip : " Cold ! oh, how cold ! " — the word fcarce fpoken, He fank upon the tyrant's breaft ; In ileep, by fcourge ne'er to be broken, The martyr-boy lay down to reft. Beneath the rude and pelting ftorm Of blows — fweet-fmelling facrifice ! — Slow fank that frail and fhatter'd form, As the bruifed flower in fragrance dies. And afk we, whence the potent word, Whence the mvfterious charm was given, To make e'en Satan's hand afford A lafh to urge the foul toward heaven ? The Bound, the Scourged, He gave that fhare Of facramental agony, The School'd by bonds and fcourge to bear The nails that fix'd Him to the tree. 280 On a Monument to Havelock. And He who led that child to fip Of His own cup of pain and woe, Shall ftreams fupply to his glad lip That never fate, and ever flow. ON A MONUMENT TO HAVELOCK. By Mrs. ROBINSON MULREADY. "Q ear'd to the memory of the brave, ^ Who made a nation's heart his grave, Is yon heroic pile ; Whofe fculpture greets the ftranger's eve, Bearing a name that cannot die, In our imperial ifle ! That pile for ages mail command The reverence of the Britifh land, As record of his fame : Till Time himfelf has pafPd away, That marble cannot know decay, Which bears great Havelock's name ! Memorial proud of gallant deeds, Where young Ambition glowing reads, In characters of light, Unclouded by the mifts of time, A narrative the mofl fublime Of Britons 1 martial might ! 28 1 THE MAGDALEN. By the Rev. W. PARKINSON, M.A. "The Son of Man is come to five that which was loft." — Matt, xviii. ] i. a lone in the drear wildernefs ! -** Where rocks and trees a hidden fear Suggeft, and on the heart imprefs The fenfe of danger lurking near ; Alone with nature ! where each found Of ftirring leaf or crackling bough Makes the pulfe leap with fudden bound, And the warm blood more fwiftly flow ; Alone upon the wide, wide fea ! With the unpitying fkies above, While all around capricioufly The hollow-fmiling waters move. Well might the foul, of hope bereft, In bitternefs its lot bemoan. With only memory's fhadow left Of joys that are for ever gone. Yet is there lonelinefs more drear, When in the city's crowded ftreets Thought reafTerts its fpell of fear, And confcience leifons old repeats ; t 2 282 The Magdalen. When former days of innocence Over the foul's remorfeful gloom, Spring like a rainbow, and the fenfe Of fhame with tearful rays illume. Oh, then, how vaft the folitude ! How manifold the forms of dread That on the trembling heart intrude ! What echoes mock the doubtful tread ! How memory, traveling o'er the paft, Beholds once more a peaceful home, — A funny fcene, on which was call No fhadow from the days to come \ Where a fweet child among the flowers Danced like a funbeam bright and free, Making the fummer-woven bowers Ring with the mulic of her gj b ee Where every day, with new delight, Amply the feafon's wafte repaid ; And nothing mark'd time's ceafelefs flight But richer funlight, deeper (hade ; And like a fountain-mirror pure Her inmoir heart to heaven was bare, And, in its innocence fecure, Dream'd not that earth had (in or (hare. But days, and months, and years hail flown, Arid ilill that peaceful fcene was fair, The Magdalen. 283 But the fweet child, a woman grown, Wore on her cheek the hue of care ; For love had o'er the mirror caft Its fhadow, and the heart in vain Recall'd the calm, unconfcious paft, Whofe light might ne'er return again ; But in its ftead were joys and fears, With more tumultuous interchange, And brighter fmiles and fadder tears, And afpirations wild and ftrange. But, ah ! a darker hour fucceeds, And, ftung by difappointment keen, The wounded heart in filence bleeds, Without a flay whereon to lean ; Till on th' unpitying ear of night This melancholy murmur falls, " What gloom has quench'd my morning light, And girt me round with prifon walls ! " I know that here is fin and fhame, And anguifh more than I can bear, And at my heart, with fangs of flame, Gnaws the fierce tooth of wild defpair. " And though I loathe the life I lead, Its fubtle web I cannot break, For I have fown the baneful feed, And muft the bitter harveft take. 284 The Magdalen. " There is no hope for one like me, Whom all the good diftruft or (corn — An outcaft from fociety ! O would that I had not heen born ! " I loathe to live, yet fear to die, For death might be a heavier doom. Whither, oh, whither, mall I fly ? — There is no reft, no peace, no home." Let thofe who no tranfgreffion own, Sinlefs in thought, and word, and deed, Firft caft the unforgiving ftone, And make the wounded fpirit bleed : But let all thofe, whofe earned cry Is ftill for pardon, ponder o'er That gracious voice, " Neither do I Condemn thee ; go, and fin no more." Let love its angel's hand extend To thofe who linger in the plain, With gentle care their fteps befriend, Till Zoar's fafe refuge they attain. o 285 SONNETS. By MARTIN F. TUPPER, Esq.. ur Emprefs Queen ! — Victoria's name of glory Added as England's grace to Hindoftan ! Oh, climax to this age's wondrous ftory, Full of new hope to India, and to man In heathendom's dark places ! For the light Of our Jerufalem mail now mine there Brighter than ever fince the world began. Yet, by a way chaotic, drear and gory, TravelPd this blefnng ; as a martyr might, Wreftling to Heaven through tortures unaware. Our Emprefs Queen ! for thee thy people's prayer All round the globe to God afcends united, That He may ftrengthen thee no guilt to fpare, Nor leave one act of goodnefs unrequited. A dream of empire, — and a waking thought ^"^ Patriot in wifdom, and of loyal worth, Which placemen will not cherifh as they ought Becaufe with fuch there ever was a dearth Of generous feeling in this frigid earth : I faw our Queen an Emprefs ; and her rule, Not forced by mercantile or office clerks, Nor mifprefented by fome party tool, But perfonal, and full of gracious works, Rejoicing every colony : I faw An Alfred, and all India profpering Under his fceptre, fway'd by England's law, — Auftralia, under Arthur triumphing, And Duncan, Scottifh Canada's young king. B 286 SORROW. By the Rev. H. C. ADAMS, M.A. Author of the "Twelve Foundations" a i' eside a fpring, whofe waters flovv'd Deep in an ancient foreff. dell ; Three holy men of old abode, Each feparate in his narrow cell. Apart from morn to eve they dwelt : Apart in fombre worfhip knelt. And, fpite the gloom of that lone place, None ever faw his fellow's face, Save only in the fummer's height ; When fometimes, ere the fall of night, Befide the fpring they would repair, And fit in gloomy filence there. It chanced, that at the clofe of day, A hoary traveller paiPd that way. He bent, the cooling wave to drink ; Then paufed, and refted on the brink. He mark'd the fhrouded forms fedate, Mute as the itoncs whereon they fate : In courteous accents then he broke The fuller] fpell, and thus he (poke : 14 Oh, reverend hermits, I would fain Of your fair grace a boon obtain. Say, wherefore do ye choofe to dwell Deep in this rugged forest dell — Sorrow. 287 And what unkindly barrier parts Yours from all other human hearts ? " The firft replied : " There was a maid I loved, and deem'd my love repaid. But when my paffion's tale I told, She anfwer'd with indifference cold. The pangs I bore were not in vain ; I will not chance fuch grief again." The fecond fpake : " I gave my heart To one who play'd the traitor's part. He lured my bride to depth of fhame, Flung fcorn upon my ancient name ; And when we met in deadly fight, His fkill prevail'd againft the right. The world of men is not for me, Where falfehood thrives, and guilt is free." The third purfued : u Beyond the reft Of human-kind my lot was bleft. Fair was the wife I clafp'd, and true ; Sweet faces round my table grew. Wealth heap'd my barns, and fwelPd my fails, Stored in my halls unnumber'd bales. There came o'er Fortune's face a frown ; At fea my argofies went down ; My vaflals burft their feudal chain, Levell'd my caftles with the plain ; And, fadder lofs than all I knew, The loved ones of my heart they flew, The world had much I counted dear — 'Tis loft, 'tis gone — and I am here !" 288 Sorrow. The old man heard them, each difclofe The hiflory of his hidden woes. Then anfwer made : " Your tales are fad, Nor deem me cold if I mould add, My own experience can recall A flory fadder than them all ! In manhood, when thefe veins were nll'd With the warm blood that age has chill'd, There came acrofs my daily way A maid, as fair as fummer's day, — So fair, my feventy years, I ween, Nor face nor form like hers have feen. I loved her, and my love, confeit, Found echo in her gentle breall : The months of patient waiting pail, I clafp'd my lovely bride at lait. But on our very nuptial day, When homeward failing o'er the bay, A fudden tempeft llruck the fail, Sunk in the furge our velTel frail : My ilirlen'd form the billows bore Senfelefs, but breathing, to the fhore ; Hut for my bride — the fearcfa was vain, Nor have I ever loved again ! "To calm the pangs of that long grief, In court and camp I fought relief; Mv dauntlels fvvoid and loyal pen Grew famous on the lips of men. There was a noble <>i the land, High in her counfels and command, Whole fecret treafon, long conceal'd, A hidden chance to me rexeal'd. Sorrow. 289 By cofhy oribes he firft efTay'd To buy my filence or my aid. FoiPd in that hope, a dark defign To make his falfehood feem as mine, The traitor wove ; — his poifon'd fhaft Was aim'd and launch'd with fubtleft craft. My fimple word and honefl: heart Could nought avail againft his art ; Convicted, fentenced, and difgraced, My fpurs hewn off, my fhield effaced, Renounced by kin, an outlaw bann'd, I left for aye my native land. The title I fo proudly bore Will found on human lips no more ; My wrong fhall in that day be mown, When men fhall know as they are known ! " He ceafed : and, as with one accord, The hermits three took up the word. " Oh, come," they cried, " for we allow We have not borne fuch grief as thou ! Come, build befide this fount thy cell, Here in our fdent foreff. dwell ; For in thefe folitudes alone Sorrow and falfehood are not known." " Not fo," the aged man replied, " I may not dwell your fount befide. Though deep the lofs I did fuftain, It hath but proved my greater gain ; For they who fuffer, yet believe, Do tenfold of their Lord receive. For houfe and lands, He doth beflow A home within His Church below ; iqo The Magnet in the Cloud. In place of kin Himfelf He gives, The Brother of each foul that lives ; Not His the falsehood that betrays, Or love with cold return repavs. In yonder city's crowded itreet My heart's true Brother I fhall meet. Nor hath this earth lb lone a fpot, Save haplv this, where He is not. Adieu !" The traveller role, and then With a mute gefture of farewell, To leek once more his fellow-men, PalT'd flowly through the forell dell. THE MAGNET IN THE CLOUD. Ey WALTER THORNBL'RV, E*fc ttthat filent force of voicelefs love * Draws up into the cloud The lark, that, fummon'd from above Bv feme unfeen, angelic Love, Grows not a whit more proud ? Yes ' fome divine magnetic love Allures him to the Ik Some gentle - of \o\ e, Propell'd from an Compels him from his neft to rife, Drawing him upward by a fpell In fome bright morning cloud to dwell. 291 TEJRNING. By ROBERT W. BUCHANAN, Esq_. Author of" Mary y and other Poems.'''' ttope, whofe filent eyes *~ * Seek my image in Thy breaft, Singeth me to reft Oft with her tears ; But me turns her filent eyes, While I {lumber, to the fpheres, And fhe lends her fecret fighs To the fkies. Oftentimes fhe brings From the bofom of the night, Feelings and fancies, white As her defire : The cherubim fhe brings Will liften to her lyre, Making morning with their wings As fhe fings. And the angels feem to own That Hope, the angel mild, And Faith, her little child, Though placed apart, Are dear, all angels own, To the moft Immortal's heart, As the fingers that are fown Round the Throne. 292 Teaming. So Hope, whofe azure eyes Seek my image in Thy breaft, Fans my fear to reft With angel-wings ; And the dreams are in her eve?. And the fancies, while fhe Tings, That Faith, the feraph wife, Alakes me prize. Singing fhe grows more fair, Till the mifts of fleep uproll — When looking through Thy foul, Hid in my breaft, I fee thofe vifions fair, — Hope and the people bleft, Of the earth and of the air, Singing there ! The End. 1 j. — prinl l , < I \ wmuwifiii >yww( ' ■ > ^L ' ' ' K? ifififirS' iiiftii?>; '{rft&r i : Sw« ./ ';| ! J iV . . ■ j-| Irasli™ 5 ■■■'. ■■;■' ; fflgK: