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'Tis he who lures with no deceitful guile,
Nor in another's breast would sorrow raise;
But seeks with tender care when foes revile,
To pour the welcome balm of friendly praise.

'Tis he who modestly ascribes to God
The praise his wisdom or his virtues win:
Pride never lowers o'er his blest abode,
But welcomes all who fear the power of sin.
'Tis he whose promise like a rooted rock
No blast can shake, no tempest can dissolve;
Nor fear, nor loss, nor selfish views unlock
The steadfast purpose of his fix'd resolve.

'Tis he who lends to comfort the distrest,
In works of love he seeks his only fee:
No proffer'd bribe can move his gen'rous breast
To wound the fame that lives from censure free.

When Nature from her sov'reign throne is hurl'd, When crumbling earth obeys her Maker's call; When common ruin overwhelms the world, Upheld by God, this man shall never fall.

T. A.

ON THE MASSACRE OF THE PROTESTANTS IN PIEDMONT.

AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones,

Forget not: in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. The mo

The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

To heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple tyrant! that from these may grow A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way, Early may fly the Babylonian wo.

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SHE is not now amid my dreams,
Though ne'er one waking hour forgot;

With many a shape my pillow teems,
But 'mid their wildness she is not
I've mingled, in my murmur'd pray'r,
Her now to me forbidden name,-
Sleep came, and many a thought was there,
But all was gloom, she never came!
Oh! in this dark world, must I think
She shares not now my destinies?

And let my brooding fancy sink

From what she was, to what she is?
Oh! is it truth which brings me now
The hideous sights which make me rave,
The crumbling frame, -The earthy brow,
The horrors of the unveil'd grave?

Blest be my God, it is not so!

There has been One within the tomb,
Who burst its iron chain of wo,

And left a light to cheer its gloom.
Nor e'er the bow that spans the shower,-
Nor morning 'mid the summer skies,-
Nor summer's first and purest flower,-
Can rise more bright than she shall rise'!

THE END.

PARK.

Page.

A lovely flower, at morning hour,

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A voice from the desert comes awful and shrill,

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Almighty father of mankind,

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And is there care in heav'n? and is there love

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As the tall ears bow to the sunburnt reaper,

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As much have I of worldly good,

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Author of being! life-sustaining king,

293

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones

353

Awake, sweet harp of Judah, wake,

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Awake, my soul and with the sun,

156

Away! thou dying saint awa,

197

Awake, my soul! lift up thine eyes,

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Awake my lyre, and may thy string,

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Blest pair of sirens, pledges of heaven's joy,

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Bright summer beams along the sky,

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Bright be the place of thy soul,

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Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,

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"Day came, and went"-a lovelier never dawn'd, Dull atheist! could a giddy dance,

Enthron'd upon a hill of light,

Ever lovely and benign,

Even thus amid thy pride and luxury,

Fain would my longing soul begin,
Fair Autumn spreads her fields of gold,
Father of light, and life, and glory, say,
Faith bids the soul ascend on high,
Father of all! Eternal mind,
Far from his home beyond the wave,
Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,

Father of all! in every age,

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Feather'd lyric! warbling high,

Few are thy days, and full of woe,

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For what shall I praise thee, my God and my King?
For thou wert born of woman! thou didst come,

Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear,

For who did ever yet, in honour, wealth,

From Greenland's icy mountains,

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309

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God of my life, to thee I call,

57

God sits enthron'd in yonder sky,
God moves in a mysterious way,
God of my sires! yon arch of blue,
Glory to Thee, my God, this night,
Great Former of this various frame,

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Great God, how bright thy glories shine,

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Here finished he, and all that he had made

318

He is the happy man, whose life e'en now,

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He left his native land, and far away

274

High peace to the soul of the dead,

150

Hither he came, and falling on his knees,

223

How smiling wakes the verdant year,

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How fine has the day been, how bright was the sun,

36

How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flow'r,

118

How are thy servants blest, O Lord,

How poor! how rich! how abject! how august,

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146

How sweetly flow'd the gospel's sound,

How quickly 'mongst the dying embers,

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How happy is he born, or taught,
How beautiful is genius when combin'd,
How canst thou move my fix'd regret,
Holy the place whose kindly soil,

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How welcome to the saints, when press'd

Honour and happiness unite,

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will not weep, my boy, for thee,

234

If there be one whose thoughts delight to wander,

280

If 'twere but to retire from woe,

328

If I had thought thou couldst have died,

171

If for a time the air be calm,

190

Immortal! ages past, yet nothing gone!

333

In the dust I'm doom'd to sleep,

314

In custom'd glory bright, that morn the sun,

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In the morning of life, when its sweet sunny smile,

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In a dream of the night I was wafted away,

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Let coward guilt, with pallid Fear,
Let us, with a joyful mind,

337

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Like as the damask rose you see,

Like summer eve, when sunlight throws,

Like to the falling of a star,

Lovely, lasting, peace of mind,

Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall,
Lov'st thou to see the light of morn,
Look on that grave, it is no common spot,

Mark this holy chapel well!
Mark where the wave, at eventide,
Methinks it were no pain to die,
Methinks it is good to be here,
Messiah! at thy glad approach,
Mercy, my Judge! mercy I cry,
My dearest child suppress that sigh,
My God, I love and I adore,

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My song shall bless the Lord of all,

"My birthday!"-what a different sound,

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Mortals, awake, with angels join,

My God! all nature owns thy sway,

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Nature, thy daughter, ever-changing birth,
Nature is lavish of her loveliness,

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Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd,

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