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As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.
OH! HAD I WINGS LIKE YONDER BIRD.
Oh! had I wings like yonder bird,
That soars above its downy nest,
Where I might be for aye at rest.
I'd fly-but not to scenes below,
Though ripe with every promis'd bliss, For what's the world? a garnish'd showA decorated wilderness.
Oh! I would fly and be at rest,
Far, far beyond each glittering sphere That hangs upon the azure breast,
Of all we know of heav'n here.
And there I'd rest amidst the joys,
Where bloom the bowers of paradise
Where songs in sweetest transports swell.
There would I rest, beneath that throne,
Where sits Jehovah, who alone,
Can wipe the mourner's weeping eye.
DESTRUCTION OF THE ASSYRIANS.
THE Assyrian come down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears were like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Gallilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; Like the leaves of the forest when autum hath blown That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. For the Angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And breath'd on the face of the foe as he pass'd, And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heav'd, and for ever grew still.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on bis brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.
JERUS'LEM! JERUS'LEM, THE SPOILER HAS
JERUS'LEM! Jerus'lem, the spoiler has trod,
But where are thy people, the once happy race,
They are driven afar 'mong the lands of the earth,
But yet, oh! Jerus'lem, thy tow'rs shall again,
Their city to build, and give praise to their God.
THE POWER OF GOD.
THOU art, O God, the life and light
Are but reflections caught from thee!
Among the op'ning clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into heaven,
Those hues that marks the sun's decline,
When night, with wings of stormy gloom,
A SUMMER EVENING.
How fine has the day been, how bright was the sun,
Just such is the christian: his course he begins
But, when he comes nearer to finish his race,
OF MAN'S MORTALITY.
LIKE as the damask rose you see,
The swan's near death,-man's life is done!
A HYME TO CONTENTMENT.
LOVELY, lasting, peace of mind!