Jehovah's work and glory show, By burning day or gentle night. They move their orbs of fire on high, Their burning glory, all is known; Their living light has sparkled far, And on the attentive silence shone. God, 'mid their shining legions, rears A tent where burns the radiant sun: As, like a bridegroom bright, appears The monarch, on his course begun, From end to end of azure heaven He holds his fiery path along; To all his circling heat is given, His radiance flames the spheres among, W. B. 0. PEABODY. THE late Rev. William B. O. Peabody was born at Exeter, New Hampshire, in 1799. He was educated at Cambridge, where he graduated in 1816. In 1820 he was established as a minister in the village of Springfield, Massachusetts, and resided there until his death, in 1848, discharging his professional duties, and writing much for the North American Review, and other periodicals. HYMN OF NATURE. GOD of the earth's extended plains! The dark, green fields contented lie; The mountains rise like holy towers, Where man might commune with the sky; The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams, With joyous music in their flow. GOD of the dark and heavy deep! The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering bands; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, GOD of the forest's solemn shade! But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they form, To wave on high their plumes of green, And fight their battles with the storm. GOD of the light and viewless air! Where summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their angry might, The fierce and wintry tempests blow; All-from the evening's plaintive sigh, That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry, Breathe forth the language of thy power. GOD of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs The tented dome, of heavenly blue, Suspended on the rainbow's rings! In evening's purple radiance, gives GOD of the rolling orbs above! Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, And every spark that walks alone Were kindled at thy burning throne. GOD of the world! the hour must come, Her crumbling altars must decay; Her incense fires shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace The beauty of the world below. DEATH. LIFT high the curtain's drooping fold, 'Tis well; at such an early hour, So calm and pure, a sinking ray Should shine into the heart, with power To drive its darker thoughts away. The bright, young thoughts of early days. Shall gather in my memory now, And not the later cares, whose trace Is stamped so deeply on my brow. What though those days return no more? The sweet remembrance is not vain, For Heaven is waiting to restore The childhood of my soul again. Let no impatient mourner stand In hollow sadness near my bed, But let me rest upon the hand, And let me hear that gentle tread And still, unworn away by years, I go, but let no plaintive tone, The moment's grief of friendship tell; And let no proud and graven stone Say where the weary slumbers well. A few short hours, and then for heaven! Let sorrow all its tears dismiss ; For who would mourn the warning given Which calls us from a world like this? BEHOLD the western evening light! The wind breathes low; the withering leaf How beautiful on all the hills The crimson light is shed! "Tis like the peace the Christian gives To mourners round his bed. How mildly on the wandering cloud 'Tis like the memory left behind When loved ones breathe their last. And now, above the dews of night, But soon the morning's happier light And eyelids that are sealed in death |