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As the tired voyager on stormy seas
Invokes the coming of bright birds from shore,
To wast him tidings with the gentler breeze,
Of din sweet woods that hear no billows roar;
So from the depths of days, when earth yet wore
Her solemn beauty and primeval dew,
I call you gracious Forms Oh! come, restore
Awhile that holy freshness, and renew
Life's morning dreams. Come with the voice, the lyre,
Daughters of Judah with the timbrel rise!
Ye of the dark prophetic eastern eyes,
Imperial in their visionary fire;
Oh! steep my soul in that old glorious time,
When God's own whisper shook the cedars of your clime!

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True faith, long suffering love. Come to me, come!
And as the seas beneath your master's tread
Fell into crystal smoothness round him spread

Like the clear pavement of his heavenly home;
So in your presence, let the soul's great deep
Sink to the gentleness of infant sleep

the Song or MIRIAM.

A song for Israel’s God! Spear, crest, and helm,
Lay by the billows of the old Red sea,
When Miriam's voice o'er that sepulchral realm
Sent on the blast a hymn of jubilee;
With her lit eye, and long hair floating free,
Queen-like she stood, and glorious was the strain,
E’en as instinct with the tempestuous glee
Of the dark waters tossing o'er the slain.
A song for God’s own victory ! O, thy lays,
Bright Poesy were holy in their birth:—
How hath it died, thy seraph note of praise,
In the bewildering melodies of earth !
Return from troubling bitter founts—return,
Back to the life-springs of thy native urns

Ruth.

The plume-like swaying of the auburn corn,
By soft winds to a dreamy motion fanned,
Still brings me back mine image—Oh! forlorn,
Yet not forsaken, Ruth ! I see thee stand
Lone, 'midst the gladness of the harvest band—
Lone as a wood-bird on the ocean’s foam,
Fallen in its weariness. Thy father-land
Smiles far away yet to the sense of home,
That finest, purest, which can recognise
Home in affection's glance for ever true
Beats thy calm heart; and if thy gentle eyes
Gleam tremulous through tears, ’tis not to rue
Those words, immortal in their deep love's tone,
“Thy people and thy God shall be mine own P’

The VIGIL OF Rizpah. “And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven ; and suffered neither the birú of the air to rest on then, by day, nor the beasts of the field of night.”–2 Sam. xxi. 10. Who watches on the mountain with the dead, Alone before the awfulness of night 1– A seer awaiting the deep spirit's might? A warrior guarding some dark pass of dread? No, a lorn woman . On her drooping head, Once proudly graceful, heavy beats the rain: She recks not—living for the unburied slain, Only to scare the vultures from their bed. So, night by night, her vigil hath she kept With the pale stars, and with the dews hath wept; Oh! surely some bright Presence from above On those wild rocks the lonely one must aid!— E’en so; a strengthener through all storm and shade, The unconquerable Angel, mightiest Love!

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“And she answered, I dwell among mine own people "-4** iv. 13. “I dwell among mine own.”—Oh! happy thou' Not for the sunny clusters of the vine, Nor for the olives on the mountain’s brow; Nor the flocks wondering by the flowery line Of streams, that make the green land where they shi" Laugh to the light of waters—not for these, Nor the soft shadow of ancestral trees, Whose kindly whisper floats o'er thee and thineOh! not for these I call thee richly blest, But for the meekness of thy woman's breast, . Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies; And for thy holy household love, which clings Unto all ancient and familiar things, Weaving from each some link for home’s dear thanties.

the ANNU.Neiation.

The MEMORIAL or MARY.

“Verily I say unto you, wheresoever this gospel shall be prear n. ed in the whole world, there shall aiso this, that this woman hi.-h done, be told for a memorial of her.”–Matthew xxvi. 13. See st John xii. 3.

Lowliest of women, and most glorified ?
In thy still beauty sitting calm and lone,
A brightness round thee grew—and by thy side

Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone, Solemn, yet breathing gladness. From her throne A queen had risen with more imperial eye, A stately prophetess of 7ictory From her proud lyre mad struck a tempest's tone, For such high tidings as to thee were brought, Chosen of Heaven that hour:—but thou, O thou! E’en as a flower with gracious rains o'erfraught Thy virgin head beneath its crown didst bow, And take to thy meek breast the all holy word, And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord.

The song or the Virgin.

Yet as a sun-burst flushing mountain snow,
Fell the celestial touch of fire ere long
On the pale stillness of thy thoughtful brow,
And thy calm spirit lightened into song.
Unconsciously perchance, yet free and strong
Flowed the majestic joy of tuneful words, .
Which living hearts the choirs of Heaven among
Might well have linked with their divinest chords,
Full many a strain, borne far on glory’s blast,
Shall leave, where once its haughty music passed,
No more to memory than a reed's faint sight;
While thine, O childlike virgin' through all time
Shall send its fervent breath o'er every clime,
Being of God, and therefore not to die.

THE PENITENt ANointing christ’s FEET.

There was a mournfulness in angel eyes,
That saw thee, woman bright in this world's train,
Moving to pleasure’s airy melodies,
Thyself the idol of the enchanted strain.
But from thy beauty's garland, brief and vain,
When one by one the rose-leaves had been torn,
When thy heart’s core had quivered to the pain
Through every life-nerve sent by arrowy scorn;
When thou didst kneel to pour sweet odors forth
On the Redeemer’s feet with many a sigh,
And showering tear-drop, of yet richer worth
Than all those costly balms of Araby;
Then was their joy, a song of joy in Heaven,
For thee, the child won back, the penitent forgiven

MARY AT THE FEET OF CHRIST.

Oh! blest beyond all daughters of the earth!
What were the Orient’s thrones to that low seat
Where thy hushed spirit drew celestial birth t
Mary 1 meek listener at the Savior’s feet?
No feverish cares to that divine retreat
Thy woman's heart of silent worship brought,
But a fresh childhood, heavenly truth to meet,
With love, and wonder, and submissive thought.
Oh for the holy quiet of thy breast,
*Midst the world's eager tones and footsteps flying!
Thou who te calm soul was like a well-spring lying
So deep and still in its transparent rest,
That e”en when noontide burns upon the hills,
Some one bright solemn star all its lone mirror fills.

r14 F. sIsTERs or BETHANY AFTER THE DEATH OF LAZARUS.

Jne grief, one faith, O sisters of the dead!
Was in your bosoms—thou, whose steps, made fleet
By keen hope fluttering in the heart which bled,
Bore thee as wings, the Lord of Life to greet;
And thou, that duteous in thy still retreat
Didst wait his summons then with reverent love
Fall weeping at the blest Deliverer's feet,
Whom e'en to heavenly tears thy wo could move,
An- which to Him, the All-Seeing and All-Just,
Was loveliest, that quick zeal, or lowly trust?
Oh! question not, and let no law be given
To those unveilings of its deepest shrine,
By the wrong spirit made in outward sign :

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Thou hast thy record in the monarch's hall;
And on the waters of the far mid sea;
And where the mighty mountain-shadows fall,
The Alpine hamlet keeps a thought of thee:
Where’er, beneath some Oriental tree,
The Christian traveller rests—where’er the child
Looks upward from the English mother’s knee,
With earnest eyes in wondering reverence mild,
There art thou known—where'er the Book of Light
Bears hope and healing, there, beyond all blight,
Is borne thy memory, and all praise above;
Oh! say what deed so listed thy sweet name,
Mary 1 to that pure silent place of same 1
One lowly offering of exceeding love?

THE Women of JERUSALEM AT THE CROSS.

Like those pale stars of tempest hours, whose gleam
Waves calm and constant on the rocking mast,
Such by the cross doth your bright lingering seem,
Daughters of Zion faithful to the last !
Ye, through the darkness o'er the wide earth cast
By the death-cloud within the Savior's eye,
E’en till away the heavenly spirit passed,
Stood in the shadow of his agony.
O blessed faith ! a guiding lamp, that hour,
Was lit for woman’s heart; to her, whose dower
Is all of love and suffering from her birth;
Still hath your act a voice—through fear, through sittie
Bidding her bind each tendril of her life,
To that which her deep soul hath proved of holies
worth.

MARY MAGDALENE AT THE SEPULCHRE.

Weeper! to thee how bright a morn was given
After thy long, long vigil of despair,
When that high voice which burial rocks had riven.
Thrilled with immortal tones the silent air!
Never did clarion's royal blast declare
Such tale of victory to a breathless crowd,
As the deep sweetness of one word could bear,
Into thy heart of hearts, O woman bowed
By strong affection’s anguish l—one low word—
“Mary!”—and all the triumph wrung from death
Was thus revealed ! and thou, that so hadsterred,
So wept and been forgiven, in trembling faith
Didst cast thee down before the all-conquering Son,
Awed by the mighty gift thy tears and love had won 1

MARY MAGDALENE BEARING TIDINGS OF THE RESURRECTIOM.

Then was a task of glory all thine own,
Nobler than e'er the still small voice assigned
To lips in awful music making known
The stormy splendors of some prophet’s mind.
“ Christ is arisen o’ by thee to wake mankind,
First from the sepulchre those words were brought !
Thou wert to send the mighty rushing wind
First on its way, with those high tidings fraught—
« Christ has arisen to Thou, thou, the sin enthralled.
Earth's outcast, Heaven’s own ransomed one, wert cal ed
In human hearts to give that rapture birth; -
Oh I raised from shame to brightness!—there doth lie
The tenderest meaning of His ministry, - -
whose undespairing love still owned the spirit's worth

HYMNS, DEvoTIONAL AND MEMORIAl

The SACRED HARP.

How shall the harp of poesy regain,
That old victorious tone of prophet-years,
A spell divine o'er guilt's perturbing fears,

And all the hoverino shadews of the brain i

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Dark evil wings took flight before the strain,
And showers of holy quiet, with its sall,
Sank on the soul:—Oh! who may now recall
The mighty music's consecrated reign —
Spirit of God whose glory once o’erhung
A throne, the Ark's dread cherubim between,
So let thy presence brood, though now unseen,
O'er those two powers by whom the harp is strung–
Feeling and Thought !—till the rekindled chords
Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words!
, -
to A FAMILY BIBLE,
What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine
Cling reverently of anxious looks beguiled,
My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine,
Each day were bent :—her accents, gravely mild,
Breathed out thy lore: whilst I, a dreamy child,
Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away,
To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild,
Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest:—yet would the solemn Word
At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be
A seed not lost;-for which, in darker years,
O Book of Heaven I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee!

Repose of A HOLY FAMILY. From an old Italian Picture.

Under a palm-tree, by the green old Nile,
Lulled on his mother's breast, the fair child lies,
With dove-like breathings, and a tender smile,
Brooding above the slumber of his eyes.
While, through the stillness of the burning skies,
Lo! the dread work of Egypt’s buried kings
Temple and pyramid beyond him rise,
Regal and still as everlasting things —
Vain pomps! from Him, with that pure flowery cheek,
Soft shadowed by his mother’s drooping head,
A new-born spirit, mighty, and yet meek,
O'er the whole world like vernal air shall spread
And bid all earthly grandeurs cast the crown,
Before the suffering and the lowly, down.

PICTURE OF THE INFANT chriST WITH FLOWERS.

All the bright hues from eastern garlands glowing,
Round the young Child luxuriantly are spread;

Gifts, fairer far than Magian kings, bestowing,
In adoration, o'er his cradle shed.

Roses, deep-filled with rich midsummer's red,
Circle his hands; but in his grave sweet eye,
Thought seems e'en now to wake and prophecy

Of ruder coronals for that meek head.

And thus it was a diadem of thorn
Earth gave to Him who mantled her with flowers,
To Him who poured forth blessings in soft showels,

O'er all her paths, a cup of bitter scorn 1
And we repine, for whom that cup He took
Per blooms that mocked our hope, o'er idols that for-

sook 1

on A REMEMBERED Picture of CHRIST. An Ecce Homo, by Leonardo da Vinci.

I inct that image on a mirthful day
Of youth, and sinking with - stilled surprise,
The pride of life before those holy eyes,
In my quick heart died thoughtfully away,
Abashed to mute confessions of a sway,
Awful, though meek; and now, that from the strings,
Of my soul’s lyre, the tempest’s mighty wings,
Have struck forth tones which then awakened lay;
Now, that around the deep life of my mind,
Affections, deathless as itself, have twined,
Oft does the pale bright vision still float by;
3ut more divinely sweet, and speaking now
Of One whose pity, throned on that sad brow,
Sounded all depths of love, grief, death, humanity

The children whom JESUE BLest.

Happy were they, the mothers, in whose sight
Ye grew, fair children hallowed from that hour
By your Lord’s blessing ! surely thence a shower
Of heavenly beauty, a transmitted light,
Hung on your brows and eyelids, meekly bright,
Through all the after years, which saw ye move
Lowly, yet still majestic in the might,
The conscious glory of the Savior’s love!
And honored be all childhood, for the sake
Of that high love! let reverential care
Watch to behold the mortal spirit wake,
And shield its first bloom from unholy air;
Owning, in each young suppliant glance, the sign
Of claims upon a heritage divine.

MoUNTAIN SANCTUARIES.

“He went up to a mountain apart to pray.”

A child 'midst ancient :nountains I have stood,
Where the wild falcons make their lordly nest
On high. The spirit of the solitude
Fell solemnly upon my infant breast,
Though that I prayed not; but deep thoughts have
pressed
Into my being since it breathed that air,
Nor could I now one moment live the guest
Of such dread scenes, without the springs of prayer
O'erflowing all my soul. No minsters rise
Like them in pure communion with the skies,
Wast, silent, open unto night and day;
So might the o'erburdened Son of man have felt,
When, turning where inviolate stillness dwelt,
He sought high mountains, there apart to pray.

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

“Consider the lilies of the fields.”

Flowers : when the Savior’s calm benignant eye
Fell on your gentle beauty—when from you
That heavenly lesson from all hearts he drew,
Eternal, universal as the sky—
Then, in the bosom of your purity,
A voice He set, as in a temple-shrine,
That life’s quick travellers ne'er might pass you by
Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine.
And though too oft its low, celestial sound,
By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned,
And the loud steps of vain unlistening Haste,
Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power
Mightier to reach the soul, in thought’s hushed hoo,
Than yours, ye Lilies chosen thus and graced!

The BIRDS or THE AIR.

“And behold the birds of the air.”

Ye too, the free and fearless birds of air,
Were charged that hour, on missionary wing,
The same bright lesson o’er the seas to bear, . .
Heaven-guided wanderers with the wings of spring!
Sing on, before the storm and after, sing !
And call us to your echoing woods away
From worldly cares; and bid our spirits bring
Faith to imbibe deep wisdom from your lay.
So may those blessed vernal strains renew
Childhood, a childhood yet more pure and true
E’en than the first, within the awakened mind;
While sweetly, joyously, they tell of life,
That knows no doubts, no questionings, no strife,
But hangs upon its God, unconsciously resign

THE RAIsING of THE wrpow’s son.

“And he that was dead sat up and began to speak."

He that was dead rose up and spoke—He spoke!
Was it of that majestic world unknown 7

Those words, which first the bier's dread silence *
Came they with revelation in each tone 7

Were the far cities of the nations gone,
The solemn halls of consciousness or sleep,
For inan uncurtained by that spirit lone,
Back from their portal summoned o'er the deep?
Ile hushed, my soul the veil of darkness lay
Still drawn:—thy Lord called back the voice departed,
To spread his truth, to comfort his weak-hearted,
Not to reveal the mysteries of its way.
Oh! take that lesson home in silent faith,
Put on submissive strength to meet, not question deathl

THE OLIVE TREE.

The palm—the vine—the cedar—each hath power
To bid fair Oriental shapes glance by,
And each quick glistening of the laurel bower
Watts Grecian images o'er fancy's eye.
But thou, pale olive —in thy branches lie
Far deeper spells than prophet-grove of old
Might e'er enshrine:—I could not hear thee sigh
To the wind's faintest whisper, nor behold
One shiver of thy leaves’ dim silvery green,
Without high thoughts and solemn, of that scene
When, in the garden, the Redeemer prayed—
When pale stars looked upon his fainting head,
And angels, ministering in silent dread,
Trembled, perchance, within thy trembling shade.

The DARKNESS OF THE CRUCI Fixion.

On Judah’s hills a weight of darkness hung,
Felt shudderingly at noon :-the land had driven
A Guest divine back to the gates of Heaven,
A life, whence all pure founts of healing sprung,
All grace, all truth :-and, when to anguish wrung,
From the sharp cross the enlightening spirit fled,
O'er the forsaken earth a pall of dread
By the great shadow of that death was flung.
0 Savior O Atoner! thou that fain
Wouldst make thy temple in each human breast,
Leave not such darkness in my soul to reign,
Ne'er may thy presence from its depths depart,
Chased thence by guilt —Oh! turn not thou away,
The bright and morning star, my guide to perfect day !

PLACES OF WORship. “God is a spirit.”

Spirit! whose life-sustaining presence fills
Air, ocean, central depths, by man untried
Thou for thy worshippers hast sanctified
All place, all time ! The silence of the hills
breathes veneration: founts and choral rills
Of thee are murmuring:—to its inmost glade
The living forest with thy whisper thrills,
And there is holiness on every shade.
Yet must the thoughtful soul of man invest
With dearer consecration those pure fanes,
Which, severed from all sound of earth's unrest,
Hear naught but suppliant or adoring strains
Rise heavenward. Ne'er may rock or cave possess
Their claim on human hearts to solemn tenderness.

OLD church in An ENGLISH PARK.

Crowning a flowery slope, it stood alone
In gracious sanctity. A bright rill wound,
Caressingly, about the holy ground;
And warbled, with a never-dying tone,
Amidst the tombs. A hue of ages gone
Seemed, from that ivied porch, that solemn gleam
Of tower and cross, pale quivering on the stream,
Q'er all the ancestral woodlands to be thrown,
And something yet more deep. The air was fraught
With noble memories, whisper, g many a thought
Of England's fathers; loftily serene,
They that had toiled, watched, struggled to secure,
thin such fabrics, worship free and pure,
Reigned there, the o’ershadowing spirits of the scene.

A church in North WALEs.

Blessings be round it still that gleaming fane,
Low in its mountain glen old mossy trees
Mellow the sunshine through the unteinted pane,
And oft, borne in upon some fitful breeze,
The deep sound of the ever-pealing seas,
Filling the hollows with its anthem-tone,
There meets the voice of psalms —yet not alone.
For memories lulling to the heart as these,
I bless thee, 'midst thy rocks, gray house of prayer 1
But for their sakes who unto thee repair
From the hill-cabins and the ocean-shore.
Oh! may the fisher and the mountaineer,
Words to sustain earth’s toiling children bear,
Within thy lowly walls for evermore :

Louise Schepler.

Louise Schepler was the faithful servant and friend of the pastor
Oberlin. The last letter addressed by him to his children for Leil
perusal after his decease, affectionately connemorates he, on-
wearied zeal in visiting and instructing the children of the moun-
tain hamlets, through all seasons, and in all circumstance's of
difficulty at.i danger.
A fearless journeyer o'er the mountain snow
Wert thou, Louise! the sun's decaying light,
Oft, with its latest melancholy glow,
Reddened thy steep wild way; the starry night
Oft met thee, crossing some lone eagle's height,
Piercing some dark ravine; and many a dell
Knew, through its ancient rock-recesses, well,
Thy gentle presence, which hath made them bright
Ost in mid-storin; oh! not with beauty's eye,
Nor the proud glance of genius keenly burning;
No 1 pilgrim of unwearying charity -
Thy spell was love—the mountain deserts turning
To blessed realms, where stream and rock rejoice,
When the glad human soul lifts a thanksgiving voice

To the SAMr.

For thou, a holy shepherdess and kind,
Through the pine forests by the upland rills,
Didst roam to seek the children of the hills,
A wild neglected flock to seek, and find,
And meekly win there feeding each young mind
With balins of heavenly eloquence: not thine,
Daughter of Christ! but his, whose love divine,
Its own clear spirit in thy breast had shrined,
A burning light! Oh! beautiful, in truth,
Upon the mountains are the feet of those
Who bear his tidings From thy morn of youth,
For this were all thy journeyings, and the close
Of that long path, Heaven's own bright sabbath-rest,
Must wait thee, wanderer! on thy Savior's breast.

LINES TO A BUTTERFLY RESTING ON A SCULL.

CREATURE of air and light! Emblem of that which will not fade or die! Wilt thou not speed thy flight, To chase the south wind through the glowing sky? What lures thee thus to stay, With silence and decay, Fixed on the wreck of cold mortality ?

The thoughts, once chambered there, Heve gathered up their treasures, and are gone ;Will the dust tell thee where That which hath burst the prison-house is flown f Rise, nursling of the day ! Is thou wouldst trace its wayEarth has no voice to make the secret known.

Who seeks the vanished bird, Near the deserted nest and broken shell? Far thence, by us unheard, He sings, rejoicing in the woods to dwell; Thou of the sunshine born, Take the bright wings of morn! Thy hope springs heavenward from yon ruined cell.

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