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COME TO ME, DREAMS OF HEA XN.

CoME to me, dreams of heaven
My fainting spirit bear
On your bright wings, by morning given,
Up to celestial air.
Away, far, far away,
From bowers by tempests riven,
Fold me in blue, still, cloudless day,
O blessed dreams of heaven

Come but for one brief hour,
Sweet dreams 1 and yet again,
O'er burning thought and memory shower
Your soft effacing rain
Wast me where gales divine,
With dark clouds ne'er have striven,
Where living founts for ever shine—
O blessed dreams of heaven!

THE ANGELS’ CALL.

“Hark! they whisper! angels say, Sister spirit come away !” CoME to the land of peace Come where the tempest hath no longer sway, The shadow passes fron the soul away, The sounds of weeping cease I

Fear hath no dwelling there ! Come to the mingling of repose and love, Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove

Through the celestial air

Come to the bright and blest And crowned for ever !—'midst that shining band, Gathered to Heaven’s own wreath from every land,

Thy spirit shall find rest :

Thou hast been long alone: Come to thy mother —on the sabbath shore, The heart that rocked thy childhood back once more

Shall take its wearied one.

In silence wert thou left I Come to thy sisters!—joyously again All the home voices, blest in one sweet strain, Shall greet their long-bereft.

Over thine orphan head The storm hath swept as o'er a willow's bough : Come to thy father l—it is finished now : Thy tears have all been shed.

- In thy divine abode
Change finds no pathway, memory no dark trace,
And, oh! bright victory—death by love no place I
Come, spirit ! to thy God |

THE FOUNTAIN OF MARAH.

* And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waors of Marah, for they were bitter. “And the people inurmured against Moses, saying, What shall e drink “And he cried unto the Lord ; and the Lord showed him a tree, hich when he had cast into the waters, the waters were made weet.”—Erod. xv. 23-25. WHERE is the tree the prophet threw Into the bitter wave 7 Left it no scion where it grew, The thirsting soul to save 7

Hath nature lost the hidden power
Its precious foliage shed 7

Is there no distant eastern bower,
With such sweet leaves o'erspread,

Nay, wherefore ask?—since gifts are ours, Which yet may well irabue

Earth’s many-troubled founts with showers Of Heaven’s own balmy dew.

Oh! mingled with the cup of grief, Let faith's deep spirit be;

And every prayer shall win a leaf From that Llest healing tree I

THINGS THAT CHANGE.

KNowest thou that seas are sweeping
Where cities once have been 7

When the calm wave is sleeping,
Their towers may yet be seen;

Far down below the glassy tide
Man's dwelling's where his voice hath died

Knowest thou that flocks are feeding
Above the tombs of old,
Which kings, their armies leading,
Have lingered to behold 7
A short, smooth greensward o'er them spread
Is all that marks where heroes bled.

Knowest thou that now the token
Of temples once renowned,
Is but a pillar, broken,
With glass and wall-flowers crowned 7
And the lone serpent rears her young
Where the triumphant lyre hath sung f

Well, well, I know the story
Of ages passed away,
And the mournful wrecks that glory
Has left to dull decay.
But thou hast yet a tale to learn
More full of warnings sad and stern

Thy pensive eye but ranges
O'er ruined sane and hall,
Oh the deep soul has changes
More sorrowful than all.
Talk not, while these before thee throng
Of silence in the place of song.

See scorn—where love has perished;
Distrust—where friendship grew ;
Pride—where once nature cherished
All tender thoughts and true !
And shadows of oblivion thrown
O'er every trace of idols gone.

Weep not for tombs far scattered,
For temples prostrate laid—
In thine own heart lie shattered
The altars it had made.
Go, sound its depths in doubt and fear !
Heap up no more its treasures here.

THE POETRY OF THE PSALMS.

Nobly thy song, O minstrell rushed to meet
The Eternal on the pathway of the blast,
With darkness round him, as a mantle, cast,
And cherubim to wast his flying seat.
Amidst the hills, that smoked beneath his feet,
With trumpet voice thy spirit called aloud,
And bade the trembling rocks his name repeat,
And the bent cedars and the bursting cloud,
But far more gloriously to earth made known
By that high strain, than by the thunder's tone,
Than flashing torrents or the ocean’s roll;
Jehovah spoke through the inbreathing fire,
Nature’s vast realms for ever to inspire
With the deep worship of a living soul.

THE SABBATH.

How many blessed groups this hour are bending
Through England's primrose meadow paths their way
Toward spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending,
Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day.
The halls, from old heroic ages gray,
Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlets low,
With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play,
Send out their inmates in a happy flow,
Like a free vernal stream. I may not tread
With them those pathways—to the severish bed
Of sickness bound; yet, oh, my God! I bless
Thy mercy, that with sabbath peace hath filled
My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness.

THE VOICE OF GOD. “I heard thy voice in the garden and I was afraid.”

AMIDs.T the thrilling leaves, thy voice,
At evening’s fall, drew near;

Father and did not man rejoice
That blessed sound to hear ! -

Did not his heart within him burn,
Touched by the solemn tone?

Not so for, never to return,
Its purity was gone.

Therefore, 'midst holy stream and bower,
His spirit shook with dread,

And called the cedars in that hour,
To veil his conscious head.

Oh! in each wind, each fountain flow, Each whisper of the shade,

Grant me, my God, thy voice to know, And not to be afraid :

A PRAYER.

FATHER in Heaven from whom the simplest flower
On the high Alps or fiery desert thrown,
Draws not sweet odor or young life alone,
But the deep virtue of an inborn power
To cheer the wanderer in his fainting hour,
With thoughts of Thee; to strengthen, to infuse
Faith, love, and courage, by the tender hues
That speak thy presence; oh! with such a dower
Grace thou my song!—the precious gift bestow
From thy pure spirit's treasury divine,
To wake one tear of purifying flow,
To soften gne wrung heart for thee and thine;
Sc shall the life breathed through the lowly strain,
Be as the meek wild-flower’s—if transient, yet not vain.

PRAYER CONTINUED.

“What in me is dark Illumine: what is low raise and support.”—Milton.

FAR are the wings of intellect astray,
That strive not, Father! to thy heavenly seat;
They rove, but mount not; and the tempests beat
still on their plumes; O source of mental day !
Chase from before my spirit's track the array
Of mists and shadows, raised by earthly care
In troubled hosts that cross the purer air,
And veil the opening of the starry way,
Which brightens on to thee! Oh! guide thou right
My thought’s weak pinion, clear mine inward sight,
The eternal springs of beauty to discern,
Welling beside thy throne; unsea mine ear,
Nature's true oracles in joy to hear :
Keep my soul wakeful still to listen and to learn.

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Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear,

They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom
With their hymns of losty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea 1

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free

The ocean-eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam,

And the rocking pines of the forest roared—
This was their welcome home !

There were men with hoary hair,
Amidst that pilgrim-band—
Why had they come to wither there
Away from their childhood’s land?
There was woman’s fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love’s truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?
—They sought a faith’s pure shrine !

Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod!

They have left unstained what there they found–.
Freedom to worship God!

, THE HEBREw MOTHER.

THE rose was rich in bloom on Sharon's plain,
When a young mother with her first-born thence
Went up to Zion, for the boy was vowed
Unto the temple-service;—by the hand
She led him, and her silent soul, the while, .
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye
Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think
That aught so pure, so beautiful, was hers,
To bring before her God. So passed they on,
O'er Judah’s hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves
Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon,
Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive-boughs,
With their cool dimness, crossed the sultry blue
Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might rest;
Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep
That weighed their dark fringe down, to sit and watch
The crimson deepening o’cr his cheek’s repose,
As at a red flower's heart. And where a fount
Lay like a twilight star 'midst palmy shades,
Making its banks green gems along the wild,
There too she lingered from the diamond wave
Drawing bright water for his rosy lips,
And softly parting clusters of jet curls
To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reached,
The earth's One Sanctuary—and rapture hushed
Her bosom, as before her, through the day,
It rose, a mountain of white inarble, steeped
In light, like flowing gold. But when that hour
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy
fifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye
Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear
Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm
Clung as the ivy clings—the deep spring tide
Of Nature then swelled high, and o'er her child
Bending, her soul broke forth, in mingled sounds
Of weeping and sad song. “Alas,” she cried,

“Alas ! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on me,
The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes,
And now fond thoughts arise,
And silver cords again to earth have won me;
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart—
How shall I hence depart

“How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing
So late, along the mountains, at my side 7
And I, in joyous pride,
By every place of flowers my course delaying
Wove. e'en as nearls, the lilies round thy ham.

“And oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted
Will it not seem as if the sunny day
Turned from its door away 7
While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted,
l languish for thy voice, which past me still
Went like a singing rill!

“Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me,
When from the fount at evening I return,
With the full water-urn;
Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like breathings greet me,
As midst the silence of the stars I wake,
And watch for thy dear sake.

“And thou, will slumber's dewy cloud fall round ther,
Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed 2
Wilt thou not vainly spread
Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee,
To sold my neck, and lift up, in thy fear,
A cry which none shall hear?

“What have I said, my child Will He not hear thee,
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest ?
Shall He not guard thy rest,
And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee,
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy

“I give thee to thy God—the God that gave thee,
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart!
And precious, as thou art,
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee,
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled !
And thou shalt be his child

“Therefore, farewell! I go, my soul may fail me,
As the hart panteth for the water-brooks,
Yearning for thy sweet looks—
But thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me;
Thou in the Shadow of the Rock shalt dwell,
The Rock of Strength. Farewell!”

SPANISH EVENING HYMN.

Ave now let prayer and music
Meet in love on earth and sea!

Now, sweet Mother may the weary
Turn from this cold world to thee!

From the wide and restless waters
Hear the sailor's hymn arise!

From his watch-fire 'midst the mountains,
Lo to thee the shepherd cries!

Yet, when thus full hearts find voices
If o'erburdened souls there be,

Dark and silent in their anguish,
Aid those captives! set them free!

Touch them, every fount unsealing, Where the frozen tears lie deep;

Thou, the Mother of all Sorrows, Aid, oh! aid to pray and weep!

DEATH OF AN INFANT.

Death found strange beauty on that cherub bro".
And dashed it out. There was a teint of rose
On cheek and lip—he touched the veins with *,
And the rose faded; forth from those blue eyes
There spoke a wishful tenderness—a doubt
Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence
Alone can wear. With ruthless haste he bound
The silken fringes of their curtaining lids
For ever; there had been a murmuring sound,
With which the babe would claim its mother's to
Charming her even to tears. The spoiler se!
His seal of silence. But there beamed a smile
So fixed and holy from that marble brow-
Death gazed, and left it there; he dared not *

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