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Those only those which broke with many a groan
From his full heart-"() Father, take away
The cup of vengeance I must drink to-day-
Yet, Father, not my will, but thine be done!"
It could not pass away-for he alone

Was mighty to endure, and strong to save:
Nor would Jehovah leave him in the grave;
Nor could corruption taint his Holy One.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.
DEATHLESS principle, arise!
Soar, thou native of the skies!
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To his glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before his throne-
Deck his mediatorial crown;
Go, his triumphs to adorn-
Born for God, to God return.
Lo, he beckons from on high!
Fearless to his presence fly;
Thine the merit of his blood,
Thine the righteousness of God!
Angels, joyful to attend,
Hovering round thy pillow bend;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort thee quick to heaven!
Is thy earthly house distrest?
Willing to retain its guest?
'Tis not thou, but it must die-
Fly, celestial tenant, fly!
Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay;
Sweetly breathe thyself away :
Singing, to thy crown remove,
Swift of wing, and fired with love.

Shudder not to pass the stream,
Venture all thy cares on him—
Him, whose dying love and power
Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar;
Safe in the expanded wave,
Gentle as a summer's eve;
Not one object of his care
Ever suffered shipwreck there!

See the haven full in view,

Love divine shall bear thee through;
Trust to that propitious gale,
Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail!
Saints in glory perfect made,
Wait thy passage through the shade:
Ardent for thy coming o'er,
See they throng the blissful shore!

Mount, their transports to improve,
Join the longing choir above,
Swiftly to their wish be given,
Kindle higher joy in heaven.

Such the prospects that arise

To the dying Christian's eyes!

Such the glorious vista Faith
Opens through the shades of death!

DALE.

TOPLADY.

THE RESTORATION OF ISRAEL.

Tis eventide; the golden teints are dying

Along the horizon's glowing verge away;
Far in the grove the nightingale is sighing
Her requiem to the last receding ray;
And still thou holdest thy appointed way.
But Salem's light is quenched. Majestic sun!

Her beauteous flock hath wandered far astray,
Led by their guides the path of life to shun:

Her orb hath sunk ere yet his wonted course was run.

In ages past all glorious was the land,

And lovely were thy borders, Palestine!

The heavens were wont to shed their influence bland On all those mountains and those vales of thine; For o'er thy coasts resplendent then did shine

The light of God's approving countenance,

With rapturous glow of blessedness divine.
And 'neath the radiance of that mighty glance,
Basked the wide-scattered isles o'er ocean's blue
panse.

But there survives a tinge of glory yet,

O'er all thy pastures and thy heights of green,
Which, though the lustre of thy day hath set,
Tells of the joy and splendor which hath been:
So some proud ruin, 'mid the desert seen,
By traveller, halting on his path awhile,

Declares how once beneath the light serene
Of brief posterity's unclouded smile,

Uprose in grandeur there some vast imperial pne.

O Thou, who through the wilderness of old
Thy people to their promised rest didst bring,
Hasten the days by prophet-bards foretold,

When roses shall again be blossoming
In Sharon, and Siloa's cooling spring
Shall murmur freshly at the noontide hour;

And shepherds oft in Achor's vale shall sing

The mysteries of that redeeming power

Which hath their ashes changed for beauty's sunntest bower.

Thou hadst a plant of thy peculiar choice,

A fruitful vine from Egypt's servile shore; Thou mad'st it in the smile of heaven rejoice; But the ripe clusters which awhile it bore Now purple on the verdant hills no more; The wild-boar hath upon its branches trod; Yet once again thy choicest influence pour, Transplant it from this dim terrestrial sod, To adorn with deathless bloom the paradise of God. T. G. NICHOLAS.

THE CRUCIFIXION.

BOUND upon the accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding-who is He?
By the eyes so pale and dim,
Streaming blood, and writhing limb,
By the flesh with scourges torn,
By the crown of twisted thorn,
By the side so deeply pierced,
By the baffled, burning thirst,
By the drooping, death-dewed brow,
Son of Man! 'tis thou, 'tis thou!
Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful-who is He?
By the sun at noon-day pale,
Shivering rocks, and rending veil;
By earth that trembles at his doom,
By yonder saints who burst their tomb,
By Eden, promised ere he died

To the felon at his side,

Lord! our suppliant knees we bow,

Son of God! 'tis thou, 'tis thou!

Bound upon the accursed tree,
Sad and dying-who is he?
By the last and bitter cry,
The ghost given up in agony;
By the lifeless body laid
In the chambers of the dead;
By the mourners come to weep
Where the bones of Jesus sleep:
Crucified! we know thee now-
Son of Man! 'tis thou, 'tis thou!

Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful-who is he?
By the prayer for them that slew-
"Lord! they know not what they do!"
By the spoiled and empty grave,
By the souls he died to save,
By the conquest he hath won,
By the saints before his throne,
By the rainbow round his brow,
Son of God! 'tis thou, 'tis thou!

MILMAR

AN ALPINE HYMN.
AWAKE, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn:
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink;
Companion of the Morning-star at dawn,
Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents flercely glad!
Who called you forth from night and utter death—
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered, and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ?
And who commanded (and the silence came)—
"Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ?"——
Ye icy-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain !
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the Sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest hue, spread garlands at your feet?
God! Let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo God !-
God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, you piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God —
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost !
Ye wild-goats sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element !
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!—
Once more, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward glittering through the pure serene,
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast.—
Thou too, again, stupendous Mountain! thou
That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base,
Slow-travelling, with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud,
To rise before me-Rise, O ever rise-
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills-
Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven.
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

HYMN.

COLERIDGE.

Oн, blest were the accents of early creation,
When the word of Jehovah came down from above;
In the clouds of the earth to infuse animation,
And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!

And mighty the tones which the firmament rended,
When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind,
By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness attended,
He uttered, on Sinai, his laws to mankind.
And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven,
(Tho' poor his apparel, tho' earthly his form,)
Who said to the mourner, “ Thy sins are forgiven!"
"Be whole," to the sick, and "Be still" to the storm.

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I LOOKED unto God in the season of anguish,
When earth and its trifles could charm me no more;
When pain and affliction had caused me to languish,
And the dream of my youthful existence was o'er:
I looked unto Him who alone can deliver,
Whose arm of omnipotence never shall yiel
And I prayed that his grace might support me for ever,
My rock and my refuge, my sun and my shield.
How bitterly then did my conscience upbraid me;
For the least of my crimes I had nothing to plead.
But I thought of the promise which Jesus had made me,
And I cried unto him in the time of my need.
Yes; he whose entreaties so oft I'd neglected,
And met all his kind invitations with scorn;
The Savior and Prince whom I thus had rejected,
Was my only relief when I wandered forlorn.
Yet still-oh! the baseness that reigns in my spirit-
I often forget thee my heavenly Friend,
And thankless for all which from thee I inherit,
Deny thee, and grieve thee,-ay times without end.
How oft when the worldling has dared me to trial,
Have I passed him in silence regardlessly by;
Was this like the courage, the boundless denial,
Which a sense of thy favor should ever supply?
O Father of mercies, assist me to cherish
The light of thy word in my innermost soul;
Without thine assistance I feel I must perish,
In the tempest of sin which I can not control:
But thou, who canst say to the foam crested ocean,
Thus far and no farther thy proud waves shall come;
Thou only canst curb each unhallowed emotion,
And guide me in peace to my glorious home.

JOHN BUCHANAK,

SONG OF THE STARS.
WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke,
And the empty realms of darkness and death
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath
And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame
From the void abyss by myriads came,

In the joy of youth as they darted away,
Through the widening waste of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rang,

And this was the song the bright ones sang:

Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,
The fair blue fields that before us lie;
Each sun with the worlds that round us roll,

Each planet poised on her turning pole,

With her isles of green, and her clouds of white
And waters that lie like fluid light.

"For the Source of glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space:
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides;
Lo, yonder the living splendors play!
Away, on our joyous path, away!

"Look, look through our glittering ranks afar
In the infinite azure, star after stai,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass;
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass!

And the path of the gentle winds is seen,
Where be small waves dance and the young woods len

1

"And see where the brighter day-beams pour,
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower:
And the morn and the eve, with their pomp of hues,
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews,
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
With her shadowy cone, the night goes round.

"Away, away! In our blossoming bowers,
In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,
See love is brooding, and life is born,

And breathing myriads are breaking from night,
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light."
Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,
To weave the dance that measures the years;
Glide on in the glory, and gladness, sent
To the farthest wall of the firmament,
The boundless visible smile of HIM,

To the veil of whose brow our lamps are dim.

ANONYMOUS.

CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST. FEAR was within the tossing ba.k,

When stormy winds grew loud,
And waves came rolling high and dark,
And the tall mast was bowed.

And men stood breathless in their dread,
And baffled in their skill-

But One was there, who rose and said
To the wild sea, "Be still!"

And the wind ceased-it ceased that word
Passed through the gloomy sky;
The troubled billows knew their Lord,
And sank beneath his eye.

And slumber settled on the deep,

And silence on the blast,
As when the righteous falls asleep,
When death's fierce throes are past.

Thou that didst rule the angry hour,
And tame the tempest's mood,
Oh! send thy Spirit forth in power,
O'er our dark souls to brood!

Thou that didst bow the billow's pride,
Thy mandates to fulfil,-

So speak to passion's raging tide,
Speak and stay,-Peace, be still.

MESSIAH'S ADVENT.

He came not in his people's day, Of miracle and might,

MRS. HEMANS.

When awe-struck nations owned their sway,

And conquest crowned each fight;— When nature's self with wonder saw, Her ancient power, her boasted law,

To feebie man give way—

The elements of earth and heaven
For Israel stayed-for Judah riven!
Pillar and cloud Jehovah gave,

High emblems of his grace;
And clove the rock, and smote the wave,
Moved mountains from their place ;-
But judgment was with mercy blent-
In thunder was the promise sent—

Fierce lightnings veiled his face;
The jealous God-the burning law-
Were all thy chosen people saw.

Behold them-pilgrim tribes no more-
The promised land their own;
And blessings theirs of sea and shore,
To other realms unknown:
From age to age a favored line,

Of mighty kings and seers divine,

A temple and a throne:

Not then, but in their hour of shame,
Wo, want, and weakness-then "Ele came."

Not in the earthquake's rending force,
Not in the blasting fire;

Not in the strong wind's rushing course,
Came He their soul's desire!
Forerunners of his coming these,
Proclaiming over earth and seas,

As God, his might and ire;

The still, small voice-the hovering dove,
Proved him Messiah-spoke him "Love!"
Of life the way, of life the spring
Eternal, undefiled;

Redeemer, Prophet, Priest, and King

Yet came he as a child!

And Zion's favored eye grown dim,
Knew not her promised Lord in Him,

The lowly and the mild!

She saw the manger, and the tree,

And scornful cried-"Can this be He?"

BEST WISHES.

ANONYMOUS.

WHO art thou, stranger? Nay, read on,
I will not ask thy name or lot;
Whether thy days be well nigh gone

Or in their spring-it matters not;
Thou art my brother! and for thee
Stranger! shall my best wishes be.
Life is a sea of stormy pain;

Thou knowest it or thou soon wilt know:
Thine be the faith that braves the main,
When its most angry tempests blow:
Thine anchor cast within the veil;
None ever knew that mooring fail.

Thine be the love,-refined from sense,-
That seeks its object in the skies,
Draws all its warmth and brightness thence.
Its comfort, confidence, and joys;
And be thy best affections given,

To Him, who loved thee first, in heaven.

Thine be the refuge,-ever found

By them who seek in faith and prayerFrom all the trials that abound

Throughout this wilderness of care,
The faithfulness of Him, whose love
Storms can not quench, nor death remove.
Thine be the meekness of the flower

That bows its head before the blast;
Increase in wisdom and in power;
Be lowliness around thee cast;
Thy faith and love, like flames of fire
Trembling, the higher they aspire.
And when thy Master calls thee, thine,
Thine be the crown of endless joy,
Where heaven's eternal rivers shine
Beneath a bright and cloudless sky.
Those realms-how beautiful and fair,
Stranger! a blissful meeting there!

ANONYMOUS

THE MERCIES OF REDEMPTION.
OH! can such charms be left to waste,
Unmarked by man's insensate taste?
Can beauty, use, and health,
Be spread before regardless eyes,
And not one thankful accent rise
For all creation's wealth?

Alas! in vain-if outward sense
Is claimed by Heaven's benevolence,
How shall it hope to reach
The callous bosom's inmost core,
And bid the heart with love run o'er,
That mocks the vent of speech?

Such love as lost and ruined man
Owes to redemption's wondrous plan
Such love as He demands,

Who, clothed in poverty's disgrace,
Was given on earth no resting-place,
Save by his murderers' hands.
The Son of God descend from Heaven!
The Son of God to slaughter given
For man's offending race!
Oh! help us to conceive aright
The mysteries of that awful sight,

Oh! help us, guardian grace!
When all the heavenly host around
Heard the tremendous fiat's sound,
That man was doomed to die;
Each on the other gazed in dread,
Each hung his sad angelic head,

And silence filled the sky.
Then, like the light, first-born above,
And launched o'er earth by holy love,
Stood forth the all-gracious Son;
Eager to pay the appointed price,
Offered HIMSELF the sacrifice,

And man's redemption won.

Shot through the vast ethereal space,
Flew the bright messenger of grace
At heaven's appointed hour;
And o'er yon low Judean roof,
While human power stood far aloof,
Announced the Incarnate Power.
The Virgin hears, with holy awe,
The great fulfilment of the law,

Sprung from herself on earth;
And now the manifesting star
Calls wisdom from the east afar,
To hail the promised birth.
Ye nations, worship at the call!
Emmanuel comes, to rescue all

From death's relentless doom:
Thou slumbering world, awake and see
Thy life and immortality

In yon poor manger's gloom!

Lay down your worthy offerings here;
The myrrh he loves is sorrow's tear,

O'er conscious guilt distilled;
His frankincense the grateful sigh
Of guilt redeemed from misery-

Thus be his temple filled!

"Peace and good-will" to earth he brings, And heaven that hears, in transport sings! Oh! turn to him alone,

Turk, Heathen, Jew! till Heaven behold One Shepherd, and one spotless fold Surround Jehovah's throne.

HODGSON.

CHRISTIAN WARFARE.

SOLDIER, go, but not to claim

Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, Not to build a vaunting name,

Not to dwell in tents of pleasure.
Dream not that the way is smooth,

Hope not that the thorns are roses;
Tarn no wishful eye of youth
Where the sunny beam reposes;-

Thou hast sterner work to do,
Hosts to cut thy passage through:
L'ose behind thee gulfs are burning-
Forward! there is no returning.
Soldier, rest-but not for thee

Spreads the world her downy pillow;
On the rock thy couch must be,

While around thee chafes the billow
Thine must be a watchful sleep,
Wearier than another's waking;
Such a charge as thou dost keep
Brooks no moment of forsaking.
Sleep, as on the battle-field,
Girded-grasping sword and shield
Those thou canst not name nor number,
Steal upon thy broken slumber

Soldier, rise-the war is done:
Lo! the hosts of hell are flying;
'Twas thy Lord the battle won;

Jesus vanquished them by dying.
Pass the stream-before thee lies
All the conquered land of glory
Hark what songs of rapture rise,
These proclaim the victor's story.
Soldier, lay thy weapons down,
Quit the sword, and take the crown!
Triumph! all thy foes are banished,
Death is slain, and earth has vanished.
CHARLOTTE ElizabTa

A CHURCH-YARD SCENE.
How sweet and solemn, all alone,
With reverend step, from stone to stone,
In a small village church-yard lying,
O'er intervening flowers to move--
And as we read the names unknown,
Of young and ol1, to judgment gone,
And hear, in the calm air above,
Time onward, softly flying,
To meditate, in Christian love,
Upon the dead and dying!
Across the silence seem to go
With dream-like motion, wavery, slow,
And shrouded in their folds of snow,
The friends we loved long, long ago!
Gliding across the sad retreat,
How beautiful their phantom feet!
What tender.ess is in their eyes,
Turned where the poor survivor lies,

Mid monitory sanctities!

What years of vanished joy are fanned
From one uplifting of that hand

In its white stillness! When the shade
Doth glimmeringly in sunshine fade
From our embrace, how dim appears
This world's life, through a mist of tears!
Vain hopes! Wild sorrows! Needless fears!
Such is the scene around me now:

A little church-yard, on the brow
Of a green pastoral hill:

Its sylvan village sleeps below,

And faintly, here, is heard the flow
Of Woodburn's summer ill;

A place where all things mournful meet,
And, yet, the sweetest of the sweet!—
The stillest of the still!

With what a pensive beauty fall,

Across the mossy, mouldering wall

That rose-tree's clustered arches! See
The robin-redbreast, warily,

Bright through the blossoms leaves his nest,
Sweet ingrate! through the winter blest
At the firesides of men-but shy
Through all the sunny, summer hours,-
He hides himself among the flowers
In his own wild festivity.

What lulling sound, and shadow cool,
Hangs half the darkened church-yard o'er,
From thy green depths, so beautiful,
Thou gorgeous sycamore!

Oft hath the lonely wine and bread,
Been blest beneath thy murmuring tent,
Where many a bright and hoary head,
Bowed at the awful sacrament.
Now all beneath the turf are laid,
On which they sat, and sang, and prayed
Alone that consecrated tree
Ascends the tapering spire, that seems
To lift the soul up silently

To heaven, with all its dreams!-
While in the belfry, deep and low,
From his heaved bosom's purple gleams
The dove's continuous murmurs flow,
A dirge-like song, half-bliss, half wo,-
The voice so lonely seems!

JOHN WIL

PULPIT ELOQUENCE.

THE day was declining-the breeze in its glee
Had left the fair blossoms to sing on the sea,
As the sun in its gorgeousness, radiant and still,
Dropped down like a gem from the brow of the hill,
One tremulous star in the glory of June
Came out with a smile and sat down by the moon,
As she graced her blue throne with the pride of a queen,
The smiles of her loveliness gladdened the scene.

The scene was enchanting! in distance away
Rolled the foam-crested waves of the Chesapeake bay,
While bathing in moonlight the village was seen
With the church in the distance that stood on the green,
The soft-sleeping meadows lay brightly enrolled,
With their mantles of verdure and blossoms of gold,
And the earth in her beauty, forgetting to grieve,
Lay asleep in her bloom on the bosom of eve.

A light-hearted child, I had wandered away
From the spot where my footsteps had gamboled all day;
And free as a bird's was the song of my soul,
As I heard the wild waters exultingly roll;
While lightening my heart as I sported along,
With bursts of low laughter and snatches of song,
I struck in the pathway half worn o'er the sod
By the feet that went up to the worship of God.
As I traced its green windings, a murmur of prayer
With the hymn of the worshippers rose on the air,
And drawn by the links of its sweetness along,
I stood unobserved in the midst of the throng.
For awhile my young spirit still wandered about

With the birds, and the winds, that were singing without;

But birds, waves, and zephyrs, were quickly forgot
In one angel-like being that brightened the spot.

In stature majestic, apart from the throng,

He stood in his beauty, the theme of my song!
His cheek pale with fervor-the blue orbs above
Lit up with the splendors of youth and of love,

Yet the heart-glowing rapture that beamed from those

eyes

Seemed saddened by sorrow, and chastened by sighs,
As if the young heart in its bloom had grown cold
With its loves unrequited, its sorrows untold.

Such language as his may I never recall,

But his theme was salvation-salvation to all-
And the souls of a thousand in ecstasy hung

On the manna-like sweetness that dropped from his tongue.
Not alone on the ear his wild eloquence stole :
Enforced by each gesture, it sunk to the soul,

Till it seemed that an angel had brightened the sod,
And brought to each bosom a message from God.

He spoke of the Savior-what pictures he drew!
The scenes of his sufferings rose clear on my view-
The cross-the rude cross, where he suffered and died;
The gush of bright crimson that flowed from his side;
The cup of his sorrows-the worinwood and gall;
The darkness that mantled the earth as a pall;
The garland of thorns; and the demon-like crews
Who knelt as they scoffed him, "Hail, King of the Jews!"

He spoke, and it seemed that his statue-like form
Expanded and glowed, as his spirit grew warm;
His tone so impassioned-so melting his air,
As touched with compassion he ended in prayer;
His hands clasped above him-his blue orbs upthrown,
Still pleading for sins that were never his own,
While that mouth where such sweetness ineffably clung,
Still spoke, though expression had died on his tongue.

O God! what emotions the speaker awoke !

A mortal he seemed-yet a Deity spoke;

A man-yet so far from humanity riven;

On earth-yet so closely connected with heaven!
How oft in my fancy I've pictured him there

As he stood in that triumph of passion and prayer,
With his eyes closed in rapture-their transient eclipse
Made bright by the smiles that illumined his lips

There's a charm in delivery-a magical art
That thrills like a kiss, from the lip to the heart;
'Tis the glance-the expression-the well-chosen word,
By whose magic the depths of the spirit are stirred;
The smile-the mute gesture-the soul-startling pause,
The eye's sweet expression, that melts while it awes
The lips soft persuasion, its musical tone:

O such was the charm of that eloquent one!

The time is long past-yet how clearly defined
That bay, church, and village, float up on my mind;
I see amid azure the moon in her pride,
With the sweet little trembler that sat by her side;
I hear the blue waves, as she wanders along,
Leap up in their gladness and sing her a song,
And I tread in the pathway half worn o'er the sod
By the feet that went up to the worship of God.

The time is long past-yet what visions I see!
The past, the dim past, is the present to me;

I am standing once more 'mid that heart-stricken throng,
A vision floats up-'tis the theme of my song-
All glorious and bright as a spirit of air,
The light, like a halo encircling his hair,

As I catch the same accents of sweetness and love,
He whispers of Jesus, and points us above.

How sweet to my heart is the picture I've traced!
Its chain of bright fancies seem almost effaced,
Till Memory, the fond one that sits in the soul,
Took up the frail links, and collected the whole.
As the dew to the blossom-the bud to the bee-
As the scent to the rose-are those memories to me.
Round the cords of my heart they have tremblingly clung
And the echo it gives is the song I have sung.

COR. OF LOUISVILLE JOURNAL

THE DAISY.

Nor worlds on worlds in phalanx deep, Need we to prove a God is here: The daisy, fresh from winter's sleep, Tells of his hand in lines as clear.

For who but he that arched the skies,

And pours the day-spring's living flood, Wondrous alike in all he tries,

Could rear the daisy's purple bud?

Mould its green cup, its wiry stem,
Its fringed border nicely spin,
And cut the gold-embossed gem,
That, set in silver, gleams within?
Then fling it, unrestrained and free,
O'er hill and dale, and desert sod,
That man, where'er he walks, may see
In every step, the stamp of God.
J. M. GOOD.

POWER AND BENEVOLENCE.
GOD is not great because omnipotent!
But because power in him is understood,
And felt and proved, to be benevolent,

And wise, and holy-thus it ever should!
For what He wills, we know is pure and good,
And has in view the happiness of ALL:

Hence love and adoration-never could

The contrite spirit at his footstool fall,

If power, and power alone, its feelings did appal!

If then divinest power be truly so,

Because its object is to bless;

It follows, that all power which man can know, The highest even monarchs can possess, Displays alone, their "less than littleness," Unless it seek the happiness of man,

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