THE INDIAN FIRE-FLY. WHEN first bold Gama's venturous band Can match the splendour of that light, Philosophy must deign to pause Wherever reason should survive, Willed that this beauteous fly should live. Perhaps too (who shall ever tell?) THE SAILOR'S EVENING PRAYER. LONG the sun hath gone to rest, And the sky hath lost the hue Aid us, o'er the changeful deep, Bless the sailor's ocean-sleep On the stilly twilight air We would breathe our solemn prayer, "Bless the dear ones of our home, Guide us through the wild waves' foam, To the light of those dear eyes, Where our hearts' best treasure lies, That unchanging home of rest! Hear her, when at even-tide She kneels to pray, That God would bless, defend, and guide, Those far away!" Now the moon hath touched the sea, And the waves, all tremblingly, Throw towards heaven their silvery spray, Happy in the gladdening ray : Thus, Redeemer, let thy love Shine upon us from above; Touched by Thee, our hearts will rise, Grateful towards the glowing skies; Guard us, shield us, mighty Lord, Still the tempest with thy word,— PARAPHRASE OF PSALM LXXX. THE vine of the incarnate Word And warmed by vernal beams. 'Twas pruned and fenced around with care, Guarded from blight-infected air, And from the noxious worm: The briers and thorns that filled the land It spread a wide-extended root, Why hast Thou laid her hedges low, Why wilt Thou let the passer-by To pluck her clustering fruit? Let not wild beasts nor herding swine Which here thy hand hath sown: That branch which Thou hast made so strong, And be proclaimed thine own. From heaven, O God! thy resting-place, When in unholy union joined, Threaten thy cultured vine. Thou showest, in thy sacred word, To whom but Thee, Lord! can we go, THE SABBATH. Lo! smiling like an angel from the sky, The Sabbath-morning comes to bless mankind: Before her face earth's meaner pleasures fly, And groveling cares. Th' emancipated mind Now feels its freedom, casts the world behind, And with glad welcome hails the happy train That wait upon her steps. There Rest, reclined On Peace, advancing, cheers the toil-worn swain; Devotion moves with meek and solemn mien, By Contemplation wrapt in holy trance: And transient joys of life, with forward glance, THE PASSING BELL. STOP, Oh! Stop the Passing Bell! Painfully, too painfully, It strikes against the heart, that knell; Of misery, of misery! All that soothed and sweetened life In the mother and the wife All that would a charm have cast Stop it! no-but change the tone, She hath left her couch of pain; She shall never feel again But as angels feel-afar, Climbed beyond the morning star, Agony and death unknown! AGAINST WANDERING THOUGHTS ON THR SABBATH-DAY. Он, why should the thought of a world that is flying Or why should the Sabbath be sullied with sighing, |