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While Man's immortal part, when Time
Shall set the chainless spirit free, May seek a brighter, happier clime
Than fancy e'er could feign for thee: Though bright her fairy bowers may be,
Yet brief as bright their beauties fade, And sad experience mourns to see
Each gourd Hope trusted in--decay'd. But in those regions, calm and pure,
To which our boliest wishes cling, Joys, that eternally endure,
Shall bloom in everlasting Spring :
Are vocal to the great I AM,
Of grateful praises to the Lamb !
Through Faith's strong vision, eagle-eyed, Those joys immortal that await
Angelic spirits purified,
E’er cast their glorious hopes away?
Their steadfast anchor, and their stay. Though many a flower that sweetly deck'd
Life's early path, but ploom'd to fade; Though sorrow, poverty, neglect
Now seem to wrap their souls in shade ;Let these look upward undismay'd,
From thorny paths in anguish trod To regions where—in light array’d,
Still dwells their Saviour, and their God. Sport on, then, lovely Summer fly,
With whom began my votive strain : Yet purer joys their hopes supply,
Who, by Faith's alchemy, obtain Comfort in sorrow, bliss in pain,
Freedom in bondage, light in gloom, Through earthly losses, heavenly gain,
And Life immortal through the tomb.
LAMENTATION OVER PALESTINE.
By Bishop HEBER.
'REFT of thy sons, amid thy foes forlorn,
No suppliant nations in thy temple wait:
Ye guardian saints! ye warrior sons of heaven!
O Thou, their Guide, their Father, and their Lord,
Was it for this she stretch'd her peopled reign
O feeble boast of transitory power!
round! Let Sinai tell—for she beheld his might, And God's own darkness veil'd her conscious height; (He, cherub-borne, upon the whirlwind rode, And the red mountain like a furnace glowed :) Let Sinai tell—but who shall dare recite His praise, His power, eternal, infinite ? Awe-struck, I cease; nor bid my strains aspire, Or serve his altar with unhallow'd fire.
ABOVE AND BELOW.
By JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, an American poet.
Who in deep twilight grope and cower
Shortens to noon's triumphal hour,-
ye sit idle, do ye think
Of morn, because 'tis dark with you ?
Though yet your valleys skulk in night,
In God's ripe fields the day is cried, And reapers
with their sickles bright, Troop singing, down the mountain's side: Come up, and feel what health there is
In the frank Dawn's delighted eyes, As bending with a pitying kiss,
The night-shed tears of Earth she dries ! The Lord wants reapers: 0, mount up,
Before night comes, and says --- Too late!" Stay not for taking scrip or cup,
The Master hungers while ye wait; 'Tis from these heights alone your eyes
The advancing spears of day can see,
To break your long captivity.
It is right precious to behold
Flood all the thirsty east with gold ;
Know also when the day is nigh,
With his inspiring prophecy.
God lacks not early service here,
He counts with us from morning cheer; Our day, for Him, is long enough,
And when he giveth work to do, The bruised reed is amply tough
To pierce the shield of error through. But not the less do thou aspire
Light's earlier messages to preach; Keep back no syllable of fire,
Plunge deep the rowels of thy speech. Yet God deems not thine aëried sight More worthy than our twilight dim, -For meek Obedience, too, is Light,
And following that is finding Him,
Translated from the Spanish of Bartolome Leonardo de Argensola.
In wonder and in scorn!
The Lord to pity and love.
On that pale cheek of thine.
Holy, and pure, and wise.
Distil Arabian myrrh !
Bear home the abundant grain.
But come and see the bleak and barren mountains
Leaves on the dry dead tree;
For ever, towards the skies. ·
The name of the Author is unknown to us.
A LITTLE bark was floating down a stream
A broad, calm stream ; the moon was high in heaven, And kiss'd the water with her
cool beam, As it lay sleeping, like a child forgiven
me little fault, who on its parent's breast Pillows its head, and sobs itself to rest.