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GOD in the high and holy place,
Looks down upon the spheres ;
Yet in His providence and grace,
To every eye appears.

In every stream His bounty flows,
Diffusing joy and wealth;

In every breeze His spirit blows

The breath of life and health.

His blessings fall in plenteous showers,
Upon the lap of earth,

That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers,
And rings with infant mirth.

If God hath made this world so fair,
Where sin and death abound;
How beautiful beyond compare,
Will Paradise be found.

From the Winter's Wreath. By E. W. Cox.

PROUD monument of perish'd time!
Record of another race,

Pile stupendous, rock sublime,

Thou of the high and haughty place!
What giant arm, what mighty hand,
Or sorcerer's spell, or wizard's wand,
Uprear'd thee thus to be

A wonder for admiring man,
With philosophic eye to scan,
A monstrous mystery?

Say, in the distant days of old
What changes hast thou seen?
Huge pyramid of years,-unfold
What mightiness hath been!

Did human labour lift thee there,
High soaring in the realms of air
To be a record vast

Of them the giants of the earth,
The children of the young world's birth,—
The beings of the past?

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Thy adamantine feet low lie
Based in the groaning lands
Thy head is pillow'd on the sky
Rock'd by no mortal hands;—
Thou warrest with the tempest cloud,
Scatterest its swelling thunders loud,
And still, above the shock,
Thou soarest calmly to the heaven,
All heedless of the cliff-towers riven
And the down-rolling rock.

Majestic mountain! art thou not
Ă remnant of a mightier world;
A record of a race forgot

From its haughty station hurl'd?
'Tis said that in the days of old,
The aspiring giants upward roll'd
An immeasurable heap

Of massive hills to scale the skies,
And dare the realms of Paradise,
Above yon azure steep:

Oh! say thee, art thou not of them,
Thou mighty towering one?
The snow-wreath is thy diadem

As thou dwellest there alone:
Perchance the days have been that thou
Hast veil'd that high and hoary brow
Beneath the green sea-waves;—
The billows-they perchance have swept
That form--the sportive sea-bird leapt
Amid those rock-hewn caves.

Mysterious monster! rampart vast!
Imperishable rock!

Thy might and majesty shall last,
Till that tremendous shock

When, at the trumpet-blast, the world
Will be from its existence hurl'd,
And heaven shall pass away!
Thou still wilt stand a wonder there
High hovering in heaven's purest air,
Till the great Judgment day.

Immortal hill! aspiring stone!
But seldom human eye

Hath fathom'd from thy summit lone
The dread profundity.
Even the soaring eagle's wing
Hath wearied with its wandering,
To seek thy solemn brow;
And the last sun-rays linger long
Thy cloud-assailing towers among,
When night reigns wide below.

Mountain! with awe I look on thee,
Thou art a fearful thing ;
Yet it would joy me much to be
With thy might communing :
In thine ethereal abode,
The finger of Almighty God
Enraptured still to trace;
And there, if amid aught below,
Where the purest airs of heaven flow,
To see his glorious face!



Go to dark Gethsemane

Ye that feel the tempter's power,
Your Redeemer's conflict see,
Watch with Him one bitter hour;
Turn not from His griefs away,
Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

Follow to the judgment-hall,
View the Lord of Life arraign'd;
O the wormwood and the gall:
O the pangs His soul sustain'd!
Shun not suffering, shame, or loss;
Learn of Him to bear the cross.

Calvary's mournful mountain climb;
There, adorning at His feet,
Mark the miracle of Time,
--God's own sacrifice complete,
"It is finish'd; "--hear Him cry;
Learn of Jesus Christ to die.

Early hasten to the tomb,

Where they laid His breathless clay;

All in solitude and gloom,

-Who hath taken Him away?
Christ is risen; He meets our eyes;
Saviour, teach us so to rise.



THERE God unfolds His presence, clouded here,
And shines eternal day. "All, all is there
Bright effluence of the uncreated mind;
Infinite beauty, all! a vernal life,

A fire ethereal, unperceived itself,

Felt in its glorious energy, pervades

And thrills through every part the taintless whole :
The air, the soil, the rivers, fruits, and flowers,

Instinct with immortality, and touch'd
With amaranthine freshness, by the hand
That form'd them, and the beatific smile
That ever beams around them. Every heart
Catches that smile; each eye reflects it; all,
In body and in spirit, sumless myriads,
Fill'd with empyreal vigour, fill'd with God,
And radiant in the glory of the Lamb!


A passage from YOUNG's Night Thoughts.

AND did He rise?
Hear, O ye nations! hear it, O ye dead!
He rose, He rose! he burst the gates of death.
Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates,
And give the King of Glory to come in.
Who is the King of Glory? He who slew
The rav'nous foe that gorged all human race!
The King of Glory He, whose glory fill'd
Heaven with amazement at His love to man
And with divine complacency beheld

Powers most illumined wilder'd in the theme.

The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain ?
Oh, the burst gates! crush'd sting! demolish'd throne!
Last gasp of vanquish'd death. Shout, earth and heaven,
This sum of good to man! whose nature then

Took wing, and mounted with Him from the tomb.
Then, then I rose; then first humanity

Triumphant pass'd the crystal ports of light,
(Stupendous guest!) and seized eternal youth,
Seized in our name.



FROM Olivet's sequester'd seats,

What sounds of transport spread?

What concourse moves through Salem's streets,
To Zion's holy head?

Behold Him there in lowliest guise !

The Saviour of mankind! Triumphal shouts before Him rise,

And shouts reply behind:

And "strike," they cry, your loudest string:
He comes! Hosanna to our King!

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