NIGHT REFLECTIONS.

And the harp and the viol, the tabret and pipe and wine are in their feasts: but they regard not the work of the Lord, neither consider the operation of his hands.

Isaiah, ch. v., ver. 12.

How calm is the night-how serene!

Scarce a voice or a sound can be heard

To awake the repose of the scene,

But the notes of the night-warbling bird.

The day is sunk deep in the west,

And with us will be present no more;

It has left us a season for rest;

Its pains and its pleasures are o'er.

The peasants that culture the soil,

On their pallets of straw are reclin'd;

In sleep have forgotten their toil,

And the world for awhile have resign'd.

Their days are with temperance crown'd;

Their slumbers from industry spring—

Sweet slumbers-more tranquil and sound

Than light on the lids of a king.

Yes, many a monarch would tear

From his temples the costliest ray,

Could he so relinquish his care,

And lie down to slumber as they.

Ye Great! (that deserve not the name Who in riot and luxury live)

Suppress not the blush of your shame,

'Midst pleasure's intemperate rounds,

Your heedless career is begun;

And nought will determine its bounds

But th' intrusive return of the sun.

How many now wait to receive

The praise due to grandeur and style;

How many are ready to give

The false, ever-flattering smile.

The epicure amply regal'd,

On oblivion's fond couch is reclin'd;

The drunkard's full cups have prevail'd

To make him the jest of mankind.

This moment perhaps may decide

The chance of some profligate heir—

To sail on a fortunate tide,

Or sink in the gulph of despair.

If such be the pleasures of wealth,
Then let me not wealthy be made.

O Temperance! grant me thy health,
And the peace of a lowlier shade.

The beauties that nature bestows,

The landscape-the flow'ret-the tree

And this season of thought and repose,

Yield richer enjoyments to me.