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Who leads their march? Beneath his wheel
Back rolls the sea, the mountains reel!
Before their tread his trump is blown,
Who speaks in thunder and 'tis done!
King of the dead! oh! not in vain
Was thy long pilgrimage of pain;
Oh, not in vain arose thy prayer,
When pressed the thorn thy temples bare!
Oh, not in vain the voice that cried,
To spare thy maddened homicide!

Even for this hour thy heart's blood streamed
They come !-the Host of the Redeemed!
What flames upon the distant sky?
'Tis not the comet's sanguine dye,
"Tis not the lightning's quivering spire,
"Tis not the sun's ascending fire.

And now, as nearer speeds their march,
Expands the rainbow's mighty arch;
Though there has burst no thunder cloud,
No flash of death the soil has ploughed,
And still ascends before their gaze,
Arch upon arch, the lovely blaze;
Still as the gorgeous clouds unfold,
Rise towers and domes, immortal mould.
Scenes! that the patriarch's visioned eye
Beheld, and then rejoiced to die ;-
That like the altar's burning coal,
Touch'd the pale prophet's harp with soul;-
That the throned seraphs long to see,
Now given, thou slave of slaves to thee!
Whose city this? what potentate

Sits there?-The King of time and fate'
Whom glory covers like a robe,

Whose sceptre shakes the solid globe,
Whom shapes of fire and splendour guard!

There sits the Man whose face was marred,'

To whom archangels bow the knee-
The Weeper in Gethsemane!

Down in the dust, aye, Israel, kneel,
For now thy withered heart can feel!
Aye, let thy wan cheek burn like flame,
There sits thy glory and thy shame.

349

DEATH.

[ANONYMOUS.]

LEAVES have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death.

Day is for mortal care,

Eve for glad glidings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth'

The banquet hath its hour,

Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears-but all are thine!

Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,

And smile at thee!-but thou art not of those That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey!

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set-but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death.

We know when moons shall wane,

When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain-" But who shall teach us when to look for thee?

Is it when spring's first gale

Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our path grow pale?
They have one season-all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam,

Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth-and thou art there!

Thou art where friend meets friend
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set--but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death.

HARMONY.

[BOWRING.]

'I BADE the Day-break bring to me

Its own sweet song

of ecstacy:

An answer came from leafy trees,

And waking birds, and wandering hees,
And wavelets on the water's brim-

The matin hymn-the matin hymu!

I asked the Noon for music then :
It echoed forth the hum of men ;
The sounds of labour on the wind,
The loud-voiced eloquence of mind;
The heart-the soul's sublime pulsations-
The song the shout-the shock of nations.

I hastened from the restless throng,
To soothe me with the Evening song:
The darkening heaven was vocal still,
I heard the music of the rill-

The home-bound bee-the vesper bell-
The cicada-and philomel.

Thou Omnipresent Harmony!

Shades, streams, and stars are full of thee;
On every wing-in every sound,

Thine all-pervading power is found;
Some chord to touch-some tale to tell-
Deep-deep within the Spirit's cell.'

TO THE SOUL.

[TOPLADY.]

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,
Made for God, to God return.

351

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 care on him,
Him, whose dying love and power
Still'd its tossing, hush'd its war:
Safe is 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!

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