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In vain the stern Tyrant affailed

With threats of the dungeon or grave ;He spoke but the word, and the timid ne'er quailed

In pangs that had mastered the brave. The babe hath endured, while its frame

With the scourge and the torture was torn The maiden, the mother, in chariots of flame,

To glory triumphant were borne.

For what were thy terrors, O Death ?

And where was thy triumph, O Grave? When the vest of pure white and the conquering

wreath,
Were the prize of the scorned and the slave ?
Oh! then to our Father was given,

To read the bright visions on high ;
He gave to our view the full glories of Heaven;-

We heard and we haftened to die.

Some died—they are with thee above;

Some live—they lament for thee now; But who would recall thee, blest Saint, from the

love That circles with glory thy brow? Long, long didst thou linger below,

But the term of thine exile is o'er; And praises shall mix with the tears that must flow

From the eyes that behold thee no more.
Praise-praise—that thy trials are past !

Joy-joy-that thy triumph is won !
The thrones are completed—for thine is the last

Of the twelve that encircle the Son!

O Lord! shall the time not be yet

When thy church shall be blessed and free? Thou who canst not forsake, and who will not for

get, Come quickly or take us to Thee!

Dale.

LIX.

MIDNIGHT CHIMES.

NELL of departed years,

Thy voice is sweet to me;
It wakes no fad foreboding fears,
Calls forth no sympathetic tears,
Time's restless course to see.

From hallowed ground

I hear the sound,
Diffusing through the air a holy calm around.

Thou art the voice of Hope,

The music of the spheres,
A song of blessings yet to come ;
A herald from my future home
My soul delighted hears.

By fin deceived,

By nature grieved, Still am I nearer heaven than when I first believed.

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Thou art the voice of Love,
To chide each doubt

away ;
And as the murmur faintly dies,
Visions of past enjoyment rise
In long and bright array.

I hail the sign,

That Love Divine
Will o'er my future path in cloudless glory shine.

Thou art the Voice of Life,

A sound which seems to say,
O prisoner in this gloomy vale,
Thy flesh may faint, thy heart may fail,
Yet fairer scenes thy spirit hail,
Which shall not pass away.

Here grief and pain

Thy steps detain; There, in the image of thy Lord, shalt thou with

Jesus reign.

LX.

THE MILLENNIUM.

WHAT a bright and blessed world

This groaning earth of ours will be, When from its throne the tempter

hurled, Shall leave it all, O Lord, to Thee!

But brighter far that world above,

When we, as we are known, shall know ; And, in the sweet embrace of love,

Reign o'er this ransom'd earth below.

O blessed Lord! with weeping eyes,

That blissful hour we wait to see; While every worm or leaf that dies,

Tells of the curse and calls for Thee.

Come, Saviour, then o'er all below,

Shine brightly from thy throne above ; Bid Heaven and Earth thy glory know, And all creation feel thy love.

Sir E. DENNY.

LXI.

THE MILLENNIUM.

HE groans of Nature in this nether

world,
Which Heaven has heard for ages,

have
an end;
Foretold by prophets, and by poets

fung,
Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp;
The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes.
Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh
Fulfilld their tardy and disastrous course
Over a sinful world; and what remains

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Of this tempestuous state of human things,
Is merely as the working of a sea
Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest :
For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds
The dust that waits upon his sultry march,
When sin hath moved him, and his wrath is hot,
Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend
Propitious in his chariot paved with love;
And what His storms have blasted and defaced
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair.

Cowper.

LXII.

HEAVEN.

IS the soft hour of Eve,- the summer's

sun

Hath sunk in smiling loveliness to

rest;

His latest beams, fast fading one by one, Wake up a crimson glory in the West ; As if through openings in its portals riven, A gleam of bursting bliss had won its way from

Heaven.

At such an hour as this, the penfive soul,

Entranced in thought, unfolds for flight sublime, Her immaterial wings, and spurning all

The narrow boundaries of space and time, Feels that immortal strength which God has given, And knows her true relationship with Heaven.

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