Senfe looks downwards Faith above; That sees harfhness-This fees love; Oh! let Faith victorious be Let it reign triumphantly! But thou art gone! not loft, but flown, I would not afk thee, if I could; XLI. THE DEAF AND DUMB. OW the bright fpring comes forth to clothe the trees, And her foft-fighing whispers in the breeze; The liquid warblings, from a thousand throats, Pour on the perfumed air their richest notes; The gush of many ftreams comes o'er the foul, It is a Sabbath morn; and many feet And send their hearts up with the anthem's swell,— Amid a bufy world they are alone, And to no kindred heart can make their moan; But there was one, who in His inmost foul, Oh! pitying heart, that like thy Lord can figh, A day will come, when on the closed ear The theme will give the power-before unknown, And the full heart roll out the tide of fong, Poured by the deaf and dumb. C. J. XLII. THE SABBATH. JABBATH hours! they come and go Iris-coloured-then away! Yet fertility is seen Fresher, where the stream hath been. Sabbath hours! ye come between, Like an iflet's emerald green, Where its wearied ones may flee; Catching, from its tide-wafhed ftrand, Till they deem the foft winds come, May the Sabbath ever be, Swiftly do its funbeams fly, XLIII. THE SABBATH. HERE'S mufic in the morning air, For calling to the Houfe of Prayer The humbleft peafant's feet. From hill and vale, and diftant moor, Long as the chime is heard, Each cottage fends its tenants poor, For God's enriching Word. Still where the British power hath trod, The crofs of faith afcends; And like a radiant arch of God, The light of Scripture bends! Deep in the foreft wilderness, The wood-built Church is known; A sheltering wing in man's diftrefs, Spread like the Saviour's own! Far as the Sabbath chimes are fent, Thousands and tens of thousands bring, If at an earthly chime the tread How bleft the fight, from death's dark fleep, To fee God's faints arife, And countless hofts of angels keep The Sabbath of the Skies! XLIV. HOLY SORROW. H! Thou, that drieft the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, The friends, who in our funfhine live, And he who has but tears to give |