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When Earth to the embrace of Heaven,

Doth glowingly respond;

When sweet and flumbrous melodies
O'er land and water creep,

As Nature fits, with half-fhut eyes,
Singing herself to fleep.

Ye fhall catch the gleam of our golden hair,
In the wake of the finking fun; .

And we'll wander on earth, or hover in air,
With our robes of glory on.

And those whofe miffion with daylight closes,
As homeward they hie them fast,

Shall leave you a chaplet of Heaven's own roses,
On the mountain they touched the last.

Yet not to the animal tafte alone

Is our office of love confined;

We will minister pleasures of loftier tone,

To the fubtler fenfe of mind.

In the beauty that woes the eye around,
In the mufic that haunts the ear,
Ye shall feel a prefence more profound,
Than ought that ye fee and hear.

A voice from the ocean's world of wonder,
From the mountain's crest elate,

From the rushing wind, from the rolling thunder,
Announces "GOD IS GREAT."

Where in the foreft's lonely place,

The fountain dwells fecure;
With fmiles upon its dimpled face,
It tells us "GOD IS PURE."

The humbleft flower, the tinieft creature,
That creeps, or swims, or flies,
Joins with the mightier forms of nature
To atteft that "GOD IS WISE."

The bleffing with the sunshine given,
Wakes joy in field and grove ;

Heaven speaks to earth, and earth to Heaven
Makes answer "GOD IS LOVE."

Thus borrowing from material things
A token and a tone,

We'll teach of love, whofe fecret fprings

God fees and God alone.

And would ye know what deeds are done
In other worlds afar?

And call down teachers many a one,
From planet and from star?

Delightful task, to fingle out

Some twinkling point of light
From all the diamonds wreathed about
The coronal of night;

And draw you of its scenery
A landscape grand and strange,
And trace through all its history
The wondrous path of change!

H

Yet there be vast and dim dominions, Ocean without a shore,

Which not the boldest angel-pinions
Have ventured to explore;

And there be myfteries fathomless,
Wrought in a realm of fire,
Whereat the Cherubim may guess,
But have not dared enquire.

One thing we know, that ages back,
Before your earth was made,
There rofe a cloud, fo denfely black
It caft e'en Heaven in shade.

That darkness past, and light on high
Again ferenely fhone;

But when we looked along the sky,
Ten thousand stars were gone!

Again the angel-watch was fet
The eternal gates before;
But many a face we there had met,

We met again no more.

God o'er their fate a veil has spread,
Nor further may we win;
Save of its cause a rumour dread,

That fighed the name of fin.

God guard us fafe from aught of ill,
In knowledge or in deed!

To know His love, to do His will
We ask no higher meed.

May naught avert the bleffing given
His creatures at their birth;
Disturb the harmonies of Heaven,
Or mar the peace of earth.

HANKINSON.

XXXII.

DEATH.

HE feeble pulfe, the gafping breath,
The clenched teeth, the glazed eye,-
Are these thy fting, thou dreadful death?
O grave, are these thy victory?

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The mourners by our parting bed,
The wife, the children weeping nigh,
The difmal pageant of the dead -
Thefe, these are not thy victory!

But from the much-loved world to part,
Our luft untamed, our spirit high,
All nature ftruggling at the heart,
Which, dying, feels it dare not die!

To dream through life a gaudy dream
Of pride, and pomp, and luxury,
Till waken'd by the nearer gleam
Of burning, boundless agony;

To meet o'er foon our angry King,
Whofe love we paffed unheeded by -
Is this, O death, thy deadlieft fting?
O grave, and this thy victory?

O Searcher of the fecret heart,
Who deigned for finful man to die!
Reftore us ere the spirit part,

Nor give to hell the victory.

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BISHOP HEBER.*

XXXIII.

PRAYER.

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O up and watch the new-born rill
Juft trickling from its moffy bed,
Streaking the heath-clad hill
With a bright emerald thread.

Canft thou her bold career foretell,
What rocks fhe fhall o'erleap or rend,
How far in Ocean's fwell
Her freshening billows fend?

This powerful defcription of untamed fin at its clofing hour will more forcibly remind the reader of that awful hymn by Peter Damian on "the Laft Day," which is given in this collection, than what is ufually found in modern compofitions.

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