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Yes, Lord; but shoots no gladd’ning day

Thro this nocturnal scene?
Decks not one gem of lively ray

Grief's darksome wave unseen?
How sweet the evergreen beguiles

The gloom of yonder snow!
Thus virtue cheers, with endless smiles,

Life's wintry waste of woe.
Howl then, ye storms'; ye tempests, beat

Round this unshrinking head!
I know a sweet, a soft retreat

In virtue's peaceful shed!
Drive down, ye bails ; pour, snows and winds

Pale terror where I stray !
My foot a path, yet verdant, finds

Where virtue smooths the way!
O Thou, by whose all-gracious hand

The cherub mercy stands,
Smiling at each divine command,

With fondness o'er the lands;
O let me ne'er with marble eye

Pale shiv'ring want reject,
Where mourns the long, the deep-drawn sigh,

The anguish of neglect !
While lordly pride and cushion'd ease

Petition's tear despise ;
O let this hand the mourner raise,

And wipe her streaming eyes!
When death shall call me to my Lord,

To bow beneath his throne;
His praise be the divine reward,

That charity has won.

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On! thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,

How dark this world would be,
If, when deceiv'd and wounded here,

We could not fly to thee!
The friends who in our sunshine live,

When winter comes, are down;
And he who has but tears to give,

Must weep those tears alone;
But thou wilt heal that broken heart,

Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,

Breathes sweetness out of woe.
When joy no longer soothes or cheers,

And ev'n the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,

Is dimm'd and vanish'd too!
Oh who would bear life's stormy doom,

Did not thy wing of love
Come brightly wafting through the gloom,

One Peace-branch from above?
Then sorrow, touch'd by thee, grows bright

With more than raptare's ray;

And it Ang

There

Wher

ht,

As darkness shows us worlds of light

We never saw by day.

MOORE.

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OH! HAD I WINGS LIKE YONDER BIRD.
Oh! had I wings like yonder bird,

That soars above its downy nest,
I'd fly away, unseen, unheard,

Where I might be for aye at rest.
I would not seek those fragrant bowers,

Which bloom beneath a cloudless sky,
Nor could I rest amidst the flow'rs,

That deck the groves of Araby.
I'd fly—but not to scenes below,

Though ripe with every promis'd bliss,
For what's the world ? a garnish'd show-

A decorated wilderness.
Ob! I would fly and be at rest,

Far, far beyond each glittering sphere
That bangs upon the azure breast,

Of all we know of heay'n here.
And there I'd rest amidst the joys,

Angelic lips alone can tell ;
Where bloom the bowers of paradise

Where songs in sweetest transports swell.
There would I rest, beneath that throne,

Whose glorious circle gilds the sky;
Where sits Jehovah, who alone,

Can wipe the mourner's weeping eye.

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DESTRUCTION OF THE ASSYRIANS.
The Assyrian come down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears were like stars on

the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Gallilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autom hath blown
That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown.
For the Angel of death spread his wings on the

blast,
And breath'd on the face of the foe as he pass’d,
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once hear’d, and for ever grew

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still,

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And there lay the steed with his nostril al) wide
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his

pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on bis brow and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.

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BYRON,

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DESTRUCTION OF THE ASSYRIANS
T'he Assyrian come down like the wolf on the fi
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple sis.
And the sheen of their spears were like stas

the sea,

1

When the blue ware rolls nightly on deep Call
Like the leaves of the forest when summer ist
That host with their banners at sunset met
Like the leaves of the forest when autom hade den
That host on the morrow lay wither'd add stre
For the Angel of death spread his wings

blast,
And breath'd on the face of the foe as he pass
And the eyes of the sleepers war'd deadly and d
And their hearts but once hear'd, and forever

still.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all rit
But through it there rolld not the breath

pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the ter
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surt.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on bis brow and the rust on bis see
And the tents were all silent, the banders akt.
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their ar
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sau

JERUS'LEM! JERUS'LEM, THE SPOILER HAS

TROD.
JER US’LEM! Jerus’lem, the spoiler has trod,
On the hill of thy Zion the mount of thy God;
And the tow'rs of thy city which brilliantly shone,
Are moulder'd to dust and thy temple is gone.
But where are thy people, the once happy race,
The Israel of God and the pride of their place?
Go ask at their prophets and hear wbat they say,
For the wrath of Jehovah has forc'd them away.
They are driven afar ’mong the lands of the earth,
Their name is a scorn and the place of their birth;
And no more near their Zion its praises they sing,
For their land is the seat of an infidel king.
But yet, oh! Jerus'lem, thy tow'rs shall again,
Look proud on thy Zion, and smile o'er the plain;
And thy people shall come where the spoiler has

trod,
Their city to build, and give praise to their God.

WEIR.

THE POWER OF GOD.

Thou art, O God, the life and light

Of all this wondrous world we see:
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from thee!
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,

And all things fair and bright are thine.

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Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lari

When day with farewell beam delays,

Among the op'ning clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into

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