When they come, they come in flocks,
As, on glancing feather,
Startled birds rise one by one,
In autumnal weather,
Waking one another up

From the sheltering heather.

Some so merry that I laugh,
Some are grave and serious,
Some so trite, their least approach
Is enough to weary us:
Others flit like midnight ghosts,
Shrouded and mysterious.

There are thoughts that o'er me steal,
Like the day when dawning;
Great thoughts wing'd with melody,
Common utterance scorning,
Moving in an inward tune,

And an inward morning.

Some have dark and drooping wings,

Children all of sorrow;

Some are as gay, as if to-day

Could see no cloudy morrow,

And yet like light and shade they each
Must from the other borrow.

One by one they come to me

On their destined mission; One by one I see them fade

With no hopeless vision; For they've led me on a step To their home Elysian.

K

C. P. CRANCH.

HALL to the lay, which He, who made the

heaven,

Barth, and their armies, sanerned and blest, Perpetua memory of the Maker's rest! Hail to the day, when He, by whom was given New fe to man, the tomb asunder riven,

Arose! That day his Church doth still confess, At once Creation's and Redemption's feast, Sign of a world called forth, a world forgiven. Welcome that day, the day of holy peace,

The Lord's own day! to man's Creator owed, And man's Redeemer; for the soul's increase In sanctity, and sweet repose bestowed; Type of the rest when sin and care shall cease, The rest remaining for the loved or God! BISHOP MANT.

Shoots full perfection through the swelling year:
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks,
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, and hollow whisp'ring
gales.

Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives.
In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms
Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd,
Majestic darkness! On the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime, Thou bidds't the world adore,
And humblest nature with thy northern blast.
Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine,
Deep-felt, in these appear! a simple train,
Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin'd;
And all so forming an harmonious whole;
Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade,
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze,
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres ;
Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring;
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day;
Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempest forth;
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life.
Nature attend! join every living soul
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and ardent raise
One general song! To Him ye vocal gales

Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes:

O talk of Him in solitary glooms,

Where o'er the rock the scarcely waving pine
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe!
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,
Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heav'n
Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage.
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as I muse along.

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Te softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself,

Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring fall.
So roll your incense, berbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil
paints.

Te forests bend, ye harvests wave to Him:
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home be goes beneath the joyous moon.
Te that keep watch in heav'n, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your midest beams,
Te constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.

eat source of day! best image bere below
thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

"om world to world, the vital ocean round,

nature write with every beam his praise. The thunder rolls: be hushed the prostrate world;

While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound: the broad responsive low,
Ye valleys, raise; for the Great Shepherd reigns;
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands, all awake: a boundless song
Burst from the groves! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweetest of birds! sweet Philomela, charm
The listening shades, and teach the night his praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles;
At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn! In swarming cities vast,
Assembled men to the deep organ join

The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass;
And as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardor rise to heav'n.

Or if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove;
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows; the Summer ray
Russets the plain; inspiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rises in the blackening east:
Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat.

Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun