It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee— And thy dark sin!—Oh! I could drink the cup,

If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom!”

He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

WILLIS.

℗ make me Pure, with Pure Ones e'er to Dwell.

YES, let me die! Am I of spirit-birth,

And shall I linger here where spirits fell, Loving the stain they cast on all of earth? Oh make me pure, with pure ones e'er to dwell! 'Tis sweet to die! The flowers of earthly love (Fair, frail, spring blossoms) early droop and die;

But all their fragrance is exhaled above,
Upon our spirits evermore to lie.

Life is a dream, a bright but fleeting dream,
I can but love; but then my soul awakes,
And from the mist of earthliness a gleam

Of heavenly light, of truth immortal, breaks. I shrink not from the shadows Sorrow flings Across my pathway; nor from cares that rise In every footprint; for each shadow brings

Sunshine and rainbow as it glooms and flies. But heaven is dearer. There I have my treasure; There angels fold in love their snowy wings; There sainted lips chant in celestial measure, And spirit fingers stray o'er heav'n-wrought strings.

There loving eyes are to the portals straying;
There arms extend, a wanderer to fold;
There waits a dearer, holier One, arraying

His own in spotless robes and crowns of gold.

Then let me die! My spirit longs for heaven,
In that pure
bosom evermore to rest;
But, if to labour longer here be given,

66

'Father, thy will be done!" and I am blest.

EMILY JUDSON.

Love-destroying Bigotry.

LOVE-DESTROYING, cursèd Bigotry!

Cursed in heaven, but cursèd more in hell, Where millions curse thee, and must ever curse.

Religion's most abhorred! perdition's most

Forlorn! God's most abandoned! hell's most damned!

The infidel who turned his impious war
Against the walls of Zion, on the rock

Of ages built, and higher than the clouds,

Sinned, and received his due reward; but she Within her walls sinned more.

Of Ignorance Begot, her daughter, Persecution, walked

The earth, from age to age, and drank the blood
Of saints; with horrid relish drank the blood
Of God's peculiar children, and was drunk,
And in her drunkenness dreamed of doing good.
The supplicating hand of innocence,

That made the tiger mild, and in his wrath
The lion pause the groans of suffering most
Severe, were nought to her: she laughed at
groans;

No music pleased her more; and no repast

So sweet to her as blood of men redeemed
By blood of Christ. Ambition's self, though
mad,

And nursed on human gore, with her compared,
Was merciful. Nor did she always rage.
She had some hours of meditation, set
Apart, wherein she to her study went,
The Inquisition, model most complete
Of perfect wickedness, where deeds were done
Deeds! let them ne'er be named-and sat and
planned

Deliberately, and with most musing pains,
How to extremest thrill of agony

The flesh, and blood, and souls of holy men,

Her victims, might be wrought! and when she saw New tortures of her labouring fancy born,

She leaped for joy, and made great haste to try Their force, well pleased to hear a deeper groan. ROBERT POLLOK.

Thou Ereat Being! in whom E
Move and Live.

THOU great Being! in whom I move and live,
The grateful tribute of my praise receive.
To thy indulgence I my being owe,

And all the joys which from that being flow.
Scarce eighteen suns have form'd the rolling year,
And run their distant courses round the sphere,
Since thy creative eye my form survey'd
'Midst undistinguish'd heaps of matter laid.
Thy skill my elemental clay refin'd;
The vagrant particles in order join'd;
With perfect symmetry compos'd the whole,
And stamp'd thy sacred image on my soul;
A soul, susceptible of endless joy,

Whose frame not force nor time can e'er destroy; Which shall survive when Nature claims my breath,

And bid defiance to the darts of death;

To realms of bliss with active freedom soar,
And live when earth and skies shall be no more.
Author of life! in vain my tongue essays
For this immortal gift to speak thy praise!
How shall my heart its grateful sense reveal,
Where all the energy of words must fail!

may its influence on my life appear, And ev'ry action prove my thanks sincere! Grant me, great God, a heart to thee inclin'd; Increase my faith, and rectify my mind; Teach me betimes to tread thy sacred ways, And to thy service consecrate my days. Still as through life's perplexing maze I stray, Be thou the guiding star to mark my way. Conduct the steps of my unguarded youth, And point their motions to the paths of truth. Protect me by thy providential care, And warn my soul to shun the tempter's snare. Through all the shifting scenes of varied life, In calms of ease, or ruffling storms of grief, Through each event of this inconstant state, Preserve my temper equal and sedate : Give me a mind that nobly can despise The low designs and little arts of vice. Be my religion such as taught by thee, Alike from pride and superstition free: Inform my judgment, regulate my will, My reason strengthen, and my passions still. To gain thy favour be my first great end, And to that scope may every action tend! Amidst the pleasures of a prosp'rous state, Whose flatt'ring charms the untutored heart elate,

May I reflect to whom those gifts I owe,

And bless the bounteous hand from whence they

flow.

Or if an adverse fortune be my share,

Let not its terrors tempt me to despair;