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Loud uttering satire, day and night, on each
Succeeding race, and little pompous work
Of man. Unfallen, religious, holy Sea!
Thou bow'dst thy glorious head to none, fear'dst

none,

Heardst none, to none didst honour, but to God
Thy Maker, only worthy to receive

Thy great obeisance. Undiscovered Sea!
Into thy dark, unknown, mysterious caves,
And secret haunts, unfathomably deep,
Beneath all visible retired, none went
And came again, to tell the wonders there.
Tremendous Sea! what time thou liftedst up
Thy waves on high, and with thy winds and storms
Strange pastime took, and shook thy mighty sides
Indignantly, the pride of navies fell;

Beyond the arm of help, unheard, unseen,
Sank friend and foe, with all their wealth and war;
And on thy shores men of a thousand tribes,
Polite and barbarous, trembling stood, amazed,
Confounded, terrified, and thought vast thoughts
Of ruin, boundlessness, omnipotence,
Infinitude, eternity; and thought,

And wondered still, and grasped, and grasped, and grasped

Again; beyond her reach exerting all

The soul, to take thy great idea in,

To comprehend incomprehensible :

And wondered more, and felt their littleness.

Self-purifying, unpolluted Sea!

Lover unchangeable, thy faithful breast

For ever heaving to the lovely moon,

That like a shy and holy virgin, robed

In saintly white, walked nightly in the heavens, And to thy everlasting serenade

Gave gracious audience; nor was wooed in vain.

ROBERT POLLOK.

WH

Song of the Stars.

HEN the radiant morn of creation broke, And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,

And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame
From the void abyss by myriads came,-
In the joy of youth as they darted away,
Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rang,

And this was the song the bright ones sang:

"Away, away, through the wide, wide sky,
The fair blue fields that before us lie,-

Each sun with the worlds that round him roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole;
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light.

"For the source of glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space;
And we drink as we go the luminous tides
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides;

Lo, yonder the living splendours play;
Away, on our joyous path, away!

“Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, In the infinite azure, star after star,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass!

How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass !
And the path of the gentle winds is seen,
Where the small waves dance, and the young
woods lean.

"And see where the brighter day-beams pour,
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower;
And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues,
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews;
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
With her shadowy cone the night goes round!

"Away, away! in our blossoming bowers,
In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,
See, Love is brooding, and Life is born,
And breathing myriads are breaking from night,
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light.

"Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,
To weave the dance that measures the years;
Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent,
To the farthest wall of the firmament,-
The boundless visible smile of Him,

To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim."

W. C. BRYANT.

Spring Sabbath Walk.

MOST earnest was his voice! most mild his look,

As with raised hands he blessed his parting

flock.

He is a faithful pastor of the poor ;

He thinks not of himself; his Master's words, "Feed, feed my sheep!" are ever at his heart, The cross of Christ is before his eyes.

aye

Oh! how I love with melted soul to leave
The house of prayer, and wander in the fields
Alone! what though the opening spring be chill!
Although the lark, checked in his airy path,
Eke out his song, perched on the fallow clod
That still o'ertops the blade! although no branch
Have spread its foliage, save the willow wand
That dips its pale leaves in the swollen stream.
What though the clouds oft lour! their threats
but end

In summer-showers, that scarcely fill the folds
Of moss-couched violets, or interrupt

The merle's dulcet pipe,―melodious bird! He, hid behind the milk-white sloe-thorn spray, (Whose early flowers anticipate the leaf), Welcomes the time of buds, the infant year. Sweet is the sunny nook to which my steps Have brought me, hardly conscious where I roamed,

Unheeding where, so lovely all around

The works of God arrayed in vernal smile.

JAMES GRAHAME.

Search after Eod.

WEIGH

me the fire; or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind;
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mixed in that watery theatre,

And taste thou them as saltless there,
As in their channel first they were.
Tell me the people that do keep
Within the kingdoms of the deep;
Or fetch me back that cloud again,
Beshiver'd into seeds of rain.

Tell me the motes, dusts, sands, and spears
Of corn, when summer shakes his ears;
Show me that world of stars, and whence
They noiseless spill their influence:
This if thou canst, then show me Him

That rides the glorious cherubim.

ROBERT HERRICK.

Song of Praise for the Evening.

OW, from the altar of my heart,

Now,

Let incense-flames arise:

Assist me, Lord, to offer up

Mine evening sacrifice.

Awake, my love; awake, my joy;

Awake my heart and tongue!

Sleep not: when mercies loudly call,
Break forth into a song.

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