Lord! with the barren service spent, A joy its children never know. ANON. The Son of David Comes. THE HE air is filled with shouts and trumpets sounding; A host are at thy gates, Jerusalem. Now is their van the Mount of Olives rounding; Above them Judah's lion-banners gleam, Twined with the palm and olive's peaceful stem. Now swell the nearer sounds of voice and string, As down the hill-side pours the living stream: And to the cloudless heaven Hosannas ring"The Son of David comes! the Conqueror-the King!" The cuirassed Roman heard, and grasped his shield, And rushed in fiery haste to gate and tower: The pontiff from his battlement beheld The host, and knew the falling of his power: He saw the cloud on Sion's glory lour, And deeper sounds are mingling: "Woe to The day of freedom dawns; rise, Israel, from thy tomb." Temple of beauty-long that day is done; When He who fixed, shall break his people's chain, And Sion be the loved, the crowned of God again? He comes, yet with the burning bolt unarmed; Pale, pure, prophetic, God of Majesty! Though thousands, tens of thousands round him swarmed, None durst abide the depth divine of eye; None the waving of his robe draw nigh, But at his feet was laid the Roman's sword: There Lazarus knelt to see his King pass by; There Jairus, with his age's child, adored. "He comes, the King of kings; Hosanna to the Lord!" GEORGE CROLY. The Heart's Holy Temple. THOUGH glorious, O God! must thy temple have been, On the day of its first dedication, When the cherubims' wings widely waving were seen On high, o'er the ark's holy station; When even the chosen of Levi, though skilled To minister standing before Thee, Retired from the cloud which the temple then filled, And thy glory made Israel adore Thee; Though awfully grand was thy majesty then, And by whom was that ritual for ever repealed Who having once entered, hath shown us the O Lord! how to worship before Thee; Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day, But in spirit and truth to adore Thee! way, This, this is the worship the Saviour made known, When she of Samaria found him By the patriarch's well sitting weary, alone, With the stillness of noon-tide around Him. How sublime, yet how simple, the homage He taught, To her who inquired by that fountain, If Jehovah at Solyma's shrine would be sought, "Woman! believe me, the hour is near, "For God is a spirit! and they who aright Would perform the pure worship He loveth, In the heart's holy temple will seek, with delight, That spirit the Father approveth." BERNARD BARTON. Thoughts on a Summer's Evening. "TIS past! the sultry tyrant of the south Has spent his short-liv'd rage: more grateful hours Move silent on the skies no more repel Propitious shines, and shakes a trembling flood And dancing lustres, where the unsteady eye, Their destin'd courses: Nature's self is hush'd, |