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Of all pure tints, the fairy pictures throw Shame on the proudest art; the tender stain
Hung round the verge of heaven, that as a bow Girds the wide world, and in their blended chain All tints to the deep gold that flashes in thy train : These are thy trophies, and thou bend’st thy arch,
The sign of triumph, in a sevenfold twine, Where the spent storm is hasting on its march,
And there the glories of thy light combine,
And form with perfect curve a lifted line, Striding the earth and air: man looks, and tells
How peace and mercy in its beauty shine, And how the heavenly messenger impels Her glad wings on the path, that thus in ether
swells. The ocean is thy vassal; thou dost sway
His waves to thy dominion, and they go Where thou, in heaven, dost guide them on their
way, Rising and falling in eternal flow;
Thou lookest on the waters, and they glow; They take them wings and spring aloft in air, And change to clouds, and then, dissolving,
throw Their treasures back to earth, and, rushing, tear The mountain and the vale, as proudly on they
bear. I, too, have been upon thy rolling breast,
Widest of waters; I have seen thee lie Calm, as an infant pillow'd in its rest
On a fond mother's bosom, when the sky,
Not smoother, gave the deep its azure dye, Till a new heaven was arch'd and glass'd below;
And then the clouds, that, gay in sunset, fly, Cast on it such a stain, it kindled so, As in the cheek of youth the living roses grow. I, too, have seen thee on thy surging path, When the night-tempest met thee : thou didst
dash Thy white arms high in heaven, as if in wrath,
Threatening the angry sky; thy waves did lash
The labouring vessel, and with deadening crash Rush madly forth to scourge its groaning sides ;
Onward thy billows came, to meet and clash In a wild warfare, till the lifted tides Mingled their yesty tops, where the dark storm
cloud rides. In thee, first light, the bounding ocean smiles,
When the quick winds uprear it in a swell, That rolls, in glittering green, around the isles, Where ever-springing fruits and blossoms
dwell; O! with a joy no gifted tongue can tell, I hurry o'er the waters, when the sail
Swells tensely, and the light keel glances well Over the curling billow, and the gale Comes off the spicy groves to tell its winning tale. The soul is thine : of old thou wert the power
Who gave the poet life ; and I in thee Feel my heart gladden at the holy hour When thou art sinking in the silent sea;
Or when I climb the height, and wander free In thy meridian glory, for the air
Sparkles and burns in thy intensity, I feel thy light within me, and I share In the full glow of soul thy spirit kindles there.
JAMES G. PERCIVAL.
The Joy of Social Worship. THERE is a joy, which angels well may prize :
To see, and hear, and aid God's worship, when
men, Youths, matrons, maidens, join. Their sounds
arise, “ Like many waters;” now glad symphonies
Of thanks and glory to our God; and then,
Seal of the social prayer, the loud Amen, Faith's common pledge, contrition's mingled cries. Thus, when the Church of Christ was hale and
She called on God, one spirit and one voice;Thus from corruption cleansed, with health new
strung, Her sons she nurtured. Oh! be theirs, by
choice, What duty bids, to worship, heart and tongue; At once to pray, at once in God rejoice !
The Breath of Heaven must Swell
the Sail. W EAK and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day, Woven with pains into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.
Vice seems already slain ;
And it revives again.
Finds out his weaker part;
But pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view;
His conscience owns it true.
And dangers little known,
Man vainly trusts his own.
To reach the distant coast;
Thou Giver of all Earthly Good. THOU Giver of all earthly good
Thou wonder-working Power, Whose spirit smiles in every star,
And breathes in every flower:
How gladly own thy sway!
When mid thy works we stray !
In scenes with tumult rife,
Too large a share of life;
Where everything we see,
Is eloquent of thee.
And solemn anthems chime;
Their melodies sublime;
Devotion's grateful lays—
That hymns his Maker's praise.
In temples decked with care, Where Art and Splendor vie to make
Thine earthly mansions fair,