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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,

wear.

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
Unnumbered tongues, a host of Christian

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

young,

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 !

BISHOP MANT.

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.
The bow well-bent, and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain ;
But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.
Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his assent,

But pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise

Through all his art we view;
And while his tongue the charge denies,

His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length,

And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,

Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne'er prevail,

To reach the distant coast;
The breath of heaven must swell the sail
Or all the toil is lost.

WILLIAM COWPER.

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 gratefully we speak thy name

How gladly own thy sway!
How thrillingly thy presence feel,

When mid thy works we stray !
We may forget thee for a time,

In scenes with tumult rife,
Where worldly cares or pleasures claim

Too large a share of life;
But not in Nature's sweet domain,

Where everything we see,
From loftiest mount to lowliest flower,

Is eloquent of thee.
Where waves lift up their tuneful voice,

And solemn anthems chime;
Where winds through echoing forests peal

Their melodies sublime;
Where e'en insensate objects breathe

Devotion's grateful lays—
Man can not choose but join the choir

That hymns his Maker's praise.
Beneath the city's gilded domes,

In temples decked with care, Where Art and Splendor vie to make

Thine earthly mansions fair,

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