How strong He treads, how stately does He go!
Pompous and solemn is his pace,
And full of majesty as his face,
Who is this mighty Hero, who ?
'Tis I who to my promise faithful stand;
I who the powers of death, hell, and the grave, Have foiled with this all-conquering hand;
I who most ready am and mighty too, to save.
Why wearest Thou then this scarlet dye ?
Say, mighty Hero, why ?
Why do thy garments look all red,
Like them that in the wine-vat tread ?
The wine-press I alone have trod :
That vast unwielding frame, which long did
stand
Unmoved, and which no mortal force could
e'er command, That ponderous mass I plied alone, And with me to assist were none. A mighty task it was, worthy the Son of God; Angels stood trembling at the dreadful sight, Concerned with what success I should go
through
The work I undertook to do ; Enraged I put forth all my might, And down the engine pressed; the violent force Disturbed the universe, put nature out of course; The blood gushed out in streams, and checkered
o'er My garments with its deepest gore ; With ornamental drops bedecked I stood,
And writ my victory with my enemy's blood.
The day, the signal day is come
When of my enemies I must vengeance take;
The day when death shall have its doom,
And the dark kingdom with its power shall shake.
Fate in her calendar marked out this day with red,
She folded down the iron leaf, and thus she said:
“ This day, if aught I can divine be true,
Shall for a signal victory,
Be celebrated to posterity :
Then shall the Prince of light descend,
And rescue mortals from the infernal fiend ; Break through his strongest forts, and all his
hosts subdue.” This said, she shut the adamantine volume close, And wished she might the crowding years
transpose;
So much she longed to have the scene display,
And see the vast event of this important day.
And now in midst of the revolving years,
This great, this mighty One appears :
The faithful traveller, the sun,
Has numbered out the days, and the set
period run.
I looked, and to assist was none;
My angelic guards stood trembling by,
But durst not venture nigh.
In vain, too, from my Father did I look
For help, my Father me forsook.
Amazed I was to see,
How all deserted me.
I took my fury for my sole support, And with my single arm the conquest won. Loud acclamations filled all heaven's court :
The hymning guards above,
Strained to an higher pitch of joy and love, The great Jehovah praised, and his victorious Son.
ISAIAH 63.-JOHN NORRIS.
What is that, Mother? W HAT is that, Mother ?—The lark, my
child !The morn has but just look'd out, and smiled, When he starts from his humble grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright
sphere,
To warble it out in his Maker's ear.
Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise.
What is that, Mother ?- The dove, my son!-
And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan,
Is flowing out from her gentle breast,
Constant and pure, by that lonely nest,
As the wave is pour'd from some crystal urn,
For her distant dear one's quick return:
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove,
In friendship as faithful, as constant in love.
What is that, Mother ?—The eagle, boy ! -
Proudly careering his course of joy;
Firm, on his own mountain vigour relying,
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying,
His wing, on the wind, and his eye on the sun,
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on.
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine,
Onward, and upward, and true to the line.
What is that, Mother ?—The swan, my love !
He is floating down from his native grove,
No loved one now, no nestling nigh,
He is floating down, by himself to die;
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings,
Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings.
LIVE SO, MY LOVE, THAT WHEN DEATH SHALL
COME,
SWAN-LIKE AND SWEET, IT MAY WAFT THEE
HOME.
GEORGE W. DOANE.
ADDISON, Joseph ·,
·. Akenside, Mark . .. . . . . . Argensola, Bartolomé Leonardo, Spanish
BARBAULD, Anna Letitia . . . 1743
Barton, Bernard, a member of the Society
of Friends. . .
Burns, Robert . . . . . 1759
Bryant, William Cullen, American . 1794
Brainard, John G. C. . . . . 1796
Burleigh, William H., American . . 1812
Brooks, Maria, American . . . . 1795
Brooks, Mary E., American, still living.
Bailey, Margaret L., American . . 1812
Bayard, Elise Justine, American.
Bembo, Pietro, Italian .. .. .. 1470
Buonarotti, Michel Angelo . . . 1474
CAREW, Thomas ,
.. . 1577
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor .... . 1772
Cotton, Nathaniel .. .. .. .. .
Cowper, William ....
1731
Cowley, Abraham , . . . . 1618
Campbell, Thomas. ..
Chatterton, Thomas . .
1752
Clark, W. G., American . . . . 1810
Clarke, James Freeman, American . . 1810
Cranch, C. P., American . . . 1815
Case, Luella J. B., American.
Carey, Alice and Phoebe, -American. .
1788 1800 1667 1845 1770 1841
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