"I WILL SEND THEM PROPHETS AND APOSTLES."

ALL that in this wide world we see,
Almighty Father! speaks of thee;
And in the darkness or the day
Thy monitors surround our way.

The fearful storms that sweep the sky,
The maladies by which we die,
The pangs that make the guilty groan,
Are angels from thy awful throne.

Each mercy sent when sorrows lower,
Each blessing of the winged hour,
All we enjoy, and all we love,
Bring with them lessons from above.

Nor thus content, thy gracious hand,
From midst the children of the land,
Hath raised, to stand before our race,
Thy living messengers of grace.

We thank thee that so clear a ray
Shrines on thy straight, thy chosen way,
And pray that passion, sloth, or pride
May never lure our steps aside.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

IMAGES OF GOD. NOT from the noble quarry,

Nor from the wealthy mine, Shalt thou bring images of God To deck his house or shrine : Carrara's marble mountains

Before his face are dim;

The purest gold that Sibir yields, Recoils abashed at him.

Canova's art and chisel

Could faultless beauty give;

475

His glowing thought and magic touch
Could make dead marble live;-
For him lost nymphs and heroes
Would from the rough block spring:
But weak were all Canova's skill
To frame the seraph's King.

In stone of snowy whiteness,
And precious ores of earth,
Triumphant genius carves or moulds

All shapes of human birth;
He calls up forms and features,
Which never yet have been,
But vainly will he toil or think

To show the Great Unseen.
If thou wouldst find his likeness,
Search where the lowly dwell,
The faithful few that keep his laws
Not boastfully, but well:
Mark those who walk rejoicing

The way which Jesus trod; -
Thus only shalt thou see below
Fit images of God.

JAMES GILBORNE LYONS.

THE IMAGE OF GOD.

O LORD! who seest, from yon starry height, Centred in one the future and the past, Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast The world obscures in me what once was bright!

Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast

given,

To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays;
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days,
Forever green shall be my trust in heaven.
Celestial King! oh, let thy presence pass
Before my spirit, and an image fair
Shall meet that look of mercy from on high,
As the reflected image in a glass
Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there.
And owes its being to the gazer's eye.

Translated from the Spanish of FRANCISCO DE Aldana
by HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

GOD. THOU hast made me, and shall thy work decay? Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; I run to death, and death meets me as fast, And all my pleasures are like yesterday. I dare not move my dim eyes any way, Despair behind, and death before doth cast Such terror; and my feeble flesh doth waste By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh. Only thou art above, and when towards thee By thy leave I can look, I rise again; But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, That not one hour myself I can sustain : Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art. And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart. JOHN DONNE.

PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA, the second in rank of the dramatic poets of Spain, was born at Madrid, Jan 17, 1600, and died May 25, 1691. He was a man of religious spirit, and Schlegel says that his poetry is an incessant hymn of joy on the majesty of creation. Late in life he left the military order to which he belonged, and was ordained priest.

THOU art of all created things,
O Lord, the essence and the cause,
The source and centre of all bliss;
What are those veils of woven light
Where sun and moon and stars unite,
The purple morn, the spangled night,

But curtains which thy mercy draws
Between the heavenly world and this?
The terrors of the sea and land —
When all the elements conspire,
The earth and water, storm and fire —
Are but the sketches of thy hand ;
Do they not all in countless ways -
The lightning's flash, the howling storm,
The dread volcano's awful blaze
Proclaim thy glory and thy praise?
Beneath the sunny summer showers
Thy love assumes a milder form,
And writes its angel name in flowers;
The wind that flies with winged feet
Around the grassy gladdened earth,
Seems but commissioned to repeat
In echo's accents- silvery sweet
That thou, O Lord, didst give it birth.
There is a tongue in every flame,
There is a tongue in every wave;
To these the bounteous Godhead gave
These organs but to praise his name!
CALDERON. Translator unknown.

THE CREATION.

"Die Sonne tönt nach alter Weise."

RAPHAEL.

THE Sun-orb sings in emulation,
Mid brother-spheres his ancient round:
His path predestined through creation
He ends with step of thunder-sound.
The angels from his visage splendid
Draw power, whose measure none can say;
The lofty works, uncomprehended,
Are bright as on the earliest day.

GABRIEL.

And swift, and swift beyond conceiving, The splendor of the world goes round, Day's Eden-brightness still relieving The awful night's intense profound: The ocean-tides in foam are breaking, Against the rocks' deep bases hurled, And both, the spheric race partaking, Eternal, swift, are onward whirled !

MICHAEL.

The rival storms abroad are surging
From sea to land, from land to sea.
A chain of deepest action forging
Round all, in wrathful energy.
There flames a desolation, blazing
Before the thunder's crashing way:
Yet, Lord, thy messengers are praising
The gentle movement of thy Day.

THE THREE.

Though still by them uncomprehended, From these the angels draw their power, And all thy works, sublime and splendid, Are bright as in creation's hour.

GOETHE'S "Faust," Prologue. Translated by BAYARD Taylor.

TO FINDE GOD.

WEIGH me the fire; or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind;
Distinguish all those floods that are
Mixt in that watrie theater,

And tast thou them as saltlesse there,
As in their channell first they were;
Tell me the people that do keep
Within the kingdomes of the deep;
Or fetch me back that cloud againe,
Beshivered into seeds of raine;
Tell me the motes, dust, sands, and speares
Of corn, when summer shakes his eares;
Shew me that world of starres, and whence
They noiseless spill their influence:
This, if thou canst; then shew me Him
That rides the glorious cherubim!

"This is the dormitive I take to bedward. I need no other laudanum than this to make me sleep; after which I close mine eyes in security, content to take my leave of the sun, and sleep unto the resurrection."

THE night is come. Like to the day,
Depart not thou, great God, away.
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of thy light.
Keep still in my horizon, for to me
The sun makes not the day, but thee.
Thou whose nature cannot sleep,
On my temples sentry keep;
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes
Whose eyes are open while mine close.
Let no dreams my head infest
But such as Jacob's temples blest.
While I do rest, my soul advance;
Make my sleep a holy trance,
That I may, my rest being wrought,
Awake into some holy thought,
And with as active vigor run
My course as doth the nimble sun.

477

Sleep is a death; oh, make me try
By sleeping what it is to die,
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
Howe'er I rest, great God, let me
Awake again at least with thee.
And thus assured, behold I lie
Securely, or to wake or die.
These are my drowsy days: in vain
I do now wake to sleep again :
Oh, come that hour when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake forever.

SIR THOMAS Browne.

WITH GOD.

If there had anywhere appeared in space Another place of refuge, where to flee, Our hearts had taken refuge in that place, And not with thee.

For we against creation's bars had beat

Like prisoned eagles, through great worlds had sought,

Though but a foot of ground to plant our feet, Where thou wert not.

And only when we found in earth and air, In heaven or hell, that such might nowhere be,

That we could not flee from thee anywhere, We fled to thee.

RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, D.D.

ALONE WITH GOD.

INTO my closet fleeing, as the dove Doth homeward flee,

I haste away to ponder o'er thy love Alone with thee!

In the dim wood, by human ear unheard, Joyous and free,

Lord! I adore thee, feasting on thy word Alone with thee!

Amid the busy city, thronged and gay,
But One I see,

Tasting sweet peace, as unobserved I pray
Alone with thee!

O happy life! Life hid with Christ in God! So making me,

At home and by the wayside and abroad, Alone with thee!

ELIZABETH PAYSON PRENTISS.

OH, WHAT BLESSEDNESS!

"O quam glorificum solum sedere ! "

The following is from a Latin hymn, probably of the fifteenth century. It was first published by Mone, in his first volume. The double rhyme at the close of each line is not retained, otherwise the general rule is observed.

OH, what the blessedness, dwelling alone,
Filled with the peace to the worldly unknown,
As in a mirror the Bridegroom to see,
Fearing no peril nor toil that can be!

This is a joy that costs trouble and care,
Fleeting, and broken, and utterly rare:
For a long warfare is all of our life,
Little of peace, and abundance of strife.

For that iniquity now hath increased, Therefore true love waxeth cold and hath ceased:

Sharp contradictions beset us about; Faintings within us, and fightings without. Woe is me! what is existence below? Trouble on trouble, and blow upon blow! What is in this world save sorrowful years, Much tribulation, and plentiful tears?

"Dust of the earth, dost thou wail and repine For that, in sundry ways, trial is thine? Leisure and softness to these hast thou right?

Draw the sword, grasp the shield, gird thee

for fight!

"As in the furnace the gold must be proved,
So, by affliction, the son that is loved:
For my true followers trouble is stored;
Nor is the servant above his own Lord.

"Hast thou forgotten the tale thou hast read? I, when on earth, had no place for my head: This was the cross all my life long I bare, When, the world's Maker, I exiled me there.

"Thou, the more lowly thou humblest thee here,

All the more perfectly shalt be my peer:
I who am Highest, true God of true God,
I was the meanest when this world I trod.

"See how especially all mine elect
Manifold woes and vexations affect:
Filled with the merit of virtues by this,
Now everlastingly joy they in bliss.

"Wouldst thou but ponder the promise I make,

Willingly, joyfully, pain wouldst thou take : That in my kingdom the joys thou mayst see Of the confessors who suffered for me.