Light for the Burman vales;

For the islands of the sea!

For the coast where the slave-ship fills its sails
With sighs of agony,

And her kidnapp'd babes the mother wails
'Neath the lone banana-tree!

Light for the ancient race

Exil'd from Zion's rest!

Homeless they roam from place to place,
Benighted and oppress'd;
They shudder at Sinai's fearful base;
Guide them to Calvary's breast.

Light for the darken'd earth!

Ye bless'd, its beams who shed, Shrink not, till the day-spring hath its birth, Till, wherever the footstep of man doth tread,

Salvation's banner spread broadly forth,

Shall gild the dream of the cradle-bed,

And clear the tomb

From its lingering gloom,

For the aged to rest his weary head.



TRUTH, knowledge, wisdom, love, oh! lay up these in


True wealth which we may share, and yet ourselves

have more.


died in Asia Minor, A. D. 1812, aged 31. He superintended the translations of the New Testament into Persian and Hindus tanee, and was instrumental in converting many Mohammedans as well as Hindoos,



'TIS midnight.-On the globe dead slumber sits, And all is silence - in the hour of sleep;

Save when the hollow gust, that swells by fits,
In the dark wood roars fearfully and deep.
I wake alone to listen and to weep;
To watch, my taper, thy pale beacon burn,
And, as still Memory does her vigils keep,
To think of days that never can return.
By thy pale ray I raise my languid head,
My eye surveys the solitary gloom,

And the sad meaning tear, unmixt with dread,
Tells thou dost light me to the silent tomb.
Like thee I wane, like thine my life's last ray
Will fade in loneliness, unwept away.



CLEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I lov'd Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reprov❜d, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so mov'd.

It is the hush of night, and all between

Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear

Precipitously steep; and drawing near,

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more:

He is an evening reveller, who makes
His life an infancy, and sings his fill;
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes
Starts into voice a moment, then is still.



SOME murmur, when their sky is clear,
And wholly bright to view,

If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are fill'd,
If but one streak of light,

One ray of God's good mercy gild
The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,
And all good things denied.
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How Love has in their aid
(Love that not even seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.



YE holy towers, that shade the wave-worn steep,
Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime,
Tho', hurrying silent by, relentless Time
Assail you, and the winter whirlwinds sweep!
For, far from blazing Grandeur's crowded halls,
Here Charity hath fix'd her chosen seat,

Of list'ning tearful, when the wild winds beat
With hollow bodings round your ancient walls;
And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour

Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high, Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tow'r,

And turns her ear to each expiring cry; Blest, if her aid some fainting wretch might save, And snatch him cold and speechless from the grave!


1 Bamborough Castle, near Alnwick, is one of the oldest in the kingdom, and stands upon a perpendicular rock, 150 feet above the level of the sea. It was purchased, with the manor, in 1715, by Lord Crewe, bishop of Durham, who left it for many charitable purposes, but more especially for that of ministering relief to the seamen and vessels that are cast on this dangerous coast. In order to carry out his benevolent intentions, a constant watch is kept at the top of the tower, whence signals are made to the fishermen of Holy Island as soon as any vessel is discovered to be in distress, as, owing to the size and fury of the breakers, it is generally impossible to put off from the main land in a severe storm: but such difficulty rarely occurs in Holy Island. Signals are also made use of to warn vessels in thick and stormy weather from that most dangerous cluster of rocks called the Fern Islands. Two men on horseback patrol the coast a distance of eight miles from sunset to sunrise every stormy night; a life-boat is kept in constant readiness; also machinery for raising sunken vessels: every precaution is taken to prevent wrecks from being plundered, and for restoring the property saved to its rightful owners. An asylum is offered in the castle for a week, or even longer, to shipwrecked persons; an infirmary receives them in sickness; and the bodies of the wrecked are interred within the precincts of the establishment.


THEN are they blest indeed; and swift the hours
Till her young sisters wreathe her hair in flowers,
Kindling her beauty-while, unseen, the least
Twitches her robe, then runs behind the rest,
Known by her laugh that will not be suppress'd.
Then before all they stand-the holy vow
And ring of gold, no fond illusions now,
Bind her as his. Across the threshold led,
And every tear kiss'd off as soon as shed,
His house she enters-there to be a light,
Shining within, when all without is night;
A guardian-angel o'er his life presiding,
Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing;
Winning him back, when mingling in the throng,
From a vain world we love, alas! too long,
To fire-side happiness, to hours of ease,
Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
How oft her eyes read his; her gentle mind
To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclin'd;
Still subject-ever on the watch to borrow
Mirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrow.
The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till wak'd and kindled by the master's spell;
And feeling hearts-touch them but rightly-pour
A thousand melodies unheard before!

Nor many moons o'er hill and valley rise
Ere to the gate with nymph-like step she flies,
And their first-born holds forth, their darling boy,
With smiles how sweet, how full of love and joy,
To meet him coming; theirs through every year
Pure transports, such as each to each endear!
And laughing eyes and laughing voices fill
Their home with gladness. She, when all are still,
Comes and undraws the curtain as they lie,
In sleep how beautiful! He, when the sky

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