Though time have frozen the tuneful stream
Of thoughts that gush'd along,

One look from thee, like summer's beam,

Will thaw them into song.

Then give, oh give, that wak'ning ray:
And, once more blithe and young,
Thy bard again will sing and play
As once he play'd and sung.


"The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun.

"Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and winter."-Psalm 1xxiv. 16, 17.

HOU art, O GOD, the life and light

Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!

When Day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the op'ning clouds of Even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven-
Those hues that make the Sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, LORD! are Thine.

When Night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume


Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes— That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, LORD! are Thine.

When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh:
And every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!


ELCOME, sweet bird, through the sunny air winging,

Swift hast thou come o'er the far-shining sea, Like Seba's dove, on thy snowy neck bringing Love's written vows from my lover to me. Oh, in thy absence, what hours did I number!Saying oft, "Idle bird, how could he rest?" But thou art come at last; take now thy slumber, And lull thee in dreams of all thou lov'st best.

Yet dost thou droop-even now while I utter
Love's happy welcome, thy pulse dies away;
Cheer thee, my bird-were it life's ebbing flutter,
This fondling bosom should woo it to stay.
But no-thou'rt dying-thy last task is over-
Farewell, sweet martyr to Love and to me!
The smiles thou hast waken'd by news from my lover,
Will now all be turn'd into weeping for thee.


HOUGH sacred the tie that our country entwineth,
And dear to the heart her remembrance re-


Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth,
And sad the remembrance that slavery stains.

O Liberty, born in the cot of the peasant,

But dying of languor in luxury's dome,
Our vision, when absent-our glory, when present—
Where thou art, O Liberty! there is my home.

Farewell to the land where in childhood I wander'd!
In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave;
Unbless'd is the blood that for tyrants is squander'd,

And Fame has no wreaths for the brow of the slave.
But hail to thee, Albion! who meet'st the commotion
Of Europe, as calm as thy cliffs meet the foam;
With no bonds but the law, and no slave but the ocean,
Hail, Temple of Liberty! thou art my home.



OME, play me that simple air again,
I used so to love, in life's young day,
And bring, if thou canst, the dreams that then
Were waken'd by that sweet lay.

The tender gloom its strain

Shed o'er the heart and brow,
Grief's shadow, without its pain—
Say where, where is it now?

But play me the well-known air once more,
For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain,
Like dreams of some far, fairy shore

We never shall see again.

Sweet air, how every note brings back

Some sunny hope, some day-dream bright,

That, shining o'er life's early track,

Fill'd ev'n its tears with light!

The new-found life that came

With love's first echo'd vow ;-
The fear, the bliss, the shame-
Ah-where, where are they now?
But still the same loved notes prolong,
For sweet 't were thus, to that old lay,
In dreams of youth and love and song,
To breathe life's hour away.

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