"And it shall be, when he lies down,
That thou the spot shalt mark;
Go, raise the covering from his feet,
And lie down in the dark.

"And when he wakens, dearest Ruth,
And finds to his surprise
His kinsman's widow at his feet,
He will at once arise.

"Our fallen fortunes he'll retrieve,
Restore our ancient right,
And thus acknowledge the appeal
Made in thy name this night."

Then Ruth arose, and washed her face,
And modestly arrayed,

Set forth to gain the threshing-floor,
As her fond mother bade.

When Boaz left the merry feast,
The straw a couch supplied;
She from his feet the covering raised,
And laid her by his side.

At midnight he awoke from sleep-
The brave man shook with fear-
His very heart within him quailed
To find a woman there.

"Who art thou? on what errand bent?” "Behold, 'tis Ruth!" she cried: "Protect me, kinsman! for alone In this wide world I bide.

"Oh! shield me from the storms of life, Thy mantle o'er me spread;

My husband was thy kinsman, lord,
And he hath long been dead!"

"Oh! blest, thrice blessed daughter! thou Henceforth shall be my care;

The widow of Elimelech

My favour, too, shall share:

"Thy wisdom is beyond thy years,
Thou hast discretion shown;

The young and gay thou hast not sought,
But looked to me alone.

"Name but thy wish, and I will grant
Whate'er thou dost require;

Thy virtues and thy truth are known,
What more can I desire?

"And now, my daughter, fear thou not,
For surely of a truth

I am thy husband's nearest kin;
Compose thee, gentle Ruth.

"I do mistake; there still is one
Of nearer kin than I;

If he'll perform a kinsman's part,
Thou must on him rely.

"Soon as the eastern sun shall gild Our city with his rays,

I'll see this man;-if he consent,

He but our law obeys.

"Should he refuse, then fear thou not,

I will thy guardian prove;

A kinsman's part I will perform

In honour and in love.

"Lie down, sweet Ruth, till morning break,

Depart before 'tis light!

I would not give malicious tongues

The power thy fame to blight."

He gave her barley to sustain
Her mother's fainting heart,
And with a new assurance said,
"I'll act a kinsman's part."

Then left the threshing-floor, and sought
His noble kinsman's home,
Who cheerfully resigned his claim

To the lone widowed one.

Then he proceeded to the gate,
The elders all arrayed,

And there proclaimed his fixed resolve
To wed the stranger maid!

"I'll purchase all her husband's land,
And she shall be my wife;
And in this presence here, I vow
To shield her with my life.

"To Mahlon I'll raise up a name
In future story great-
Acknowledged in his ancient hall,
And on his vast estate."

Then all the people gave a shout,
And poured their blessings down
Upon this good and upright man,
Who should have worn a crown!

And Ruth, the noble Princess Ruth,
Became the wife of one,
Trusted and honoured in the land,
And bore to him a son.

How throbbed the aged mother's heart
As she beheld, with pride,

The firstborn son of her loved Ruth
Now nestling at her side!

97

She laid him on her faithful breast,
Her eyes o'erflowed with joy,
And viewed her future comforter
In this beloved boy.

A pious matron, in the land,
Stepped forth with bearing high,
As with prophetic spirit, she
These marvels did descry.

"Naomi! raise thy drooping head,
Pour forth the song of praise!
Peace, happiness and joy attend
Upon thy future days!

"His mother's virtues shall descend
Upon this infant head,

A sevenfold blessing he will prove,
Although thy sons be dead.

"He shall sustain thy wasted strength, Resuscitate thine age,

Restore the honours of thy house,
And rule with wisdom sage.

"And from his loins there shall descend

A blessing on the race

Of fallen man, who, from his birth,

Shall their Redemption trace!"

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

THUS PASSETH THE GLORY OF THE WORLD,

WHY dost thou slumber, oh! my soul,
'Mid scenes so vain and false as these?
The wheels of time full swiftly roll,
And pleasures lose their power to please!

Life and its glories pass away,
The charms of nature-power of song;
Each beauty hastens to decay,
While death steals silently along.

Our pleasures glide so swiftly by,
We scarcely feel their magic power,
Grief for their loss impels the sigh,
Which would prolong the fleeting hour.

Oh! let delusive hope no more

Cheat our fond hearts with dreams of bliss,
Those golden dreams, in days of yore,
Were bright with scenes of happiness.

But they have floated down the stream
Which must o'erwhelm our present joys:
This life is but a varied dream,
And all its pleasures trifling toys.

Death levels all distinctions here-
The glittering crown, and humble head,
The eye undimmed by sorrow's tear,
All,-all are numbered with the dead.