"There is no glory left us now,

Like the glory with the dead:
I would that where they slumber now
My latest leaves were shed!"

O thou dark tree, thou lonely tree!
That mournest for the past,
A peasant's home in thy shade I see,
Embower'd from every blast.

A lovely and a mirthful sound
Of laughter meets mine ear;

For the poor man's children sport around
On the turf, with nought to fear.

And roses lend that cabin-wall

A happy summer-glow;

And the

open door stands free to all,

For it recks not of a foe.

And the village-bells are on the breeze

That stirs thy leaf, dark tree!

How can I mourn, 'midst things like these,

For the gloomy past with thee?

Twilight.

Anonymous

I LOVE thee, Twilight! as thy shadows roll,
The calm of evening steals upon my soul,
Sublimely tender, solemnly serene,

Still as the hour, enchanting as the scene.
I love thee, twilight! for thy gleams impart
Their dear, their dying influence to my heart,
When o'er the harp of thought thy passing wind
Awakens all the music of the mind,

And joy and sorrow, as the spirit burns,

And hope and memory sweep the chords by turns.
While contemplation on seraphic wings,

Mounts with the flame of sacrifice, and sings,—
Twilight! I love thee; let thy glooms increase,
Till every feeling, every pulse, is peace.
Slow from the sky the light of day declines,
Clearer within, the dawn of glory shines,
Revealing, in the hour of nature's rest,
A world of wonders in the poet's breast.

Montgomery.

In poverty, hunger, and dirt;
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the "Song of the Shirt!"
"Work-work-work!

While the cock is crowing aloof!
And work-work-work!

Till the stars shine through the roof!
It's oh! to be a slave,

Along with the barbarous Turk!
Where woman has never a soul to save,
If this is Christian work!
"Work-work-work!

Till the brain begins to swim;
Work-work-work!

Till the eyes are heavy and dim!
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream!
"O men, with sisters dear!

O men, with mothers and wives,
It is not linen you're wearing out!
But human creatures' lives!
Stitch-stitch-stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt;
Sewing at once, with a double thread,
A shroud as well as a shirt."
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread.
Stitch-stitch-stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt;

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,
Would that its tone could reach the rich!

She sang this "Song of the Shirt!" Hood

315

SACRED EXTRACTS IN VERSE.

The Creation.

ERE Time began his circling race,
Or light adorn'd the waste of space,
Dwelt the first, great, eternal One,
In unimparted bliss alone.

Wrapt in himself, he view'd serene
Each aspect of the future scene;
Then bade at length that scene unfold,-
And Nature's volume stood unroll'd.

He said, “Be Light!"—and light upsprung:
Be Worlds!"-and worlds on nothing hung:
More swift than thought the mandate runs,
And forms ten thousand kindling suns.
When all the wondrous scene was plann d,
Inimitably fair and grand;

In emanations unconfined.

Forth flow'd the life-diffusing mind.
From the rapt seraph, down to man,
To beasts-to worms-the spirit ran;
And all in heaven, and all on earth,
'Midst shouts of joy, received their birth.
The tribes that walk, or swim, or fly,
In various movements, spake their joy;
While man, in hymns, his raptures told,
And cherubs struck their harps of gold.

The morning stars together sung,
The heavens with acclamations rung;
And earth, and air, and sea, and skies,
Heard the loud choral anthem rise.

"All glory to the Eternal give,

From whom we spring, in whom we live;
Be his almighty power adored,
The sovereign, universal Lord!"

Drummond.

God is Every Where.

Он! show me where is He,

The high and holy One,
To whom thou bend'st the knee,
And pray'st," Thy will be done!"
I hear thy voice of praise,

And lo! no form is near;

Thine eyes I see thee raise,

But where doth God appear?

Oh! teach me who is God, and where his glories shine,
That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine.
Gaze on that arch above-

The glittering vault admire!
Who taught those orbs to move?
Who lit their ceaseless fire?
Who guides the moon, to run
In silence through the skies?
Who bids that dawning sun

In strength and beauty rise?

There view immensity!-behold, my God is there—
The sun, the moon, the stars, his majesty declare!

See, where the mountains rise;
Where thundering torrents foam;
Where, veil'd in lowering skies,
The eagle makes his home!
Where savage nature dwells,
My God is present too—
Through all her wildest dells

His footsteps I pursue:

He rear'd those giant cliffs-supplies that dashing stream—
Provides the daily food, which stills the wild bird's scream

Look on that world of waves,
Where finny nations glide;
Within whose deep, dark caves,
The ocean-monsters hide!
His power is sovereign there,
To raise to quell the storm;
The depths his bounty share,

Where sport the scaly swarm:

Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice, Which rules the earth and skies, and bids the world rejoice.

Nor eye nor thought can soar
Where moves not he in might;--
He swells the thunder's roar,
He spreads the wings of night.
Oh! praise the works divine!
Bow down thy soul in prayer;
Nor ask for other sign,

That God is every where

The viewless Spirit he-immortal, holy, bless'd-
Oh! worship him in faith, and find eternal rest!

The Destruction of Sennacherib.

Hugh Hutton

THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown
That host, on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed on the face of the foe, as he pass'd;
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still

And there lay the steed, with his nostril all wide,
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail;
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord.

Byron.