When night, with wings of stormy gloom,

O'ershadows all the earth and skies Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume

Is sparkling with a thousand dyes, 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.



Not seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the Morn;
Not seldom Evening in the west
Sinks smilingly forsworn.

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove,
To the confiding bark, untrue;
And if she trust the stars above,
They can be treacherous too.

The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It promised to defend.

But Thou art true, incarnate Lord;
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die,
Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word
No change can falsify!

I bent before thy gracious throne,
And ask'd for peace with suppliant knee;
And peace was given-nor peace alone,
But faith, and hope, and ecstasy!



BRIGHT be the place of thy soul,

No lovelier spirit than thine
E'er burst from its mortal control,

In the orbs of the blessed to shine.
On earth thou wert all but divine,

As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine

When we know that thy God is with thee.
Light be the turf of thy tomb!

May its verdure like emeralds be,
There should not be the shadow of gloom

In aught that reminds us of thee.
Young flowers and an evergreen tree

May spring from the spot of thy rest;
But nor cypress, nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest ?


THE SABBATH MORNING. How still the morning of the hallow'd day! Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song. The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze :

Sounds the most faint attract the ear,—the hum
or early bee, the trickling of the dew,
The distant bleating, midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O’ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.


FEATHER'D lyric! warbling high,
Sweetly gaining on the sky,
Opening with thy matin lay,
Nature's hymn, the eye of day,
Teach my soul, on early wing,
Thus to soar, and thus to sing !
While the bloom of orient light
Guides thee in thy tuneful flight,
May the Day-spring from on high,
Seen by Faith's religious eye,
Cheer me with his vital ray,
Promise of eternal day!


Laten e trurin (4 ,

What is the world? a wildering maze,
Where sin hath track'd ten thousand ways

Her victims to ensnare;
All broad and winding, and aslope,
All tempting with perfidious hope,

All ending in despair.

Millions of pilgrims throng these roads,
Bearing their baubles or their loads

Down to eternal night.
One humble path that never bends,
Narrow, and rough, and steep,

From darkness into light.
Is there no guide to show that path?
The Bible-he alone who hath

The Bible need not stray.
But he who hath and will not give
That light of life to all who live,
Himself shall lose the way.


THE GARDEN. I HAD a Garden when a child;

I kept it all in order; "T was full of flowers as it could be,

And London-pride was its border.
And soon as came the pleasant Spring,

The singing birds built in it;
The Blackbird and the Throstle-cock,

The Woodlark and the Linnet.
And all within my Garden ran

A labyrinth-walk so mazy;
In the middle there grew a yellow Rose;

At each end a Michaelmas Daisy.
I had a tree of Southern Wood,

And two of bright Mezereon;
A Poeny root, a snow-white Phlox,

And a branch of red Valerian;
A Lilac tree, and a Guelder-Rose;

A Broom, and a Tiger-lily;
And I walk'd a dozen miles to find

The true wild Daffodilly.

I had Columbines, both pink and blue,

And Thalictrum like a feather; And the bright Goat's-beard, that shuts its leaves

Before a change of weather.

I had Marigolds, and Gilliflowers,

And Pinks all Pinks exceeding; I'd a noble root of Love-in-a-mist,

And plenty of Love-lies-bleeding.

I'd Jacob's Ladder, Aaron's Rod,

And the Peacock-Gentianella;
I had Asters more than I can tell,

And Lupins blue and yellow.

I set a grain of Indian Corn,

One day in an idle humour,
And the grain sprung up six feet or more,

My glory for a summer.

I found far off in the pleasant fields,

More flowers than I can mention; I found the English Asphodel,

And the spring and autumn Gentian.

I found the Orchis, fly and bee,

And the Cistus of the mountain; And the Money-wort, and the Adder's tongue,

Beside an old wood fountain.

I found within another wood,

The rare Pyrola blowing:
For wherever there was a curious flower

I was sure to find it growing.

I set them in my garden beds,

Those beds I loved so dearly, Where I labour'd after set of sun,

And in summer mornings early.

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