NIGHT STUDY. 297 ANTIOPE. WRITTEN IN THE STRAITS OF MAGELLAN. THOMAS HILL was born at New Brunswick, N. J., Jan. 7, 1818. He was educated at Harvard College, and became a Unitarian minister. He was the successor of Horace Mann as President of Antioch College, and for a few years was President of Harvard College. He is now pastor of the First Church in Portland, Me. Dr. Hill has written and translated several hundred hymns and poems which have appeared in the periodicals. Ar dead of night a southwest breeze The bluebird followed at break of day, The breeze crept through the old stone-wall, GEORGE WASHington BethUNE was born in New York City, and was educated at Dickinson College and Princeton Seminary. He was pastor of Reformed Dutch churches in Utica, Philadelphia, and Brooklyn, successively. He went to Europe for the benefit of his health in 1861, and died at Florence, April 28, 1862. He published a volume of verse entitled "Lays of Love and Faith," besides a number of prose works. He was an eloquent speaker, and was noted for his humor as well as for his refined literary taste and love of nature. I AM alone; and yet In the still solitude there is a rush Around me, as were met A crowd of viewless wings: I hear a gush earth, Making it to rejoice with holy mirth. Ye winged Mysteries, Sweeping before my spirit's conscious eye, Beckoning me to arise, Ye hover o'er the page Ye traced in ancient days, with glorious thought For many a distant age; Ye love to watch the inspiration caught From your sublime examples, and to cheer The fainting aspirant to your high career. Ye come to nerve the soul Like him who near the Atoner stood, when he Trembling saw round him roll The wrathful portends of Gethsemane, With courage strong; the promise ye have known And proved, rapt for me from the eternal throne. Still keep, oh, keep me near you, Compass me round with your immortal wings; Still let my glad soul hear you Striking your triumphs from your golden strings, Until with you I mount, and join the song, An angel like you, mid the white-robed throng! GEORGE WASHINGTON BETHUNE, D. D. A MIDNIGHT HYMN. My God, now I from sleep awake, The sole possession of me take, From midnight terrors me secure, And guard my heart from thoughts impure! Blest angels! while we silent lie, I with your choir celestial join Oh, may I always ready stand, All praise to thee in light arrayed, Blest Jesu, thou, on heaven intent, My soul, how canst thou weary grow Dear night! this world's defeat ; The stop to busy fools; care's check and curb; The day of spirits; my soul's calm retreat Christ's progress, and his prayer time, God's silent, searching flight; When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all His locks are wet with the clear drops of night: His still, soft call; His knocking time: the soul's dumb watch. When spirits their fair kindred catch. Were all my loud, evil days Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent, Then I in heaven all the long year GERMAN NIGHT-WATCHMAN'S SONG. But living where the sun Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire Themselves and others, I consent and run To every mire ; And by this world's ill guiding light There is in God, some say, A deep but dazzling darkness; as men here Oh for that night where I in him HENRY VAUGHAN. NIGHT AND DEATH. JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE, an English man of letters, was a native of Seville, Spain, where his family, originally from Ireland, had lived for generations. He was born July 11, 1775, and became a Catholic priest in 1799. Losing confidence in Catholicism, he renounced it in 1810 and went to England, where he devoted himself to literature. For a time he was tutor in the family of Archbishop Whately, in Dublin, after which he became a Unitarian. He died May 20, 1841. This sonnet was pronounced by Coleridge the finest and most grandly conceived in the English language. MYSTERIOUS night! when our first parent knew Thee from report Divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, Within thy beams, O sun! or who could find, Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life? JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE. THE GERMAN NIGHT-WATCH- HARK, while I sing! our village clock 299 Lord, through thine all-prevailing might, Hark, while I sing! our village clock Lord, through thine all-prevailing might, Hark, while I sing! our village clock The hour of Twelve, good sirs, has struck. Unless the Lord to guard us deign, Hark, while I sing! our village clock Lord, through thine all-prevailing might, Hark, while I sing! our village clock Lord, through thine all-prevailing might, Hark, while I sing! our village clock Fixed in an eternal state, They have done with all below; We a little longer wait, But how little none can know. As the winged arrow flies Thanks for mercies past receive, JOHN NEWTON. |