JEWS were wrought to cruel madness; Christians fled in fear and sadness; Mary stood the cross beside:

At its foot her foot she planted,
By the dreadful scene undaunted,
Till the gentle Sufferer died.

Poets oft have sung her story, Painters decked her brow with glory, Priests her name have deified:

But no worship, song, or glory,
Touches like that simple story-

Mary stood the cross beside.

And when, under fierce oppression,
Goodness suffers, like transgression,
Christ again is crucified:

But if love be there, true-hearted,
By no grief or terror parted,

Mary stands the cross beside.

FAIR lilies of Jerusalem,

Ye wear the same array

As when imperial Judah's stem
Maintained its regal sway.

By sacred Jordan's desert tide
As bright ye blossom on

As when your simple charms outvied
The pride of Solomon.

Ye flourished when the captive band,
By prophets warned in vain,
Were led to far Euphrates' strand,
From Jordan's pleasant plain;

In hostile lands to weep and dream
Of things that still were free,
And sigh to see your golden gleam,
Sweet flowers of Galilee!

Ye have survived Judea's throne,
Her temple's overthrow,
And seen proud Salem sitting lone,
A widow in her woe.

But, lilies of Jerusalem,

Through every change ye shine; Your golden urns unfading gem The fields of Palestine!

SPRING, summer, autumn, winter,

Come duly as of old;

Winds blow, suns set, and morning saith, "Ye hills, put on your gold."

The song of Homer liveth,
Dead Solon is not dead;

Thy splendid name, Pythagoras,
O'er realms of suns is spread.

But Babylon and Memphis

Are letters traced in dust:

Read them, earth's tyrants! ponder well The might in which ye trust!

They rose, while all the depths of guilt
Their vain creators sounded;
They fell, because on fraud and force
Their corner-stones were founded.

Truth, mercy, knowledge, justice,
Are powers that ever stand;
They build their temples in the soul,
And work with God's right hand.

CXL.

SWEET day! So cool, so calm, so bright,
Bridal of earth and sky;

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die!

Sweet rose! in air whose odours wave,

And colour charms the

eye;

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die!

Sweet spring! of days and roses made,

Whose charms for beauty vie; Thy days depart, thy roses fade, For thou must die!

Only a sweet and holy soul
Hath tints that never fly;

While flowers decay, and seasons roll,
It cannot die.

CXLI.

THE wintry winds have ceased to blow, And trembling leaves appear;

And fairest flowers succeed the snow,

And hail the infant year.

So when the world and all its woes

Are vanished far away,

Fair scenes and wonderful repose
Shall bless the new-born day.

'Tis but a sleep-and power divine
Shall call the many dead;
'Tis but a sleep-and then we sing

O'er dreams of sorrow fled.

Yes! wintry winds have ceased to blow,

And trembling leaves appear; And Nature has her types to shew

Throughout the varying year.