32

SACRED POETRY.

WHEN slumber light, at summer morn,
Begins to yield to rising day,
If sound of rustic flute be borne,
Or early voice of shepherd's lay
Beneath our vine-clad window play,
How soon does fairy Fancy weave

Her tissued web of wandering dream!
How heedlessly our ears receive

Nor mark the new melodious theme,

But all one onward tale those mingled visions seem!

And wandering oft, at even-tide,

We muse of friends in lands remote;

In vain by yonder deep-wood side

Blackbird or thrush with sweetest note,
Or nightingale pours out her throat,-
We hear, but heed not: man nor bird
They cannot win our idle ear,

Till by some inward spirit stirred

(So quick our changeful fancies veer)

We wake, and marvel much those shrill sweet sounds to hear.

And so, by mercies thick beset,

(Thicker than birds at fall of eve,)

We hear not, feel not, see not yet,-
Our sense is dull, nor may perceive,
Or other thoughts our fancies weave,-
Till one by one our wakened sight
Discerns the angel-band around,
Chariots and horsemen for the fight,

Such erst as thronged the Holy ground
What time a sense divine the soul-rapt prophet found.

The vocal wood, the king-cupped field,-
Whence is it that these senseless things
O'er the chafed soul such magic wield,
That every lark that soars and sings
Can touch the heart's most secret strings?
What kind enchanter's scattered spells
O'er all the varied landscape lie,

That peace is breathed from flow'ret bells,

And love, and praise, and musings high

Throng on the enraptured soul from earth, and sea, and sky?

It is not charm of flower or bird,

Bright heaven or fragrant earth, I ween,—

"Tis the voice of angels, all but heard,-
"Tis the form of angels, all but seen!
Blest spirits! Heaven and man between

Ye ply your untired work of love!

Bright from the throne of God, your smile
Wakes field and streamlet, hill and grove,

Though speech nor language sound the while,

Nor dim-eared man discern what doth his heart beguile!

O yes-our common air is rife

With friends divine, though undiscerned ;
And oh! when soon our flickering life

His latest lamp have well nigh burned,
And faith and sight on heaven are turned,
How would it cheer our soul to see

Plain to her sense that cherub crew,
Ready with outstretched wings to flee

Far mid the unfathomable blue,

And lead their sister sprite the eternal Throne to view!

A HYMN FOR ALL-SAINTS' DAY IN THE MORNING.

STAND UP before your God,

You army bold and bright,
Saints, martyrs, and confessors,

In your robes of white :

The church below doth challenge you

To an act of praise;

Ready with mirth, in all the earth,

Her matin song to raise.

Stand up before your God

In beautiful array!

Make ready all your instruments

The while we mourn and pray;

For we must stay to mourn and pray
Some prelude to our song:

The fear of death has clogged our breath,
And our foes are swift and strong.

But ye before your God

Are hushed from all alarm;

Out through the grave and gate of death
Ye have past into the calm;

Your fight is done, your victory won,
Through peril, and toil, and blood;-
Among the slain, on the battle plain,
We buried ye where ye stood.

Stand up before your God!
Although we cannot hear

The new song he hath taught you

With our fleshly ear,

Our bosoms burn that begun to learn,

And from the church below,

Even while we sing, on heavenward wing,

Some happy souls shall go.

Ye stand before your God!
But we press onward still,
The soldiers of his army,
The servants of his will:
A captive band, in foreign land,

Long ages we have been;

But our dearest theme, and our fondest dream,

Is the home we have not seen.

VOL. V.-Jan. 1834.

F

G. M.

We soon shall meet our God!
The hour is waxing on,

The Dayspring from on high is risen,
And the night is spent and gone.
The light of earth it had its birth,
And it shall have its doom:

The sons of earth they are few in birth,
But many in the tomb.

SONNET.

SAVIOUR and Lord beloved!-what homage new
Shall thy church give thee in these latter days,
When there is nothing new ?—no song of praise
That ages have not sung,-no worship due
That hath not long been paid :-faithful and true
Our hearts are beating to thee. Can we raise
No monument for victories of grace?
Must all our efforts be so poor and few?
O vain and earthly wish, that would be great
In over-serving!-rather may we lie
In meekest self-devotion at thy feet,
And watch the quiet hours as they pass by,
Content and thankful for occasion shewn
To make old service and old faith our own.

Translation of the Ancient Hymn " Dies iræ, dies illa."

Think on the sin

That reaped the unripe seed, and toiled to win
Foul history-marks at Bethel and at Dan,
Scant meed of its rash plan;

Whilst the wise shepherd hid his heaven-told fate,
Nor recked a tyrant's hate.

Such need is gain;

Wait the bright Advent that shall loose thy chain!
E'en now the shadows break, and gleams divine
Edge the dim distant line.

When thrones are trembling, and earth's fat ones quail,
True Seed! thou shalt prevail !

THE BACKWARD CHURCH.

"Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee." WAKE, Mother dear, the foes are near,

A spoiler claims thy child;

This the sole refuge of my fear,

Thy bosom undefiled.

What spells of power, in this strange hour,

My Mother's heart enslave?

Where is thy early bridal dower,

To suffer and to save?

Thee then I sue, Sleepless and True,

Dread Maker reconciled!

Help ere they smite, Thy shrine in view,

The Mother with the child.

THE GATHERING OF THE CHURCH.

"He which hath begun a good work in you, will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.'

WHEREFORE shrink, and say, ""Tis vain;

In their hour hell-powers must reign;
Vainly, vainly would we force

Fatal Error's torrent course;

Earth is mighty, we are frail,

Faith is gone, and Hope must fail."

Yet along the church's sky

Stars are scattered, pure and high;
Yet her wasted gardens bear
Autumn violets, sweet and rare-
Relics of a spring-time clear,
Earnests of a bright new year.

Israel yet hath thousands sealed,
Who to Baal never kneeled.
Seize the banner, spread its fold!
Seize it with no faltering hold!
Spread its foldings high and fair,
Let all see the Cross is there!: