A dreary and dismal watch to keep

O'er spirits, like me, that never sleep,

In the Realms of endless Ire.

THE SPIRIT OF LOVE.

IN the breeze of eve I wander by,
I glow in the morning beam;

Mine is the blue of the summer sky,
The music of the stream;

The tint of the flower,

The drop of the shower,

The blossom on the tree,

And the cloud, that rides

O'er Heaven's broad tides,

Are full of the spirit of me.

In the stars of night,
So pure and bright,

I watch over man below;

O'er the prince's dome,

And the peasant's home;

O'er a world of mirth and of woe.

To the smiling brow

I lend its glow,

Their magic to bright young eyes;

I gleam in the tear

That falls on the bier

Of the lovely, the brave, and the wise.

Mine was the word

The Day-God heard

In the caverns of ancient Night,

When seraphs young

Exultant sung

O'er the glorious birth of Light.

Mine was the strain

O'er Bethel's plain

To the midnight watchers borne ;

And mine the star

That poured afar

The beams of a holy morn.

Mine is the voice

That cried, 'Rejoice!'

To the faith of an olden time;

X

And I whisper still

A sweet 'goodwill'

O'er a world of care and crime.

Over earth and air

I am everywhere,

A Spirit of Peace and of Love.

I am come to cheer

The mourner here,

And to lead him to 'rest' above.

'WHOM THE LORD LOVETH HE

CHASTENETH.'

WHEN lightning smote the classic tree,

'Twas sacred from that mystic hour:

Reason and faith alike might see

A witness of celestial power.

Mock not yon frail and struggling form,
That bends beneath a load of care;

The hand, that launcheth forth the storm,
Hath bound a sacred burden there.

That house of grief-this couch of pain

Oh! man! with all thy soul revere,

Nor let them preach to thee in vain

6

The solemn truth, Thy God is here!'

For not alone in morning beams

And summer flowers thy God abides Amid the clouds of night He gleams, And on the drifting tempest rides.

Take not the thousand shapes of woe
For earnests of destructive wrath.
Lo! who are these in robes of snow?
They trod to Heaven by trial's path!

:

THE OLD ENGLISH HALL.

NAY! chide me not-I watch with pain These antique gables fall.

One day and none shall see again

That quaint old English Hall.