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The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust;
And, like the trembling Hebrew when he trod
The roaring waves, and called upon his God,
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss,
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss!

4. Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb!
Melt and dispel, ye specter-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul !
Fly, like the moon-ey'd herald of Dismay,
Chas'd on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o'er-the pangs of Nature close,
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes.

5. Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of Heaven, undazzled by the blaze,
On Heavenly winds that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still
Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion's hill!

6. Soul of the just! companion of the dead!
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ;
Doom'd on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and return.—
Hark! from the world's exploding center driven,
With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven,
Careers the fiery giant, fast and far,

On bickering wheels, and adamantine car.

7. From planet whirl'd to planet more remote,
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought;
But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run,
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun!—
So hath the traveler of earth unfurl'd
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world;
And, o'er the path by mortal never trod,
Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God!



Incentives to Devotion.

1. Lo! the unletter'd hind, who never knew
To raise his mind excursive, to the heights
Of abstract contemplation, as he sits

On the green hillock by the hedge-row side,
What time the insect swarms are murmuring,
And marks, in silent thought, the broken clouds,
That fringe, with loveliest hues, the evening sky,
Feels in his soul the hand of nature rouse
The thrill of gratitude, to him who formed
The goodly prospect: he beholds the God
Thron'd in the west; and his reposing ear
Hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze

That floats through neighboring copse or fairy brake,
Or lingers, playful, on the haunted stream.

2. Go with the cotter to his winter fire,
When o'er the moor the loud blast whistles shrill,
And the hoarse ban-dog bays the icy moon;
Mark with what awe he lists the wild uproar,
Silent, and big with thought; and hear him bless
The God that rides on the tempestuous clouds,
For his snug hearth, and all his little joys.

3. Hear him compare his happier lot, with h.s
Who bends his way across the wintry wolds,
A poor night-traveler, while the dismal snow
Beats in his face, and dubious of his paths,
He stops, and thinks, in every lengthening blast,
He hears some village mastiff's distant howl,
And sees far streaming some lone cottage light;
Then, undeceived, upturns his streaming eyes,
And clasps his shivering hands, or overpower'd,
Sinks on the frozen ground, weighed down with sleep
From which the hapless wretch shall never wake.

4. Thus the poor rustic warms his heart with praise And glowing gratitude: he turns to bless With honest warmth, his Maker and his God. And shall it e'er be said, that a poor hind, Nurs'd in the lap of ignorance, and bred In want and labor, glows with noble zeal To laud his Maker's attributes, while he Whom starry science in her cradle rocked,

And Castalay enchastened with its dews,
Closes his eye upon the holy word,
And, blind to all but arrogance and pride,
Dares to declare his infidelity,

And openly contemn the Lord of Hosts!

5. What is the pomp of learning? the parade
Of letters and of tongues? Even as the mists
Of the gray morn before the rising sun,
That pass away and perish. Earthly things
Are but the transient pageants of an hour;
And earthly pride is like the passing flower,
That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.

H. K. White.




The Rainbow.

1. THE evening was glorious, and light through the trees, Play'd in sunshine the rain-drops, the birds, and the breeze: The landscape outstretching in loveliness lay,

On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May.

For the bright queen of spring, as she pass'd down the vale,
Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale;
And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours,
And fresh in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers.
The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll'd,

O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold;
But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increas'd,
Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east.

2. We gaz'd on these scenes, while around us they glow'd, When a vision of beauty appear'd on the cloud;

'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view,

Nor the moon, that rolls lightly through star-light and blue,
Like a spirit it came in the van of the storm,

And the eye and the heart hail'd its beautiful form;
For it look'd not severe, like an angel of wrath,
But its garments of brightness illum'd its dark path.
In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood,
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood;
And river, field, village, and woodland grew bright,
As conscious they gave and afforded delight.

3. "Twas the bow of Omnipotence, bent in his hand, Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd; "Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime,' His vow from the flood to the exile of time;Not dreadful, as when in a whirlwind he pleads, When storms are his chariot, and lightning his steeds,The black cloud of vengeance his banner unfurl'd, And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world,In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire,

And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the plain, And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain:

4. Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one! Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone--the sun; A pavilion it seem'd with a deity graced,

And justice and mercy met there and embraced.
Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom,
Like love o'er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb;
Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired,
As love has just vanished, or hope had expired.

5. I gazed not alone on that source of my song;
To all who beheld it these verses belong;
Its presence to all was the path of the Lord!
Each full heart expanded, grew warm and adored.
Like a visit the converse of friends-or a day,
That bow from my sight pass'd forever away;
Like that visit, that converse, that day, to my heart,
That bow from remembrance can never depart.
"Tis a picture in mem'ry, distinctly defined,
With the strong and imperishing colors of mind:-
A part of my being beyond my control,

Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul.



The last Days of Autumn.

1. Now the growing year is over,
And the shepherd's tinkling bell,
Faintly from its winter cover,

Rings a low farewell:

Now the birds of Autumn shiver
Where the withered beach-leaves quiver,
O'er the dark and lazy river,

In the rocky dell,


2. Now the mist is on the mountains,
Redd'ning in the rising sun;

Now the flowers around the fountains
Perish one by one:

Not a spire of grass is growing;
But the leaves that late were glowing,
Now its blighted green are strowing
With a mantle dun.

3. Now the torrent brook is stealing
Faintly down the furrowed glade-
Not as when in winter pealing,
Such a din it made,

That the sound of cataracts falling
Gave no echo so appalling,
As its hoarse and heavy brawling
In the pine's black shade.

4. Darkly blue the mist is hovering
Round the clifted rock's bare height
All the bordering mountains covering
With a dim uncertain light:

Now, a fresher wind prevailing,
Wide its heavy burden sailing,
Deepens as the day is failing,
Fast the gloom of night.

5. Slow the blood-stained moon is rising
Through the still and hazy air,
Like a sheeted specter gliding
In a torch's glare:

Few the hours her light is given-
Mingling clouds of tempest driven
O'er the mourning face of heaven,
All is blackness there."

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'Tis twilight now
The sovereign sun behind his western hills
In glory hath declined. The mighty clouds
Kissed by his warm effulgence, hang around
In all their congregated hues of pride,
Like pillars of some tabernacle grand,
Worthy his glowing presence; while the sky
Illumin'd to its center, glows intense,
Changing his sapphire majesty to gold.


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