Bright insects, humming in their noontide glee,
That from the shore have flown to try the sea!

And none of these control thee! yet the moon

Can bid thy tides flow, and return again : The sun, in the fierce glory of his noon,

Can drink thy waters up,-thou beauteous main !

But when a storm is passing over thee,

They cannot stop thy furious rage,-wild sea!

Yet there is One, who hath the power to stay

Thee in thy passionate madness;-he whose hand Formed thee, can force thee, ocean, to obey

His utmost bidding;—when He doth command Thy billows to their homes, then thou must be Calmed, as his breath goes o'er thee,-conquered sea!

LESSONS.

And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

SHAKSPEARE.

LET us go to the hall, where the red wine flows,
And roses and myrtles are gaily wreathed;
Where many a cheek with its deep joy glows,
And the sweet, sweet music of lutes is breathed.

Ere morning comes, the scene will be fled;

Faded will be the dream of bliss;

The song will be hushed, and the roses dead,

Is there nought to be learned by this?

C

Let us go to the shore, where the sea shells lie,

And the sand with weeds and wrecks is strown; Where o'er the rocks the cold waves fly,

And make their hollow and sullen moan.
Those desolate things were cast away

From the false breast of the raging seas;
And there they are sadly left to decay,-
Is there not a lesson in these?

Let us go to the wood, where the hawthorn blows, When its leaves in the soft spring-time are green;

When its mantle around it the woodbine throws,

And the pearly flowerets peep between ;→

Oh, we shall find a moral in them,

Thus with the leaves deceitfully twined;

Decking awhile the thorny stem,

Yet dropping off with the first rude wind!

Let us go to the fields, when the storm is o'er,

And the rain-drops sparkle like stars at eve; When the thunder peal is heard no more,

And the ocean's bosom hath ceased to heave:

Then we shall see the rainbow bright,

From the gloomy clouds and the sunshine wrought, Shedding on all things its coloured light,Something, surely, by this is taught.

Let us go to the graves, where our loved ones are, And let us choose the midnight time,

When the heavens are glorious with many a star, And silence and grandeur raise thoughts sublime;

And as we look from the mouldering dust,

Up to the cope of the beauteous sky;

So shall our spirits ascend, in their trust,

To the Holy Spirit that dwelleth on high.

THE HOPES OF MY LIFE.

'Ay!-from helpless childhood

To youth's fresh morning, manhood's summer years,
And tottering, weak old age, Hope is our stay,

Our life of life;-in infancy our toy;

In youth, the glass through which we see all things,
In colours fairer than reality;

In our full prime, as noontide sunshine to us;
And in our last days, the strong staff on which
We lean, and look towards heaven."

HOPE of my childhood!--what wert thou?

That I might roam on the mountain's brow;

That when I awoke to the morning's light,

The day might be serene and bright;

That I might be first to find out where

The violet scented the soft spring air;

That I might track the wilding bee

To his home in the trunk of the hollow tree :