For him the day no joyance brings:
It doth but gild Time's hastening wings,
And as in mockery bestow

Its splendour on a world of woe:
For him the night oblivion woos

In vain, since Death her form pursues:
The image of his last repose

Appals him ere his eye-lids close.

To man a foe, he treads awhile
His lonely path, by heavenly smile
Uncheered; self-sated then he flies
To nature's genial sympathies:
Borne by the fury of his mind,

Where rolls the wave or wafts the wind,
Like wandering spirit of the air,
He seeks the converse of despair.

Ah! whither, captive, dost thou roam?
Has life no haven, man no home?
And dost thou think thy torturer fell,
Who dooms thee to his native hell,
And still thy faltering steps doth urge,
O'er howling waste and foaming surge,
Shall lead thee to some still retreat,
For seraphs' high communion meet?

And wilt thou woo thine in-born guest,
And nurse the vulture of thy breast,-
With stupor fierce or joy accurst
Cling to the chains thou canst not burst,
Or fainting sue with penance vain

The phantom-idols of thy brain?

E'en now beneath thee yawns the grave,-
They fly, those gods who cannot save.

Yet, hark! amid the thunder's sound,
That rolls athwart the gulf profound,
A still small voice that whispers peace,
That bids thy toil, thy warfare cease;

That tells thee of a beacon-light

That mocks the day, dispels the night,-
That light within thy bosom glows,

From thence the living lustre flows.

And oh! how changed those scenes of late To thy dim eyes so desolate:

How bright those eyes once wrapt in gloom, How fair those vales' renascent bloom;

Those transient forms that mocked the view,

When clad in folly's tinsel hue,

In new and borrowed splendour shine,"The hand that made them is Divine.'

All nature feels the sweet control,

In festal pomp the seasons roll,

The star of morning smiles serene,

And day with rapture crowns the scene;
The eve more calm delight inspires,
Night wakes devotion's holier fires;
The soul responsive hears their voice,
And joyous bids the world rejoice.

The lamp of heaven shall never die,
For hands unseen its light supply:
The passing suns may shade its beam,
But cannot quench the living stream;
The clouds and midnight damps obscure,
It glows yet more intensely pure,
And shall its shattered rays renew,
Though winds assail, or storms subdue.

And when in browner twilight fade
Life's waning gleams and lengthening shade,
And Death, enrobed in pall of night,
Tears the faint landscape from thy sight,
The star that ruled thy morning's prime

Shall cheer the eve of parting Time,
In glory deepening gloom array,
Nor set, but in immortal day.

THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF.

THERE is a tongue in every leaf!

A voice in every rill!

A voice that speaketh every where,

In flood and fire, through earth and air;
A tongue that's never still!

'Tis the Great Spirit wide diffused
Through every thing we see,
That with our spirits communeth
Of things mysterious-Life and Death,
Time and Eternity

I see Him in the blazing sun,
And in the thunder-cloud;

I hear Him in the mighty roar
That rusheth through the forests hoar,

When winds are raging loud.

I feel Him in the silent dews,
By grateful earth betrayed;

I feel Him in the gentle showers,

The soft south wind, the breath of flowers,
The sunshine, and the shade.

I see Him, hear Him, every where,
In all things-darkness, light;
Silence, and sound; but most of all,
When slumber's dusky curtains fall,
I' the silent hour of night.

THE BODY AND THE SOUL.

WHAT is this body? fragile, frail,

As vegetation's tenderest leaf;Transient as April's fitful gale,

And as the flashing meteor brief.

What is this soul? eternal mind,

Unlimited as thought's vast range, By grovelling matter unconfined;

The same, while states and empires change.

When long this miserable frame

Has vanished from life's busy scene, This earth shall roll, that sun shall flame, As though this dust had never been.

When suns have waned, and worlds sublime

Their final revolutions told,

This soul shall triumph over time,

As though such orbs had never rolled.

HYMN TO THE CREATOR.

FOR Thee, for Thee, my lyre I string,
Who, by ten thousand worlds attended,
Holdest thy course sublime and splendid

Through heaven's immeasurable ring;
I tremble 'neath thy blazing throne,
Thy light eternal built upon,-

Thy throne, as Thou, all radiant, bearing

Love's day-beains of benignity!

Yet terrible is thine appearing

To them who fear not Thee.

Oh! what is mortal man, that he

May hear thy heavenly temple ringing,

With songs that heaven's own choirs are singing,

And echo back the melody?

My soul is wandering from its place;

Mine eyes are lost amidst the space

Where thousand suns are rolled through heaven,

Suns waked by Thee from chaos' sleep;

But with the thought my soul is driven

Down to a trackless deep.

VOL. II.

16

There was a moment ere thy plan

Poured out time's stream of mortal glory;
Ere thy high wisdom tracked the story
Of all the years since time began,
Bringing sweet peace from sorrows mine,
And making misery discipline;

The bitter waters of affliction

Distilling into dews of peace, And kindling heavenly benediction From earth's severe distress.

Then did thine Omnipresent eye,

Earth's million million wonders seeing,

Track through the misty maze of being
E'en my obscurest destiny.

I, in those marvellous plans, though yet
Unborn, had mine own portion set,

And Thou hadst marked my path, though lowly;

E'en to my meanness Thou didst give

Thy spirit-Thou-so high-so holy

And I, thy creature, live.

So, through this trembling ball of clay,
Thou to and fro dost kindly lead me;
Midst life's vicissitudes I speed me,

And quiet peace attends my way.
And, oh! what bliss it is to be,

Though but an atom, formed by Thee;
By Thee, who, in thy mercy, pourest
Rivers of grace, to whom, indeed,
The eternal oak-trees of the forest
Are as the mustard seed.

Up, then, my spirit! soar above

This vale where mists of darkness gather,

Up to the high eternal Father,

For thou wert fashioned by his love.