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Where Universal Love smiles not around,
Sustaining all yon orbs and all their suns:
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in him, in Light Ineffable!

Come then, expressive Silence, muse his praise.

ON SEEING WINDSOR CASTLE.

BY T. WARTON.

FROM beauteous Windsor's high and storied halls, Where Edward's chiefs start from the glowing

walls,

To my low cot, from ivory beds of state,
Pleased I return, unenvious of the great.
So the bee ranges o'er the varied scenes
Of corn, of heaths, of fallows, and of greens,
Pervades the thicket, soars above the hill,
Or murmurs to the meadow's murmuring rill;
Now haunts old hollow'd oaks, deserted cells,
Now seeks the low vale-lily's silver bells;
Sips the warm fragrance of the greenhouse bowers,
And tastes the myrtle and the citron flowers;
At length returning to the wonted comb,
Prefers to all his little straw-built home.

A MATIN.

BY BOWRING.

WHEN the moon peeps over the mountain's height,
And the latest star has left the sky,

And the dews disperse at the glance of light,
And the earth puts on her robes of joy,
And the flowers look out, and the woods are gay
With birds and breezes, O! 'tis meet

To join the universal lay,

And nature's chorus to repeat; To lead the aspiring soul to Him,

Whose is the darkness, whose the dayWho kindled first the sunny beam;

Poured forth the wandering milky way;
Filled all heaven's lamps with ether, spread
The canopy above-whose hand

The valleys and the mountains weighed-
Fathomed the ocean-reared the land,

And crowded all with life and bliss:
See life and bliss around us glowing,
Wherever space or being is,

The cup of joy is full and flowing.

Yes! nature is a splendid show,
Where an attentive mind may hear
Music in all the winds that blow-
And see a silent worshipper

In every flower, on every tree,
In every vale, on every hill-
Perceive a choir of melody

In waving grass or whispering rill;
And catch a soft but solemn sound

Óf worship from the smallest fly, The cricket chirping on the ground,

The trembling leaf that hangs on high.

Proud, scornful man! thy soaring wing
Would hurry towards infinity;
And yet the vilest, meanest thing
Is too sublime, too deep for thee;
In all thy vain imagining

Lost in the smallest speck we see.

It must be so-for He, even He

Who worlds created, formed the worm

He pours the dew, who filled the sea

Breathes from the flower, who rules the storm. Him we may worship-not conceive;

See not and hear not-but adore :

Bow in the dust-obey-believe

Utter his name and know no more.

His throne is o'er the highest star

That wanders heaven's blue vaults along;
He drives, unseen, His glorious car
A million viewless worlds among.
A thousand-ay! ten thousand suns
Are darkness in His piercing eye!

Thy life runs on-and while it runs,
Vainly to know him dost thou try:
That is a bliss for realms on high,
When thou shalt breathe diviner air,
And drink of heaven's felicity;

For knowledge knows no boundary there.
O! if joy be here thy doom

Give it anchorage above;

If thy path be dark with gloom

Steal a ray from heavenly love.

Source of joy!-my friend !-my father!

In thy presence let me be,

Here the flower of virtue gather,
Blooming for eternity.

ABEL'S SACRIFICIAL ADDRESS.

BY BRYON.

Oн, God!

Who made us, and who breathed the breath of life
Within our nostrils, who hath blessed us,

And spared, despite our father's sin, to make
His children all lost, as they might have been,
Had not thy justice been so tempered with
The mercy which is thy delight, as to
Accord a pardon like a paradise,

Compared with our great crimes:-Sole Lord of light!

Of good, and glory, and eternity;

Without whom all were evil, and with whom
Nothing can err, except to some good end
Of thine omnipotent benevolence-
Inscrutable, but still to be fulfilled-

Accept from out thy humble first of shepherd's
First of the first-born flocks-an offering,
In itself nothing-as what offering can be
Aught unto thee ?-but yet accept it for
The thanksgiving of Him who spreads it in
The face of thy heaven, bowing his own
Even to the dust, of which he is, in honour
Of Thee, and of Thy name, for evermore!

HYMN

OF THE DAUGHTERS OF JERUSALEM.

BY MILMAN.

KING of Kings! and Lord of Lords!
Thus we more our sad steps timing
To our cymbals' faintest chiming,
Where thy house its rest accords.
Chased and wounded birds are we;
Through the dark air fled to thee;
To the shadow of thy wing,
Lord of Lords! and King of Kings!

H

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