THE SPIRIT LAND.

FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand,
Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed;
Around us ever lies the enchanted land

In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed;
In finding thee are all things round us found;
In losing thee are all things lost beside ;
Ears have we but in vain strange voices sound,
And to our eyes the vision is denied ;

We wander in the country far remote,

Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell;
Or on the records of past greatness dote,
And for a buried soul the living sell;
While on our path bewildered falls the night
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.

WORSHIP.

THERE is no worship now,

the idol stands

Within the spirit's holy resting place!

Millions before it bend with upraised hands,
And with their gifts God's purer shrine disgrace;
The prophet walks unhonored mid the crowd
That to the idol's temple daily throng;
His voice unheard above their voices loud,
His strength too feeble 'gainst the torrent strong;
But there are bounds that ocean's rage can stay
When wave on wave leaps madly to the shore:
And soon the prophet's word shall men obey,
And hushed to peace the billows cease to roar ;
For he who spoke and warring winds kept peace,
Commands again—and man's wild passions cease.

2

THE SOLDIER.

He was not armed like those of eastern clime,
Whose heavy axes felled their heathen foe;
Nor was he clad like those of later time,
Whose breast-worn cross betrayed no cross below;
Nor was he of the tribe of Levi born,

Whose pompous rites proclaim how vain their prayer;
Whose chilling words are heard at night and morn,
Who rend their robes but still their hearts would

spare;

But he nor steel nor sacred robe had on,
Yet went he forth in God's almighty power;
He spoke the word whose will is ever done
From day's first dawn till earth's remotest hour;
And mountains melted from his presence down,
And hell affrighted fled before his frown.

THE TREES OF LIFE.

For those who worship Thee there is no death,
For all they do is but with Thee to dwell;
Now while I take from Thee this passing breath,
It is but of thy glorious name to tell;
Nor words nor measured sounds have I to find,
But in them both my soul doth ever flow;
They come as viewless as the unseen wind,
And tell thy noiseless steps where'er I go;
The trees that grow along thy living stream,
And from its springs refreshment ever drink,
Forever glittering in thy morning beam

They bend them o'er the river's grassy brink
And as more high and wide their branches grow
They look more fair within the depths below.

THE SPIRIT.

I WOULD not breathe, when blows thy mighty wind O'er desolate hill and winter-blasted plain, But stand in waiting hope if I may find Each flower recalled to newer life again That now unsightly hides itself from Thee, Amid the leaves or rustling grasses dry, With ice-cased rock and snowy-mantled tree Ashamed lest Thou its nakedness should spy; But Thou shalt breathe and every rattling bough *Shall gather leaves; each rock with rivers flow; And they that hide them from thy presence now In new found robes along thy path shall glow, And meadows at thy coming fall and rise,

Their

green waves sprinkled with a thousand eyes..