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A silent emblem, with the main Of sailing clouds it blends; Like a departed spirit gone Up from low earth to glory's throne To mix with sainted friends, Where, life's probation voyage o'er, Grief's sail is furled for evermore.

EARTH, WITH HER THOUSAND VOICES PRAISES GOD.

LONGFELLOW.

WHEN first, in ancient time, from Jubal's tooga, The tuneful anthem fill'd the morning air, The sacred hymnings and Elysian song His music-breathing shell the minstrel woke votion breathed aloud from every chorde voice of praise was heard in every toe prayer, and thanks to Him, the Eternal One Him, that, with bright inspiration, touched e high and gifted lyre of heavenly song, d warmed the soul with new vitality. stirring energy through Nature breathedThe voice of adoration from her broke, Swelling aloud in every breeze, and heard Long in the sullen waterfall,--what time Soft Spring or hoary Autumn threw on earth Its bloom or blighting,-when the summer Or Winter o'er the year's sepulchre mourned The Deity was there!-a nameless spirit

Moved in the hearts of men to do him homage; Or when the Morning smiled, or Evening, pale, Hung weeping o'er the melancholy sun, They came beneath the broad o'erarching trees, And in their tremulous shadow worshipped oft, Where the pale vine clung round their simple altars, And gray moss mantling hung. Above was heard The melody of winds, breathed out as the green trees Bowed to their quivering touch in living beauty, And birds sang forth their cheerful hymns. Below, Struggled and gushed amongst the tangled roots, That choked its weedy fountain-and dark rocks, Worn smooth by the constant current, even there The listless wave, that stole, with mellow voice, Where weeds grew rank upon the rushy brink, And to the wandering wind the green sedge bent, Sang a sweet song of fixed tranquillity. Men felt the heavenly influence; and it stole Like balm into their hearts, till all was peace; And even the air they breathed,-the light they

saw,

Became religion;-for the ethereal spirit, That to soft music wakes the chords of feeling, And mellows every thing to beauty, moved With cheering energy within their breasts, And made all holy there-for all was love. The morning stars that sweetly sang togetherThe moon, that hung at night in the mid-skyDay-spring-and eventide-and all the fair And beautiful forms of nature, had a voice Of eloquent worship. Ocean, with its tide, Swelling and deep, where low the infant storm Hung on his dun, dark cloud, and heavily beat The pulses of the sea, sent forth a voice Of awful adoration of the Spirit,

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That, wrapped in darkness, moved upon its face. And when the bow of evening arched the east, Or, in the moonlight pale, the gentle wave Kissed, with a sweet embrace, the sea-worn beach, And the wild song of winds came o'er the waters, The mingled melody of wind and wave Touched like a heavenly anthem on the ear; For it arose a tuneful hymn of worship. And have our hearts grown cold? Are there on earth No pure reflections caught from heavenly love! Have our mute lips no hymn-our souls no song? Let him that in the summer-day of youth, Keeps pure the holy fount of youthful feeling, And him, that in the nightfall of his years, Lies down in his last sleep, and shuts in peace His weary eyes on life's short wayfaring, Praise Him that rules the destiny of man.

A POET'S NOBLEST THEME.
BARTON.

THE works of man may yield delight,
And justly merit praise;

But though awhile they charm the sight,
That charm in time decays:

The sculptor's, painter's, poet's skill,—
The art of mind's creative will,

In various modes may teem;
But none of these, however rare
Or exquisite, can truth declare
A poet's noblest theme.

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The moon, with yet more touching grace,
The silent night may cheer,

And shed o'er many a lonely place

A charm to feeling dear;

The countless stars which grace her reign,
A voiceless, but a lovely train,

With brilliant light may gleam;
But she, nor they, though fair to see,
And formed for love, can ever be

A poet's noblest theme.

The winds, whose music to the ear With that of art may vie; Now load awakening awe and fear, Then soft as pity sigh;The mighty ocean's ample breast, Calm or convulsed, in wrath or rest, A glorious sight may seem :But neither winds, nor boundless sea, Though beautiful or grand, can be

A poet's noblest theme.

The earth, our own dear native earth!
Has charms all hearts may own;

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That, wrapped in darkness, moved upon its fe And when the bow of evening arched the east, Or, in the moonlight pale, the gentle wave Kissed, with a sweet embrace, the sea-worn beach, And the wild song of winds came o'er the waters The mingled melody of wind and wave Touched like a heavenly anthem on the ear; For it arose a tuneful hymn of worship. And have our hearts grown cold? Are there on earth No pure reflections caught from heavenly love! Have our mute lips no hymn-our souls no song! Let him that in the summer-day of youth, Keeps pure the holy fount of youthful feeling, And him, that in the nightfall of bis years, Lies down in his last sleep, and shuts in peare His weary eyes on life's short wayfaring, Praise Him that rules the destiny of man.

A POET'S NOBLEST THEME
BARTON.

THE works of man may yield delight,

And justly merit praise; But though awhile they charm the sight, That charm in time decays: The sculptor's, painter's, poet's skill,The art of mind's creative will, In various modes may teem: But none of these, however rare Or exquisite, can truth declare A poet's noblest theme.

The sun, uprising, may display
His glory to the eye,
And hold in majesty his way

Across the vaulted sky;
Then sink resplendent in the west,
Where parting clouds his rays invest
With beauty's softest beam;

Yet not unto the sun belong
The charms which consecrate in song
A poet's noblest theme.

The moon, with yet more touching grace,
The silent night may cheer,

And shed o'er many a lonely place

A charm to feeling dear;

The countless stars which grace her reign, A voiceless, but a lovely train,

With brilliant light may gleam; But she, nor they, though fair to see, And formed for love, can ever be

A poet's noblest theme.

The winds, whose music to the ear
With that of art may vie;
Now loud awakening awe and fear,
Then soft as pity sigh;-
The mighty ocean's ample breast,
Calm or convulsed, in wrath or rest,
A glorious sight may seem :-
But neither winds, nor boundless sea,
Though beautiful or grand, can be
A poet's noblest theme.

The earth, our own dear native earth!
Has charms all hearts may own;

They cling around us from our birth,-
More loved as longer known;

Hers are the lovely vales, the wild
And pathless forests, mountains piled
On high, and many a stream,
Whose beauteous banks the heart may love,
Yet none of these can truth approve
A poet's noblest theme.

The virtues, which our fallen estate

With foolish pride would claim,

May, in themselves, be good and great,

To us an empty name.

Truth, justice, mercy, patience, love,
May seem with man on earth to rove,
And yet may only seem;

To none of these, as man's, dare I
The title of my verse apply-

"A poet's noblest theme."

To GoD alone, whose power divine
Created all that live;

To GoD alone, can truth assign

This proud prerogative:— But how shall man attempt His praise, Or dare to sing in mortal lays

OMNIPOTENCE SUPREME! When seraph-choirs, in heaven above, Proclaim His glory and His love,

Their noblest, sweetest theme?

Thanks be to God! His grace has shown How sinful man on earth

May join the songs which round his throne Give endless praises birth:

He gave His Sos for man to die! He sent HIS SPIRIT from on high

To consummate the scheme: O be that consummation blest! And let REDEMPTION be confest A poet's noblest theme.

THE DEAD SEA.

CROLY.

Tax wind blows chill across those gloomy waves: Oh! how unlike the green and dancing main! The surge is foul, as if it roll'd o'er graves: Stranger, here lie the cities of the plain.

Yes, on that plain, by wild waves cover'd now,
Rose palace once, and sparkling pinnacle;
On pomp and spectacle beamed morning's glow,
On pomp and festival the twilight fell.

Lovely and splendid all, but Sodom's soul

Was stain'd with blood, and pride, and perjury; Long warned, long spared, till her whole heart was foul,

And fiery vengeance on its clouds came nigh.

And still she mocked, and danced, and, taunting,
spoke

Her sportive blasphemies against the Throne:
It came! The thunder on her slumber broke:
God spake the word of wrath!-Her dream was

done.

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222

SACRED HARMONY.

They cling around us from our birth-
More loved as longer known;
Hers are the lovely vales, the wild
And pathless forests, mountains piled
On high, and many a stream,
Whose beauteous banks the heart may love,
Yet none of these can truth approve
A poet's noblest theme.

The virtues, which our fallen estate

With foolish pride would claim,
May, in themselves, be good and great-

To us an empty name.
Truth, justice, mercy, patience, love,
May seem with man on earth to rove,
And yet may only seem;

To none of these, as man's, dare I
The title of my verse apply-

"A poet's noblest theme."

To GoD alone, whose power divine
Created all that live;

To GOD alone, can truth assign

This proud prerogative-
But how shall man attempt His praise,
Or dare to sing in mortal lays

OMNIPOTENCE SUPREME!
When seraph-choirs, in heaven above,
Proclaim His glory and His love,

Their noblest, sweetest theme!

Thanks be to God! His grace has shown

How sinful man on earth May join the songs which round his throne Give endless praises birth:

He gave HIS SON for man to die! He sent HIS SPIRIT from on high

To consummate the scheme: O be that consummation blest! And let REDEMPTION be confest A poet's noblest theme.

THE DEAD SEA.
CROLY.

THE wind blows chill across those gloomy waves:
Oh! how unlike the green and dancing main!
The surge is foul, as if it roll'd o'er graves:
Stranger, here lie the cities of the plain.

Yes, on that plain, by wild waves cover'd now,
Rose palace once, and sparkling pinnacle;
On pomp and spectacle beamed morning's glow,
On pomp and festival the twilight fell.

Lovely and splendid all,-but Sodom's soul

Was stain'd with blood, and pride, and perjury; Long warned, long spared, till her whole heart was foul,

And fiery vengeance on its clouds came nigh.

And still she mocked, and danced, and, taunting,

spoke

Her sportive blasphemies against the Throne: It came! The thunder on her slumber broke: God spake the word of wrath!-Her dream was

done.

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