MORNING AND EVENING.

"Thou makest the out-goings of the morning, and of the evening to rejoice."-Psalms.

The out-goings of sweet morn! See the light mist
That spreads its white wing to the heavens away,
See the fresh blossoms, by the blithe bee kiss'd,
The hill-top kindling 'neath the King of Day,
Spire after spire that drinks the genial ray,

The rocks that in their rifted holds abide,

And darkly frown, with heads forever grey,

While the clear stream gleams out in trembling pride, Through its transparent veil, like a fair, timid bride.

Morn to the Earth! the cup of light she quaffs,
And countless voices hail the sparkling draught,
Methinks, the lamb beside its mother laughs,

Up soars the lark, with song his Maker taught,
Sweet, lisping murmurs wrap the infant's thought,
As gladly from the cottage door it creeps,
The wild rill echoes through the lonely grot,

While the hoarse sea, whose anthem never sleeps, Reverberates God's praise, thro' all its sounding deeps.

Morn to the watcher, by the sick man's bed!

The slow, slow clock, tells out the welcome hour,

And to the air he springs, with buoyant tread;
The poor, cag'd bird sings in its lady's bower;
The farmer watchful lest the skies may lower,

Thrusts his sharp sickle 'mid the bearded grain,
While sportive voices, strong in childhood's power,
With merry music wake the village plain,
And toil comes forth refresh'd, and age is young

The out-goings of mild eve! the folded rose;
Soft slumber settling on the lily's bell;
The solemn forest lull'd to deep repose,

again.

While restless winds no more its murmurs swell; The stars emerging from their secret cell,

A silent night-watch o'er the world to keep; And then the queenly moon, attended well,

Who o'er the mighty arch of Heaven doth sweep, Speaking of Nature's King, in language still and deep.

The charms of eve how sweet, he best can say,
Who sickening at the city's dust and noise,
And selfish arts that Mammon's votaries sway,
Turns to his home, to taste its simple joys;
There, climbing to his knee, his ruddy boys,
Wake that warm thrill, which every care repays,
And fondly hasting from her baby-toys,

His prattling daughter seeks a father's gaze,

And gives that tender smile, which o'er his slumber plays.

She too, who wins her bread by toil severe,

And from her home at early morn must go, To earn the bread that dries her children's tear, How hails her heart, the sun declining low!

Love nerves the feet, that else were sad and slow,
And when afar, her lowly roof she spies,
Forgot is all her lot of scorn and woe,

A mother's rapture kindles in her eyes,
As to her wearied arms, the eager nursling flies.

And see, from labour loos'd, the drooping team,
Unharness'd, hasting to their fragrant food,
While fearful of the hawk's marauding scream,
The broad-wing'd mother folds her helpless brood;
In the cool chambers of the teeming flood,

The scaly monsters check their boisterous play,
And closely curtain'd mid the quiet wood,

The slumbering songsters hush their warbled lay, While man's sweet hymn of praise, doth close the summer day.

26*

A HEBREW TALE.

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away."-Job.

TWILIGHT was deepening with a tinge of eve,
As toward his home, in ancient Israel's vales,
A stately Rabbi drew. His camels spied
Afar, the palm-trees' lofty heads, that deck'd
The dear, domestic fountain, and in speed,
Press'd with broad foot, the smooth and dewy glade.

The holy man his peaceful threshold pass'd,

With hasting step. The evening meal was spread, And she, who from life's morn his heart had shar'd, Breathed her fond welcome.

Bowing o'er the board,

The blessing of his father's God he sought,
Ruler of earth and sea.

Then with a glance

Of hallow'd pleasure, "call my sons," he said, "And let me bless them, ere their hour of rest.”

The observant mother spake with gentle voice,
Somewhat of soft excuse, that they were wont
To linger long amid the Prophet's school,
Studying that holy law their father loved.

The sweet repast with sweet discourse was blent,
Of journeying and return.

"Would thou hadst seen

With me, how the young morning wrapp'd in light,
Yon mountain summits, whose blue, waving line,
Scarce meets thine eye, where chirp of joyous birds,
And breath of fragrant shrubs, and spicy gales,
And sigh of waving boughs, stirr'd in the soul,
Warm orisons.

"Yet most I wish'd thee near, Amid the temple's pomp, when the high priest, Clad in his robe pontifical, invok'd

The God of Abraham, while from lute and harp,
Cymbal and trump and psaltery, and the shout
Of all our people, like the swelling sea,

Loud hallelujahs burst.

"When next I seek Blest Zion's glorious hill, our beauteous boys Must bear me company. Their early prayers Will rise as incense. Thy too tender love, No longer must detain them. The new toil Will give them sweeter sleep, and touch their cheek With brighter crimson.

"Mid their raven curls

My hand I'll lay, and dedicate them there,
In those most holy courts to Israel's God,
Two spotless lambs, well-pleasing in his sight.
But yet, methinks, thou'rt paler grown, my love!
And the pure sapphire of thine eye looks dim,
As though 't were wash'd with tears."

Faintly she smiled,

"One doubt, my lord, I fain would have thee solve. Gems of rich lustre, and of countless price