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Ye icy-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain—
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts I
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?—
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God I sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

Ye lively flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest!
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds!
Ye signs and wonders of the element!
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast—
Thou too again, stupendous mountain! thou

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me—rise, O ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And teM the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

Coleridge.

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Joy is a fruit that will not grow

In nature's barren soil;
All we can boast till Christ we know,

Is vanity and toil.

But where the Lord has planted grace,
And made his glories known;

There fruits of heavenly joy and peace
Are found, and there alone.

A bleeding Saviour, seen by faith,

A sense of pardoning love;
A hope that triumphs over death,

Give joys like those above.

To take a glimpse within the vail,

To know that God is mine,
Are springs of joys that never fail,

Unspeakable I divine!

These are the joys which satisfy,

And sanctify the mind;
Which make the spirit mount on high,

And leave the world behind.

No more, believers, mourn your lot;

But if you are the Lord's,
Resign to them that know him not

Such joys as earth affords.

Newton.

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THE BIRTH OF JESU&.

Now is the time completed,
Now comes the appointed morn,
Now death shall be defeated,—
Our promised Prince is boru.

Yet note of preparation,
Or sound of joy is none;
But over all the nation,
A sleep profound has gone.

The shades of midnight closing,
No cheering ray afford;
All nature is reposing,
Unmindful of the Lord.

Is this the welcome given.
To God's eternal Son?
And to the Prince of Heaven,
Is this the homage done?

Earth and her nations slumber,
Nor raise one greeting voice j.

While angels without number,
In loftiest strains rejoice.

Throughout the Jewish region,
No herald's trump is there;
While heaven sends forth a legion,
His coming to declare.

And hark—the voice proclaiming,
(There's joy in every word),
This mighty Prince is naming,
Our Saviour—Christ—the Lord.

Wake, highly favoured nation,
And hail with joy thy king;
Yea, let the whole creation
A song of triumph sing.

Let every rock and mountain
Repeat the angel's song!
Let every sea and fountain,
The glorious notes prolong.

'All praise to God in heaven,

All praise on earth below;

For peace to man is given,

And grace doth overflow.' ./. B.

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