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And thought is lost ere thought can mount so
E'en like past moments in eternity.

[high,

Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence. Lord! on Thee
Eternity had its foundation; all

Spring forth from Thee; of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin-all life, all beauty Thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create;

Thy splendour fills all space with rays Divine;
Thou art, and wert, and shalt be glorious! great
Life-giving, life-sustaining Potentate.

Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround,
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!
Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from
And as the spangles, in the sunny rays,

[Thee!

Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.

A million torches, lighted by Thy hand,

Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command, All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light? A glorious company of golden streams? Lamps of celestial ether burning bright?

Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But Thou to those art as the noon to night!

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in Thee is lost ;

What are a thousand worlds compared to Thee? And what am I, when heaven's unnumber'd host,

Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance weighed
Against Thy greatness-is a cypher brought
Against infinity? What am I then ?-Nought.

Thou art; directing, guiding all, Thou art!
Direct my understanding then to Thee;
Control my spirit-guide my wandering heart;
Though but an atom 'midst immensity,
Still I am something fashioned by Thy hand.
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,

Close to the realm where angels have their birth, Just on the boundary of the spirit land!

The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is Spirit-Deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust!
A monarch and a slave; a worm, a god;

Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously Constructed and conceived!-unknown? This clod Lives surely through some higher energy; From out itself alone it could not be.

Creator? yes; Thy wisdom and Thy word
Created me. Thou source of life and good!
Thou Spirit of my spirit and my Lord!

Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude,
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing

Its heavenly flight beyond the little sphere,
Even to its source, to Thee, its author, Thee.

O thought ineffable! O vision blest!

(Though worthless our conception all of Thee) Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, And waft its homage to thy Deity.

God? thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar;
Thus seek Thy presence. Being wise and good!
'Midst Thy vast works, admire, obey, adore,
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears its gratitude.

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S
PICTURE. (William Cowper.)

Oh that those lips had language! Life has passed
With me but roughly since I heard thee last :
Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me.
Voice only fails; else, how distinct they say,
"Grieve not, my child; chase all thy fears away!"
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalise,
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
Oh welcome guest, though unexpected here,
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song
Affectionate, a mother lost so long!

I will obey,--not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own :
And while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream that thou art she.

On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture. 27

My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss. Ah, that maternal smile! it answers-Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such? It was. Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown : May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more! Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return: What ardently I wished, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived; By expectation every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

-0

TO A WATER-FOWL.—(W. C. Bryant.) Whither, 'midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong; As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide;
Or where the rocky billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean-side?

There is a Power, whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,
The desert and the illimitable air—
Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou 'rt gone; the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form. Yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.

BONNY DUNDEE.-(Scott.)

To the Lords of Convention 't was Claver'se who

spoke :[to be broke; "Ere the king's crown shall fall, there are crowns So let each cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of bonny Dundee !

Come, fill up my cup; come, fill up my can ; Come, saddle your horses, and call up your men ;

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