SECOND VOICE.

Yes! sweet friend, but the world at best
Is only a spot where the weary rest;
There's another home that we all must know,
Brighter by far than this earth below;

A place where the weary ne'er shall roam,
There, only there, is the spirit's home.

BOTH VOICES.

We seek that home while we linger here,
If our souls are pure and our hearts sincere,
And the spirit that here may know no rest,
Shall flee to the realms of the bright and blest.

FIRST VOICE.

Yet it is hard, my friend, to go

From a scene like this in the vale below;
Here we have fruits, and flowers, and streams,
As bright as those in the land of dreams;
And friends to weep for us when we roam,
And love that the lowliest cot makes home.

SECOND VOICE.

Yes! but beyond, in the sunny skies,
Throned amid heavenly mysteries,

There we may meet to part no more
From those we loved in the days of yore;
There, whence the weary shall never roam,
There, only there, is the spirit's home.

BOTH VOICES.

We seek that home while we linger here,
If our souls are pure and our hearts sincere,
And the spirit that here may know no rest,
Shall flee to the realms of the bright and blest.

The Wind in an Eolian Harp.

21

The Wind in an Eolian Harp.

J. THOMSON.

ETHEREAL race, inhabitants of air,

Who hymn your God amid the secret grove,

Ye unseen beings, to my harp repair,

And raise majestic strains, or melt in love.

Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid!
With what soft woe they thrill the listener's heart!
Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid,

Who died in youth, these sweet complainings part.

But hark! that strain was of a graver tone,

On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws; Or he, the sacred bard, who sat alone

In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes.

Such was the song which Zion's children sung,

When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint; And to such sadly solemn tones are strung Angelic harps to soothe a dying saint.

Methinks I hear the full celestial choir

Through heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise; Now chanting clear, and now they all conspire To swell the lofty hymn from praise to praise.

Let me, ye wandering spirits of the wind,

Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string,
Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd,
For till you cease my muse forgets to sing.

There is a Book.

REV. JOHN KEBLE.

HERE is a book, who runs may read,

THERE

Which heavenly truth imparts,

And all the lore its scholars need,

Pure eyes and Christian hearts.

The works of God, above, below,
Within us, and around,
Are pages in that book to show
How God himself is found.

The glorious sky, embracing all,
Is like the Maker's love,
Wherewith encompass'd, great and small
In peace and order move.

The moon above, the Church below,
A wondrous race they run;

But all their radiance, all their glow,
Each borrows of its Sun.

The Saviour lends the light and heat
That crowns His holy hill;

The saints, like stars around His seat,
Perform their courses still.

The saints above are stars in heaven;
What are the saints on earth?

Like trees they stand, whom God has given,
Our Eden's happy birth.

There is a Book.

Faith is their fix'd, unswerving root,

Hope their unfading flower; Fair deed of charity their fruit, The glory of their bower.

The dew of heaven is like Thy grace,

It steals in silence down;

But, where it lights, the favour'd place
By richest fruits is known.

One Name, above all glorious names,
With its ten thousand tongues,
The everlasting sea proclaims,
Echoing angelic songs.

The raging fire, the roaring wind,
Thy boundless power display:
But in the gentler breeze we find
Thy Spirit's viewless way.

Two worlds are ours: 'tis only sin
Forbids us to descry

The mystic heaven and earth within,

Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou who hast given me eyes to see

And love this sight so fair,

Give me a heart to find out Thee,

And read Thee everywhere.

23

The Wild Gazelle.

HEBREW MELODY.

LORD BYRON.-Music by J. Nathan.

HE wild gazelle of Judah's hills

THE

Exulting yet may bound,

And drink from all the living rills
That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye
May glance in tameless transport by.

A step as fleet, an eye more bright,
Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight
Inhabitants more fair.

The cedars wave on Lebanon,

But Judah's statelier maids are gone.

More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;

For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace :

It cannot quit its place of birth;

It will not live in other earth.

But we must wander witheringly,
In other lands to die;

And where our fathers' ashes be

Our own may never lie:

Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.