Blessed on earth be His name who from heaven

Has, in the fulness of goodness, allow'd Hope for the past—for the future has given The token of promise-the bow in the cloud!

Thou Art, D God!

Psalm 1xxiv. 16, 17.

T. MOORE.-Air, unknown.

`HOU art, O God, the life and light

THOU

Of all this wondrous world we see,
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!

When day, with farewell beams, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze

Through golden vistas into heaven-
Those hues, that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes—
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.

Lady Mary.

When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the Summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine.

Lady Mary.

Rev. H. ALFORD, D.D., Dean of Canterbury.

HOU wert fair, Lady Mary,

THOU

As the lily in the sun;

And fairer yet thou mightest be,
Thy youth was but begun :
Thine eye was soft and glancing,
Of the deep bright blue;

And on the heart thy gentle words
Fell lighter than the dew.

They found thee, Lady Mary,
With thy palms upon thy breast,
Even as thou hadst been praying
At thy hour of rest:

The cold pale moon was shining

On thy cold pale cheek;
And the morn of the Nativity
Had just begun to break.

They carved thee, Lady Mary,
All of pure white stone,
With thy palms upon thy breast,
In the chancel all alone:

149

And I saw thee when the winter moon
Shone on thy marble cheek,
When the morn of the Nativity
Had just begun to break.

But thou kneelest, Lady Mary,
With thy palms upon thy breast,
Among the perfect spirits

In the land of rest :

Thou art even as they took thee
At thine hour of prayer,

Save the glory that is on thee

From the Sun that shineth there.

We shall see thee, Lady Mary,

On that shore unknown,

A pure and happy angel

In the presence of the Throne ;
We shall see thee when the light divine
Plays freshly on thy cheek,

And the Resurrection morning

Hath just begun to break.

O

Dh! Weep for Those.

LORD BYRON.—Music by Stephen Glover.

H! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream,

Whose shrines are desolate, whose land's a dream;

Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell;

Mourn where their God hath dwelt, the godless dwell.

And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet?
And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet?

The Rainbow.

And Judah's melody once more rejoice

The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice?

Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest!

The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country-Israel but the grave!

The Rainbow.

THOMAS Campbell.

'RIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky

TRI

When storms prepare to part,

I ask not proud philosophy

To teach me what thou art.

Still seem as to my childhood's sight,

A midway station given,
For happy spirits to alight

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Can all that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so
As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?

When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,

Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

151

When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign!

And when its yellow lustre smiled
On mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child,
To bless the bow of God.

Methinks thy jubilee to keep
The first-made anthem rang
On earth deliver'd from the deep,
And the first poet sang.

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam;
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme.

The earth to thee its incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshen'd fields
The snowy mushroom springs.

How glorious is thy girdle cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town,

Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down.

As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties scem,
As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.