Babylon. And the voice of his devotion Fill'd my soul with strange emotion; Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. Paul and Silas, in their prison, But, alas! what holy angel Brings the slave this glad evangel? 95 Babylon. BARRY CORNWALL.-Music by Henry Phillips. (Recitative.) PAUSE in this desert! Here, men say, of old Belshazzar reign'd, and drank from cups of gold; Here, to his hideous idols, bow'd the slave, And here-God struck him dead! Where lies his grave? "Tis lost!--His brazen gates? His soaring towers, From whose dark tops men watch'd the starry hours? All to the dust gone down! The desert bare Scarce yields an echo when we question Where? (Air.) O City, vast and old! Where, where is thy grandeur fled? Still rolls in its ancient bed! But where, oh, where art THOU gone? The giant, when he dies, Still leaveth his bones behind, To shrink in the winter skies, And whiten beneath the wind! But where, oh, where, &c. Thou liv'st!-for thy name still glows, Thrice trebled because he dies! Look Round. ANNA MARIA SARGEANT. LOOK round! look round! Within the precincts of thy native land; See, there are many drooping ones who stand Look back! look back! For surely it is wise for us to cast At times a thoughtful glance upon the past- Look back! look back! The Poor. Look in look in! Thy heart requires a keen and earnest gaze, Look on look on! Yes, though thy future may be dim or dark, Look up! look up! A Father's loving eye o'erlooketh all; The Poor. MRS JANE T. WORTHINGTON. HAVE pity on them! for their life Is full of grief and care; You do not know one half the woe The very poor must bear ; "Give us our daily bread." Their lot is made of misery More hopeless day by day, And through the long cold winter nights Nor light nor fire have they; G 97 But little children, shivering, crouch Their young hearts weary with the want Deal gently with these wretched ones, The poor have much to tempt and test Then judge them not, for hard indeed Let Heaven condemn, but human hearts Since first Thy Word. T. MOORE.-Air, Nicholas Freeman. INCE first Thy Word awaked my heart, SING Like new life dawning o'er me, Thee, O God, and only Thee, Like him whose fetters dropp'd away I live for now and ever. * Acts xii. 7. Types of Heaven. 99 Beautiful Dove. CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D.—Music by Henry West. 'HERE was Hope in the ark at the dawn of the day, ΤΗ When o'er the wide waters the dove flew away; When peace has departed the care-stricken breast, Types of Heaven. MISS SARAH E. MAYO. HY love I the lily bell WH Swinging in the scented dell? Why love I the woodnotes wild, Where the sun hath faintly smiled? Gazing out so meek and pure? 159759 |