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And some to the peal of the hunter's horn, Oh! who can witness this,
Or who, 'mid such a store So are we roused on this chequer'd earth,
Of rapture flowing o'er, Each unto light hath a daily birth,
The tribute of the heart forbear repeating? Tho' fearful or joyous, tho' sad or sweet, Be the voices which first our opspringing
Yet have I known an hour meet.
Of more subduing power But ONE must the sound be, and ONE the
in Than this of beauty glowing-music gushcall,
ing;Which from the dust shall a wake us all!
An hour whose quiet calm, ONE, tho' to sever'd and distant dooms
Diffus'd an holier balm, How shall the sleepers arise from their | Whose watch-word, “ Peace, be still !” the tombs?
inmost heart was hushing,
It is the close of day,
When evening's hues array
The western sky in all their radiant lustre;
When round the setting sun,
His goal of glory won,
Resplendent clouds in silent beauty muster. From the bright portals of the East is breaking;
'Tis when day's parting light,
Dazzling no more the sight,
| Its chastened glory to the eye is granting, To light and life from silent slumber waking.
That “thoughts too deep for tears,”
Unearthly hopes and fears,
And voiceless feelings in the heart are Their edges ting'd with gold ;
panting. Bright is the summit of the lofty mountain;
The glist'ning tops of trees,
While thus the western sky
Delights the gazing eye, tain.
With thrilling beauty, touching, and endear
ing; As upward mounts the sun,
What still of earth is fair,
Borrows its beauty there,
ing. Heaves upward to be blest, And bids its waves reflected light surrender.
Ere yet these charms grow dim,
Creation's vesper hymn, Each hamble flower lifts up
Grateful and lovely, is from earth ascending; Its dewy bell or cup,
Till with that song of praise,
The hearts of those who gaze Smiling through tears that know no tinge of sadness;
With solemn feelings of delight are blending, The insect tribes come out, And, fluttering all about,
Then from those porta's bright, Fill the fresh air with gentle sounds of glad. A farewell gleam of light ness.
| Breaks with unearthly glory on the vision ;
Night is the time to watch;
O'er ocean's dark expanse,
To hail the Pleiades, or catch
The setting sun looks broad at his decline That brings into the home-sick mind,
high, And sings, “ The hand that made me is Night is the time for care; divine."
Brooding on hours mispent,
To see the spectre of Despair, The silent moon begins her journey bright; | Come to our lonely tent;
Across the ether blue, serenely glides; I Like Bratus, 'midst bis slumbering bost, And smiling o'er the gloomy face of night, Surmon'd to die by Cæsar's ghost. Sublime in placid majesty she rides.
Night is the time to think; Religion thus, across this world of care, I When, from the eye, the soul
Calmly majestic throws her peaceful beam, Takes flight, and, on the utmost brink Bids earth's doll scenes a heavenly aspect Or yonder starry pole wear,
Discerns beyond the abyss of night And all creation with fresh beanty teem. The dawn of uncreated light.
The likeness of the dead,
| For in the calm thy slambers give,
Huw doubly blest am I?
Thus, without death, to die?
THE FIRST SABBATH.
O Day most calm, most bright,
The fruit of this, the next world's bud, Was set, and twilight from the east came on, | Th' endorsement of sapreme delight, Forerunning night; when at the holy mount | Writ by a friend, and with his blood; Of heav'n's high-seated top, the imperial The couch of time, care's balm and bay! throne
The week were dark, but for thy light: Of Godhead, fixed for ever firm and sure,
Tby torch doth shew the way.
The other days and thvu
The barthen of the week lies there, Now resting, blessed and hallowed the se. Making the whole to stoop and bow, venth day,
Till thy release appear.
Man hath straight forward gone Had work and rested not; the solemn pipe To endless death ; but thou dost pull And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop, And turn us round to look on One, All sounds on fret by string or golden wire, Whom, if we were not very dall, Tempered soft tunings, intermixed with We could but choose to look on still ; voice
Since there is no place so lone, Choral or unison : of incense clouds,
The which he doth not fill. Foming from golden censers, hid the moont. Creation and the six-days' act they sing: Sundays the pillars are, “ Great are thy works, Jehovah! infinite On which Heaven's palace arched lies : Thy power! What thought can measare | The other days fill up the spare thee, or tongue
And hollow room with vanities. Relate thee! Greater now in thy return They are the fruitful beds and borders Than from the giant angels: thee that day of God's rich garden : that is bare Thy thunders magnified; but to create
Which parts their ranks and orders. Is greater, than created to destroy."
The Sundays of man's life,
Or the eternal glorious King.
More plentiful than hope.
| Eternity in Time--the steps by which
We climb to future agen---lamps that light Man through his darker days, and thought
enrich, Yielding redemption for the week's dull
This day my Saviour rose,
Who want herbs for their wouud.
| Wakeners of prayer in man--his resting
bowers As on he journeys in the narrow way, | Where, Eden-like, Jehovah's walking hours,
Are waited for as in the cool of day.
Days fix'd by God for intercourse with dost, The rest of our creation
To raise our thoughts, and purify our Our great Redeemer did remove,
powers ; With the same shake which, at his passion, 1 Periods appointed to renew our trust : Did the earth and all things with it move.
| A glean of glory after six days' showers ! As Sampson bore the doors away, Christ's hands, tbough nail'd, wrought our A milky way mark'd out through skies else salvation,
drear, And did unhinge that day.
By radiant suns tbat warm as well as
shine; The brightness of that day
A clue, wbich he who follows knows no fear, We sullied by our foul offence;
Though briers and thords around his pathWherefore that robe we cast away,
way twine. Having a new at his expense, Whose drops of blood paid the full price Foretastes of heaven on earth; pledges of joy That was required to make us gay,
Surpassing fancy's flights and Action's And fit for Paradise.
story; The preludes of a feast that cannot cloy,
And the bright out-courts of immortal Thou art a day of mirth :
glory! And where the week day's trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth, 0 let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from seven to seven, Till that we both, being toss'd from earth,
SABBATII MORNINC. Fly hand in hand to heaven!
How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
The sithe lies glittering in the dewy wreath BARTON.
Oftedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, Types of eternal rest-fair buds of bliss, That yester-morn bloomed waving in the In heavenly flowers unfolding week by breeze. week ;
Sounds the most faint attract the car--the hum The next world's gladness imaged forth in Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, this ;
The distant bleating midway up the hill. Days of whose worth the Christian's beart Calmness sits throned ou yon upmoving can speak!