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Who shall return to tell Egypt the story

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? For the Lord hath look'd out from bis pillar of

glory, And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the

tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumph'd-his people are free.

MOORE.

Wide scepter'd monareb o'er the realm alla
When from the sea-depths, from earth's a

womb,
The dead of all the ages round thee pait,
And when the tribes of wickedness are in

Like forest leaves in the autumn of the i
Faithtulaud true ! thou still shalt sare this or

The saints shall dwell with unbarmning
Each white robe spotless

, blooming every pet
Even safe as we, by this still Fountain's side
So shall the Church, thy bright and in pats kan

Sit on the stormy gulf a balcyon bird el as
Yes, inid yon angry and destroying signs

,
O'er us the rainbow of thy mercy shines
We hall, we bless the corenant of its bat,
Almigbty to avenge, almightiest to redeem.

THE EVENING CLOUD.

A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun,

A gleam of crimson ting'd its braided snow,
Long had I watch'd the glory moving on,

O'er the still radiance of the lake below;
Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow,

E'en in its very motion there was rest;
While ev'ry breath of eve that chanc'd to blow,

Wafted the trav'ller to the beauteous west.
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,

To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is giv'n,
And by the breath of mercy made to roll

Right onward to the golden gates of heav'n.
Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.

WILSON.

SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL O'ER EGIPT3

DARK SEA!
Sound the loud Timbrel o'er Egypt's dark so
Jehovah bas triumph'd--his people are free,
Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken,
His chariots and horsemen, all splendid su

brave,
How vain was their boasting !

-- The Lord beti And chariots and horsemen are sunk if the

THE GRAVE.

but spoken,

wave.

THERE is a calm for those who weep:
A rest for weary pilgrims found :
They softly lie, and sweetly sleep,

Low in the ground.
The storm that wrecks the wintry sky,
No more disturbs their deep repose,

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ; Jehovah has triumph'd,-his people are free Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, His word was our arrow, his breath was eur

sword!

Than summer ev'ning's latest sigh,

That shuts the rose,
I long to lay this painful head,
And aching heart, beneath the soil ;
To slumber in that dreamless bed

From all my toil.
The grave, that never spake before,
Hath found at length a tongue to chide;
O listen!- I will speak no more:

Be silent, pride!
Art thou a mourner ? hast thou known
The joy of innocent delights,
Endearing days for ever flown,

And tranquil nights?
() live! and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past :
Rely on Heav'n's unchanging will

For peace at last.
Tho' long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemn'd in wretchedness to roam;
Live! thou shalt reach a shelt'ring port,

A quiet home.
Seek the true treasure, seldom found,
Of pow'r the fiercest griefs to calm,
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound

With heav'nly balm.
Whate'er thy lot-where'er thou be-
Confess thy folly-kiss the rod;
And in thy chast'ning sorrows see

The hand of God.

la rounds them for his mercy's sake,

He wounds to heal!
Labied beneath bis mighty hand,
hearate

, his providence adore:
Ta dae! arise! He bids thee stand,

To fall no more.
war

, trar'ller in the sale of tears!
To realms of everlasting light,
In Time's dark wilderness of years

Pursue thy flight.
There is a calm for those who weep,
A ret for weary pilgrims found :
And while the mould'ring ashes sleep

Low in the ground,
The soul

, of origin divine,
Grafia glorious image freed from clay,
la beav'n's eternal sphere shall shine

A star of day!
The sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul, immortal as its Sire,

SHALL NEVER DIE!

MONTGOMERY

THE DOVE,
Tar dove let loose in eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam;
But high she shoots through air and light,

Above all low delay;

A bruised reed he will not break; AMictions all his children feel;

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Than summer er’ning's latest sigh,

That shuts the rose,
I long to lay this painful head,
And aching heart, beneath the soil;
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil

.
The grave, that never spake before,
Hath found at length a tongue to chide;
O listen! I will speak no more :-

Be silent, pride!

He wounds them for his mercy's sake,

He wounds to heal ! Humbled beneath his mighty hand, Prostrate, his providence adore: "Tis done! arise! He lids thee stand,

To fall no more. Now, trap'ller in the vale of tears! To realms of everlasting light, Thro' Time's dark wilderness of years,

Pursue thy flight. There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found : And while the mould'ring ashes sleep

Low in the ground,
The soul, of origin divine,
God's glorious image freed from clay,
In heav'n's eternal sphere shall shine

A star of day!
The sun is but a spark of fire,
A transient meteor in the sky;
The soul, immortal as its Şire,

SHALL NEVER DIE!

MONTGOMERY

Art thou a mourner ? hast thou kooma
The joy of innocent delights,
Endearing days for ever flown,

And tranquil nights?
O live! and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past :
Rely on Heav'n's unchanging will

For peace at last.
Tho' long of winds and waves the sport,
Condemn'd in wretchedness to roam;
Live! thou shalt reach a shelt'ring port,

A quiet home.
Seek the true treasure, seldom found,
Of pow'r the fiercest griefs to calm,
And soothe the bosom's deepest wound

With bear'nly balm.
Whate'er thy lotowhere'er thou be
Confess thy folly---kiss the rod;
And in thy chast'ning sorrows see

The hand of God.
A bruised reed he will not break;
Afflictions all his children feel;

THE DOVE,

The dove let loose in eastern skies,

Returning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam;
But high she shoots through air and light,

Above all low delay;

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THE SACRED LYRE

Oh! ask for if not, in this valley of sighs,
Where we smile but to weep, and we ne'er can

find rest;
For the world we would wish, shines afar in the

skies, Where sorrow's unknown-'tis the home of the

blest !

Where nothing earthly bounds ber fight

Nor shadow dims her way.
So grant me, God, from earthly cars
From pride and passion free

,
Aloft, through faith and love's pure de

To hold my course to thee.
No lure to tempt,

no art to stay
My soul, as bome sbe springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful was,

Thy freedom on her wings.

WLIR.

HEAVENLY MINSTREL.

THE DECEITFULNESS OF THE WORLD
In the morning of life, when its sweet sauny
Shines bright on our path, we may dresa :

blest,
We may look on the world as a gay fairy isk
Where sorrow's unknown, and the treaty to

rest.
But the brightness that shone, and the hopes"

enjoy'd,
Are clouded ere noon, and soon vanish am
While the dark beating tempest, on life's stery

tide,
Obscures all the sweets of the morning's krijk

ray.
Then where are those bowers, in some gay ha?

plain,
Where hope ne'er deceives, and where love is op

true;
Where the brightness of morning shines on but w

gain
A sunshine as bright and as promising too

ENTHRON'd upon a hill of light,

A heav'nly minstrel sings;
And sounds, unutterably bright,

Spring from the golden strings.
Who would have thought so fair a form
Once bent beneath an earthly storm!
Yet was he sad and lonely here;

Of low and humble birth;
And mingled, while in this dark sphere,

With meanest sons of earth.
Jn spirit poor, in look forlorn,
The jest of mortals and the scorn.
A crown of heav'nly radiance now,

A harp of golden strings,
Glitters upon bis deathless brow,

And to his hymn-note rings,
The bow'r of interwoven light
Seems, at the sound, to grow more bright.
Then while with visage blank and sear,

The poor in soul we see ;
Let us not think what he is here,

But what he soon will be ;

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