Thou, who shar'st the Father's throne,

Spirit holy, pure, divine!

Thou, who with the' Incarnate Son,

Once dwelt in mortal shrine!

By the strength to sinners given!
By the Book, thy victor-sword!
By the panoply of Heaven-

'HAVE MERCY ON US, LORD.'

IV.

Holy, holy, holy Three!

Pure and undivided One!

God in perfect Trinity,
We pray to THEE alone!

Saviour! by the Father given!

Father, by the Son restored!

Spirit! guide from earth to Heaven,

HAVE MERCY ON US, LORD.'

TOO OFT IN PURE RELIGION'S

NAME.

BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY, ESQ.

I.

Too oft in pure Religion's name
Hath human blood been spilt;
And Pride hath claimed a Patriot's fame,
To crown a deed of guilt!

Oh! look not on the field of blood

Religion is not there;

Her battle-field is solitude

Her only watch-word, Prayer!

II.

The sable cowl Ambition wears

To hide his laurel wreath;

The spotless sword that Virtue bears,

Will slumber in its sheath:

The truly brave fight not for fame,
Though fearless they go forth;
They war not in Religion's name—
They pray for peace on earth!

III.

By them, that fear is never felt

Which weakly clings to life,

If shrines, by which their Fathers knelt,
Be perilled in the strife:

Not theirs the heart, that spiritless

From threatened wrong withdraws;

Not theirs the vaunted holiness

That veils an earthly cause.

THE DEPARTED YEAR.

BY H. C. DEAKIN.

I.

THE parted year! the parted year!
How many joys are fled and gone,
How many feelings disappear

Like shadows o'er a summer's sun!
The parted year!—and is there none
To mourn o'er thine expiring form?
Yes! there's a heart-a faithful one,
Will pour the death-dirge true and warm.

II.

Come, recollections of the Past,

Come, like mild perfumes from the shore The happy vessel nears at last,

When storms and perils all are o'er!— Are all your cherished hours no more, Mere creatures of deluding dreams? Visions of bliss! again restore

The beauty of your morning beams.

III.

It cannot be ;-ye 're perished all,
Save in pale Memory's silent bower;
And I may now alone recal

The

presence of your parting hour. Come, beautiful and lost! thy power,

Like music down a lonely river, Clings to the soul as bee to flower;— Oh! it will linger there for ever!

IV.

Friends have I had-the year flew by;
How many hath it borne away?

Man, like the hours, is born to die;

The last year's hours! O, where are they?

The world's pulse doth the world obey,

Heaving like ocean's turbid wave;

But ah! it beats but to convey

Creation nearer to its grave!

V.

Last summer, how the flowers all bloomed,

Fresh as the dreams of

young desire ;

Now those sweet flowers are all entombed,

And but their memory lives entire ! Man's thoughts in summer soar the higher, More ardent than the burning hours; Alas! do chainless thoughts expire, Transient as ye, last summer flowers?

VI.

I look upon the midnight dome,

And the same blessed lights are there; Bright clustering stars are all at home, Smiling like Love on lady fair:Ye glorious creatures! thus ye were Showering pale splendour upon earth ;— But ah! no more the perished year Will hail with joy your welcome birth.

VII.

I gaze upon the gliding stream,

Its diamond waters onward flow,

And over it the morning beam
Shines as it did a year ago:-
"Out upon Time's" destructive blow!
Do the same murmuring waters wave?
Alas! sad Memory answers, "No:"

They're buried in their ocean grave!