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HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE.

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course ? so long be seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc !
The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form!
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently ! around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial black,
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! but when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!
O dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer
I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoughts,
Yea, with

my

life and life's own secret joy : Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,

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Into the mighty vision passing—there,
As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!

Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise
Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! awake,
Voice of sweet song I awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs all join my hymn.

Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale !
O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink :
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald! wake, O wake, and utter praise !
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad !
Who called you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns called you

forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, For ever shattered, and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ? And who commanded (and the silence came), • Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ?'

Ye icy-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain-
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge !
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe

you with rainbows ? Who with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?-
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God !
God ! sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God !

Ye lively flowers that skirt the eternal frost !
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest !
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm!
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds !
Ye signs and wonders of the element !
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise !

Once more, hoar mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast
Thou too again, stupendous mountain I thou

That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me-rise, O ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And teħ the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.'

Coleridge.

JOY.

Joy is a fruit that will not grow

In nature's barren soil ;
All we can boast till Christ we know,

Is vanity and toil.

But where the Lord has planted grace,

And made his glories known;
There fruits of heavenly joy and peace

Are found, and there alone.

A bleeding Saviour, seen by faith,

A sense of pardoning love ;
A hope that triumphs over death,

Give joys like those above.

To take a glimpse within the vail,

To know that God is mine,
Are springs of joys that never fail,

Unspeakable ! divine !

These are the joys which satisfy,

And sanctify the mind;
Which make the spirit mount on high,

And leave the world behind.

No more, believers, mourn your lot ;

But if you are the Lord's, Resign to them that know him not

Such joys as earth affords.

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