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And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate
Of his arch enemy Death-yea-seats himself
Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles,
And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe

Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have been holy men who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks Around them;--and there have been holy men Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes

Retire, and in thy presence reassure

My feeble virtue. Here its enemies,

The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink
And tremble and are still. Oh God! when thou
Dost scare the world with tempests, sett'st on fire
The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill'st
With all the waters of the firmament

The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods
And drowns the villages; when, at thy call,
Uprises the great deep and throws himself
Upon the continent and overwhelms
Its cities-who forgets not, at the sight
Of these tremendous tokens of thy power,
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ?
Oh, from these sterner aspects of thy face

Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath
Of the mad unchained elements to teach
Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate
In these calm shades thy milder majesty,
And, to the beautiful order of thy works,
Learn to conform the order of our lives.

THANKSGIVING.

When first in ancient time, from Jubal's tongue
The tuneful anthem filled the morning air,
To sacred hymnings and elysian song

His music-breathing shell the minstrel woke.
Devotion breathed aloud from every chord :—
The voice of praise was heard in every tone,
And prayer, and thanks to Him, the eternal one,-
To Him, that with bright inspiration touched
The high and gifted lyre of heavenly song,
And warmed the soul with new vitality.
A stirring energy through nature breathed :-
The voice of adoration from her broke
Swelling aloud in every breeze, and heard
Long in the sullen waterfall,-what time
Soft Spring or hoary Autumn threw on earth
Its bloom or blighting,-when the Summer smiled,
Or Winter o'er the year's sepulchre mourned.
The Deity was there!—a nameless spirit

Moved in the hearts of men to do him homage;
And when the morning smiled, or evening pale
Hung weeping o'er the melancholy urn,

They came beneath the broad o'erarching trees,
And in their tremulous shadow worshipped oft,
Where the pale vine clung round their simple altars,
And gray moss mantling hung. Above was heard
The melody of winds, breathed out as the green trees
Bowed to their quivering touch in living beauty,
And birds sang forth their cheerful hymns. Below,
The bright and widely wandering rivulet
Struggled and gushed amongst the tangled roots,
That choked its reedy fountain—and dark rocks
Worn smooth by the constant current. Even there
The listless wave, that stole with mellow voice
Where reeds grew rank upon the rushy brink,
And to the wandering wind the green sedge bent,
Sang a sweet song of fixed tranquillity.

Men felt the heavenly influence--and it stole
Like balm into their hearts, till all was peace;

And even the air they breathed, the light they saw,—
Became religion ;—for the etherial spirit,
That to soft music wakes the chords of feeling
And mellows every thing to beauty, moved
With cheering energy within their breasts,
And made all holy there-for all was love.
The morning stars, that sweetly sang together-
The moon, that hung at night in the mid-sky-
Dayspring-and eventide-and all the fair
And beautiful forms of nature, had a voice

Of eloquent worship. Ocean with its tides
Swelling and deep, where low the infant storm
Hung on his dun, dark cloud, and heavily beat
The pulses of the sea,-sent forth a voice
Of awful adoration to the spirit,

That, wrapt in darkness, moved upon its face.
And when the bow of evening arched the east,
Or, in the moonlight pale, the gentle wave
Kissed with a sweet embrace the sea-worn beach,
And the wild song of winds came o'er the waters,
The mingled melody of wind and wave
Touched like a heavenly anthem on the ear;
For it arose a tuneful hymn of worship.

And have our hearts grown cold? Are there on earth
No
pure reflections caught from heavenly love?—
Have our mute lips no hymn-our souls no song ?
Let him, that in the summer-day of youth
Keeps pure the holy fount of youthful feeling,-
And him, that in the nightfall of his years
Lies down in his last sleep, and shuts in peace
His weary eyes on life's short wayfaring,
Praise Him, that rules the destiny of man.

E

SPRING.

Again the infant flowers of Spring
Call thee to sport on thy rainbow wing-
Spirit of Beauty! the air is bright

With the boundless flow of thy mellow light;

The woods are ready to bud and bloom,

And are weaving for Summer their quiet gloom;
The tufted brook reflects, as it flows,
The tips of the half-unopened rose,
And the early bird, as he carols free,
Sings to his little love and thee.

See how the clouds, as they fleetly pass
Throw their shadowy veil on the darkening grass;
And the pattering showers and stealing dews,
With their starry gems and skyey hues,
From the oozy meadow, that drinks the tide,
To the sheltered vale on the mountain sidę,
Wake to a new and fresher birth
The tenderest tribes of teeming earth,
And scatter with light and dallying play
Their earliest flowers on the Zephyr's way.

He comes from the mountain's piny steep,
For the long boughs bend with a silent sweep,
And his rapid steps have hurried o'er
The grassy hills to the pebbly shore;

And now, on the breast of the lonely lake,

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