From rock to rock, with giant bound, The goats wind slow their wonted way, And while the torrent thunders loud, ROGERS. THE UNIVERSAL LAW. THAT very law which moulds a tear, ROGERS. LUKE, VIII. 19. IF unto Jesus thou art bound, Attending day and night; A worldly crowd to din thine ears, Yet all the vain and noisy crowd If thou press on, the crowds will fly ; This only way can pilgrims go, And such as seem to run the race, And meet no crowd to check their Are only rambling still; Not fairly entered on the list, расе, The gate and narrow way they missed, O Lord, a cheering look bestow, Yet thou canst come to me. BERRIDGE. A THOUGHT ON THE SEA-SHORE. IN every object here I see Something, O Lord, that leads to thee: In every object here I see Something, my heart, that points at thee; Deep and deceitful as the ocean, And, like the tide, in constant motion. NEWTON. THE SWALLOW. THE gorse is yellow on the heath, The welcome guest of settled spring, Come, summer visitor, attach To my reed roof your nest of clay, CHARLOTTE SMITH. THE STORMY PETREL. The Stormy Petrels, when seen out at sea, are dreaded as the forerunners of a tempest: invited from their lurking-places by the lowering atmosphere, which spreads a dull twilight over the deep, they spring forth, and with rapid wings leave the shore behind. A THOUSAND miles from land are we, The sails are scattered abroad like weeds, Up and down! up and down! From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, Amidst the flashing and feathery foam, The Stormy Petrel finds a home: A home-if such a place can be For her who lives on the wide, wide sea, And only seeketh her rocky lair To warm her young, and teach them to spring Over the deep! over the deep! Where the whale, and the shark, and the sword-fish sleep; Outflying the blast and the driving rain, The Petrel telleth her tale, in vain: For the mariner scorneth the warning bird, Ah! thus does the Prophet of good or ill THE PETREL. THE Petrel floats on the stormy foam, So the Christian smiles in his tranquil home, Where worldly ambition but finds a grave, The blast is loud, and the night is dark, He is caged on earth, yet he treads not its sod; His soul is ethereal, he dwells with his God; Heaven-plumed are his joyful pinions. |