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And when the watchers of the night, the stars shall cease
And the sun shall pass to darkness, and the moon to blood shall turn,
A glorious host of spirits, o'er the shrivelled sky shall sweep Mild as the spirit's light that passed in chaos o'er the deep. W. D.
From an unpublished Poem on IDOLATRY.
Blest be the bark that o'er the ocean glides;
And bears the self-devoted saint to some
Far distant clime of pagan ignorance,
There to disclose, with pious mind, and soul
Bring peace to man. Blest be the generous hand
A world of fellow-beings sunk in sin.
Land, where the bones of our fathers are sleeping!
Land, where the light of Jehovah is shining!
Dark is our path o'er the dark-rolling ocean;
Shall learn from our lips the glad song of salvation.
Hail to the land of our toils and our sorrows!
FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM.
'Tis thou that soothest the deathbed of the saint, When round his dying couch his children and Their children's children flock, a sorrowing group,
To watch with anxious looks that last dread scene; 'Tis thou that lightest with hope his glazing eye; And as the world recedes beneath his
'Tis thou that beam'st upon his pallid lips,
Quivering with his last breath, one blessed smile,
That seems to murmur, my Redeemer lives;'
And when his children, of their sire bereaved,
And as to heaven they raise their tearful eyes,
Before the throne of grace, and humbly whisper there,
ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.
Another year's fast hastening to a close,
Looks forward to the future as his own,
Nor for a moment glances o'er the
That tells him of his sins, and of his age;
Leaves his account with conscience in arrear,
All to be settled in some future year.
Till death, unmindful of his sinful state,
Bids him quick enter through his dreary gate,
Life's but a dream of ill-spent hours,
Life's but a dream of waking care,
And he can best his burden bear,
W. C. R.
Whose hopes are all in heaven with Christ.
W. C. R.
EXTRACT FROM CHRISTABEL.
The silver lamp burns dead and dim,
But Christabel the lamp will trim;
She trimmed the lamp, and made it bright,
While Geraldine, in wretched plight,
Sank down upon the floor below.
O weary Lady Geraldine,
I pray you, drink this cordial wine!
And will your mother pity one, Who am a maiden most forlorn ?'
Christabel answered, 'Woe is me!
Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side,