SILENTLY, Swiftly as the lightning's blast,
A hand of fire across his temples passed;
He ran, as in the terror of a dream,
To quench his burning anguish in the stream;
But, bending o'er the brink, the swelling wave
Back to his eye the branded visage gave;
As soon on murdered Abel durst he look;
Yet power to fly his palsied limbs forsook;
There turned to stone, for his presumptuous crime,
A monument of wrath to latest time,

Might Cain have stood; but mercy raised his head
In prayer for help,- his strength returned, he fled.
JAMES MONTGOMERY,

O THOU,

Whose ruthless sword each lovely scene laid waste,
Who through the husband's bosom stabbed the wife,
Say, can the phantom Honour, can the pride
Of conquest, or the transport of revenge

Say, can the vain applause of those whose praise
Stamps thee unworthy of the name of man,
Can these lull conscience in eternal sleep,
Or bribe reflection to withhold her stings?

EARTH shudders with secret awe;

C. P. LAYARD.

There is blood on its bright and flowery sod,
And it feels the frown of an angry God.

The first of human gore

On the blushing earth has been shed;
It held of human kind but four

Now one is cold and dead

And one, with a fierce and bloodshot eye,

And crimson club, is standing by,

A sered and blasted man.

ANONYMOUS.

Lo, on the everlasting stone engraved,

"No murder shalt thou do." From God to man
The solemn law came down by specious gloss.

Of subtle learning, seek not to evade

The great command.

SAMUEL HAYES.

TALK not of fame! What fame enjoyed that wretch
That slew his brother? he who could not brook
Rejection from his God, with anger fired,
With envy stung, the ties of nature burst,
And sacrificed the guiltless to revenge.

C. P. LAYARD.

MUSIC.

Is any merry? Let him sing psalms. JAMES, V,

And when they had sung a hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives. MARE xiv, 26.

Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet: praise Him with the psaltery and harp PSALM cl, 3.

Sing unto Him a new song, play skilfully, with a loud noise. PSALM xxxiii, 3.

O, SURELY melody from Heaven was sent
To cheer the soul, when tired with human strife,
To soothe the wayward heart by sorrow rent,

And soften down the rugged road of life.

KIRKE WHITE.

THERE's music ever in the kindly soul;
For every deed of goodness done, is like
A chord set in the heart, and joy doth strike
Upon it, oft as memory doth unroll

The immortal page whereon good deeds are writ.
THOMAS MCKELLAR.

Look, how the floor of Heaven

Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;

There's not the smallest orb that thou beholdest

But in his motion like an angel sings,

Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubim ;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But while the muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

O, WHAT a gentle ministrant is music.
To piety-to mild, to penitent piety!
O, it gives plumage to the tardy prayer
That lingers in our lazy, earthly air,
And melts with it to Heaven.

SHAKSPEARE

H. H. MILMAN.

MUSIC, the tender child of rudest times,
The gentle native of all lands and climes;
Who hymns alike man's cradle and his grave,
Lulls the low cot, or peals along the nave.

MRS. NORTON.

'TIS He that taught the lark, from earth upspringing,

To warble forth his matin strain;

And the pure stream, in liquid gushes singing,
Gladly to bless the thirsty plain;

And from the laden bee, when homeward winging
Its tuneful flight, doth not disdain

To hear the song of praise.

There's not a voice in Nature, but is telling

(If we will hear that voice aright,)

How much, when human hearts with love are swelling,

His blessed bosom hath delight

In our rejoicing lays.

His love, that never slumbers,

Taught thee those tuneful numbers.

BETHUNE.

THERE let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced choir below,

In service high, and anthems clear,

As may with sweetness through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstacies,

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.

MILTON.

THE church triumphant, and the church below,
In songs of praise their present union show;
Their joys are full, our expectation long,
In life we differ, but we join the song.
Angels and we, assisted by this art,
May sing together, though we dwell apart.

WALLER.

BORNE on the swelling notes, our souls aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire,
And angels lean from Heaven to hear.

How sour sweet music is

When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.

POPE.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE solemn hymn to ancient music set,
In many a heart response of memory met.
To me, it seemed departed Sabbaths hung
Upon those notes, which gave the past a tongue
To speak again in voices from the dead,
And wake an echo from their silent bed.

ELIZABETH Bogart.

THE song of Zion is a tasteless thing,
Unless, when, rising on a joyful wing,
The soul can mix with the celestial bands,
And give the strain the compass it demands.

COWPER.

BUT O, her richest, dearest notes to man,
In strains aerial over Bethlehem poured,
When He, whose brightness is the light of Heaven,
To earth descending, for a mortal's form,
Laid by His glory, save one radiant mark,

That moved through space, and o'er the infant hung.
He summoned Music to attend Him here,
Announcing peace below!

He called her, too,

To sweeten that sad Supper, and to twine

Her mantles round Him and His few grieved friends,

To join their mournful spirits with the hymn,

Ere to the Mount of Olives He went out

So sorrowful.

And now, His blessed word,

A sacred pledge, is left to dying man,

That at His second coming, in His power,

Music shall still be with Him, and her voice

Sound through the tombs, and wake the dead to life.

HANNAH F. GOULD

HARK! The organs blow

Their swelling notes 'round the cathedral's dome,
And grace the harmonious choir, celestial feast
To pious ears, and med'cine of the mind!
The thrilling trebles, and the manly base,
Join in accordance meet, and with one voice
All to the sacred subject suit their song;
While in each breast sweet melancholy reigns,
Angelically pensive, till the joy

Improves and purifies.

SHOULD the well-meant songs I leave behind,
With Jesus' lovers an acceptance find,

SMART.

'T will heighten even the joys of Heaven, to know That in my verse the saints hymn God below.

BP. KEN.