Stranger of Heaven! O let thine eye Smile on a rapt enthusiast's dream; Eccentric as thy course on high,
And airy as thine ambient beam!
And long, long may thy silver ray Our northern arch at eve adorn; Then, wheeling to the east away, Light the grey portals of the morn!
SPIRITUAL WORSHIP.
THOUGH glorious, O God! must thy temple have been,
On the day of its first dedication,
When the Cherubim's wings widely waving were'
On high, o'er the ark's holy station;
When even the chosen of Levi, though skill'd To minister, standing before Thee,
Retired from the cloud which the temple then fill'd, And thy glory made Israel adore Thee:
Though awfully grand was thy majesty then; Yet the worship thy gospel discloses,
Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men, Far surpasses the ritual of Moses.
Even in thy glimm'ring earth-born star, The holier hope of Grace.
The hope that as thy beauteous bloom Expands to glad the close of day, So through the shadows of the tomb May break forth Mercy's ray.
LET us not mock the olden time: behold Grey mossy stones, in each sequester'd dell, Mark where the champions of the Covenant fell, For rights of faith unconquerably bold! Let us not mock them; at his evening hearth, While burn all hearts, the upright peasant tells For martyr'd saints what wondrous miracles Were wrought, when blood-hounds track'd them through the earth.
Let us not mock them; they, perhaps, might err In word or practice; but, deny them not Unwavering constancy, which dared prefer Imprisonment and death to mental thrall: Yea, from their cruel and unmurmuring lot, Wisdom may glean a lesson for us all.
THE UNKNOWN GRAVE.
WHO sleeps below? who sleeps below ?— It is a question idle all !
Ask of the breezes as they blow,
Say, do they heed, or hear thy call? They murmur in the trees around, And mock thy voice, an empty sound!
A hundred summer suns have shower'd
Their fostering warmth, and radiance bright; A hundred winter storms have lower'd With piercing floods, and hues of night,
Since first this remnant of his race
Did tenant his lone dwelling-place.
Was he of high or low degree?
Did grandeur smile upon his lot?
Or, born to dark obscurity,
Dwelt he within some lowly cot, And, from his youth to labour wed, From toil-strung limbs wrung daily bread?
Say, died he ripe, and full of years, Bow'd down, and bent by hoary eld, When sound was silence to his ears, And the dim eyeball sight withheld; Like a ripe apple falling down, Unshaken, 'mid the orchard brown;
When all the friends that blest his prime, Were vanish'd like a morning dream; Pluck'd one by one by spareless Time, And scatter'd in Oblivion's stream; Passing away all silently,
Like snow-flakes melting in the sea:
Or, 'mid the summer of his years,
When round him throng'd his children young, When bright eyes gush'd with burning tears, And anguish dwelt on every tongue,
Was he cut off, and left behind
A widow'd wife, scarce half-resign'd?
Perhaps he perish'd for the faith,- One of that persecuted band, Who suffer'd tortures, bonds, and death, To free from mental thrall the land, And, toiling for the Martyr's fame, Espoused his fate, nor found a name!
Say, was he one to science blind, A groper in Earth's dungeon dark ?— Or one, whose bold aspiring mind Did in the fair creation mark The Maker's hand, and kept his soul Free from this grovelling world's control ?
Hush, wild surmise !-'tis vain-'tis vain- The Summer-flowers in beauty blow, And sighs the wind, and floods the rain, O'er some old bones that rot below;
No other record can we trace
Of fame or fortune, rank or race!
Then, what is life, when thus we see No trace remains of life's career?- Mortal! whoe'er thou art, for thee A moral lesson gloweth here;
Put'st thou in aught of earth thy trust? 'Tis doom'd that dust shall mix with dust.
What doth it matter, then, if thus,
Without a stone, without a name, To impotently herald us,
We float not on the breath of fame; But, like the dewdrop from the flower, Pass, after glittering for an hour.
Since soul decays not; freed from earth, And earthly coils, it bursts away ;- Receiving a celestial birth,
And spurning off its bonds of clay, It soars, and seeks another sphere, And blooms through Heaven's eternal year!
Do good; shun evil; live not thou, As if at death thy being died; Nor Error's syren voice allow
To draw thy steps from truth aside; Look to thy journey's end-the grave! And trust in Him whose arm can save.
EXTRACT FROM THE "FUTURE PROSPECTS OF THE WORLD."
—AND thou, Religion, though through fire and flood
By saints upheld, and seal'd with holiest blood, From clime to clime thy glorious light expands, And chases Darkness from rejoicing lands: Sin's rod is broken; Superstition, long The only mistress of Earth's erring throng,
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