Where is He?—Ask the Maelstroom's whirl,
Shivering tall pines like glass;

Ask the giant oak, the graceful flower,
Or the simplest blade of grass.
Where is He?—Ask behemoth,
Who drinketh waters dry;
The ocean-king, leviathan,

Or the scarce-seen atom-fly.

Where is He ?-Ask the awful calm
On mountain-tops that rests;
And the bounding, thund'ring avalanche
Rent from their rugged crests.
Ask the wide-wasting hurricane,
Careering in its might;

The thunder-crash, the lightning-blaze,
Earth all convulsed with fright.

Where is He?-Ask the crystal isles
On arctic seas that sail;

Or ask, from lands of balm and spice,
The perfume-breathing gale,
Where in the universe is found

That presence-favoured spot;

All, all, proclaim His dwelling-place,
But say-Where is He not?

ON FLATTERERS.

Cowper.

No mischiefs, worthier of our fear,

In nature can be found,

Than friendship in ostent sincere,

But hollow and unsound.

For, lull'd into a dangerous dream,

We close enfold a foe,

Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
The inevitable blow.

THE HEAVENLY VISION.

Parkes.

SWEET was the dream that cheer'd me yesternight,
I thought an arm of strength was placed near mine,
Form'd with a symmetry that seem'd divine,
Yet lifeless, and as pallid to the sight

As clay-cold corse: the hand was open quite,

And I perceived within its hollow palm
A wound that testified some deadly harm
Had happ'd its owner.-Soon, to my delight,
The fingers, moving, grasp'd my arm around,
And gently drew me upward from the ground;
And as I rose, how heavenly was the joy
That did my visionary thought employ,-
For soon I found, and blessed be the sign,
It was a Saviour's hand that grappled mine.

GOD SOUGHT IN ADVERSITY.

T. M. A. Hood.

WHEN fortune frowns, and honours fade,
And all our earthly hope's decay'd;

When disappointment's deadly blast

Hath nipp'd the joys we thought would last,
How sweet to find there is above

A Being who is full of love!

When foes in arms are gather'd round,

And nought is heard, save strife's dire sound,— Strife, which, when fortune smiled, we thought Never to know should be our lot;

Still, still, we know there is, above,

A Being who is full of love!

When friends whom once we loved most true,
And who profess'd to love us too,
In sorrow's hour are kind no more,
This is the pang of all most sore;
Oh! then to have as Friend above
That Being who is full of love!

When, banish'd from our native home,
All friendless o'er the world we roam,
Our prospects blighted in the bloom,
And all this side the grave is gloom :
Then would we wing our flight above
To that One Being full of love!

TO A DYING FRIEND.

Miss Jewsbury.

Go to thy glorious home, I would not stay thee, Go to the land where only pleasures flow; [thee, Might sorrowing love and human prayers detain Friend of my spirit-I would bid thee go.

Go to thy glorious home, I would not stay thee, Fade on, fade on, as sweet day yields to night; And if the darkness for a while array thee,

"Tis but to clothe thee in a day more bright.

Yet blame not that my heart is wildly heaving, Triumph and joy are in my tears for thee, And if there mingle with them tears of grieving,

How should the living from life's pangs be free?

Light love may fade, and youthful zeal may perish,
As rainbows vanish, and as leaves decay;
But mine, born in the soul, my soul will cherish,
Flee as thou wilt beyond my reach away.

And thou art going-not as spring-flowers wither
Soon to return- when may I look for thee?
Going so far-sight may not track thee thither,
Nor strong wings follow where thy flight will be.
To the bright stars in lofty myriads burning,
To the calm clouds piled in the summer air,
Oft shall I look with love's fond helpless yearning,
But none will tell me if thy home be there.

The haunts that knew thee, glade, and hearth, and bower,

They will be silent when I bid them speak: And living friends, question'd till life's last hour, They will but tell me-" Gone is she you seek!"