STEINKOPFF.

A MISSIONARY STATION IN SOUTH AFRICA.

PEACE be within thy borders! May'st thou shine
Amid the darkness round thee, like a sun !

Oh, infant church, a noble dower is thine;

Thine be the bright career which he hath run,
Whose name thou bear'st. Steinkopff! it well may be
That never I thy rising homes shall see,

(Marvelling how man the wilderness can tame ;)
But what thou should'st be, answering to thy name,

Fancy can paint. It were a verdant dell,

Girdled by wood-crown'd hills, whose gentle swell Shields from the blast; and one, one willing spring,

Whose quiet waters, ever flowing, fling

Bloom o'er thy thousand flowers; and soothe and bless

The happy children of the wilderness,

Redeem'd from sin beneath the watchful care

Of one, contented for their sakes to share

The desert life, and there with them abide,

Their tender pastor, and their heavenward guide.

Oh, happy were such flock, such pastor blest;
If man might with thy honor'd name impart
The saintly graces of thy gentle heart-
Steinkopff! and bid on them thy mantle rest!

A BOW IN THE CLOUD.

FRAIL arch! yet beautiful as frail!
Soon must thy glorious hues turn pale,
And faint and sad each tinted ray
Will fade like earthly joys away.

Rich fragment of the shivered light,

Why dost thou come to mock our sight,

And teach the heart a new distress

By thy most fleeting loveliness?

Hush! murmurer, hush! though frail that bow Which in the cloud doth sweetly glow,

It seals a promise that remains

More strong than adamantine chains;
More lasting than the rock-bound earth,
Whose first destruction gave it birth;
O the brief beauty of that sign,

How soothing, strengthening, how divine!

Sweet pledge of hope! from thy bright scroll
Fresh tidings glisten to the soul,

Of mercy, linked with truth and power,
To cheer us in life's anxious hour!

Yet never gleams thy sun-clad head

Save when the light cloud falls in mist;

And, ah! without the tears we shed

Hope's radiant form could ne'er exist!

But, lo! there comes a joyful day

When we shall feel no need of thee, Symbols and types shall pass away,

And hope shall end in certainty.