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Motionless torrents! Silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen, full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome
voice!

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds; Ye signs and wonders of the element !

Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise!

Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure

serene

Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast-
Thou too, again, stupendous mountain! thou
That, as I raise my head, awhile bow'd low
In adoration, upward from thy base

Slow travelling, with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me,-Rise, O ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
Thou kingly Spirit, throned among the hills,
Thou dread Ambassador from earth to heaven,

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THERE is a dwelling-house above,
Thither to meet the God of love,

The poor in spirit go.

There is a paradise of rest,

For contrite hearts and souls distress'd
Its streams of comfort flow.

There is a goodly heritage,

Where earthly passions cease to rage;
The meek that haven gain.
There is a board where they who pine,
Hungry, athirst, for grace divine
May feast, nor crave again.

There is a voice to mercy true,
To them who mercy's path pursue,
That voice shall bliss impart.
There is a sight from man concealed,
That sight, the face of God revealed,
Shall bless the pure in heart.

There is a name in heaven bestowed,
That name, which hails them sons of God,
The friends of peace shall know;

There is a kingdom in the sky

Where they shall reign with God on high Who serve him here below.

Now pause and view the votaries o'er,
Who, faithful to the Saviour's lore,
The Saviour's blessing seek.

The poor in spirit lead the train,

Then they who mourn their inward stain, The merciful, the meek:

And here the pure in heart; and here,
Who long for righteousness, appear,
And they who peace ensue;
And they who cast on God their cares,
Nor heed what earthly lot is theirs,
If they his will can do.

These are the saints, the holy ones,
For whom the Saviour's blood atones;
Who, by his Spirit sealed,

His call, with willing mind, obey;
In whom the Father will display
The bliss to be revealed.

Lord, be it mine, like them, to choose
The better part; like them to use
The means thy love hath given:
Be holiness my aim on earth,
That death be welcomed as a birth
To life and bliss in heaven!

There, wearing crowns and holding palms, In "hymns devout, and holy psalms," Those spirits just unite

With thy celestial angel train:
Cleansed by the Lamb, no spots remain,
No speck of earthly mould, to stain
Their robes of dazzling white.

No sounds of woe their joy molest;
No sense of pain disturbs their rest;
No grief is felt within:

But God has wiped away the tear
From every face, and keeps them clear
From anxious doubt, and startling fear,
From sorrow as from sin.

SACRED SONG.

MOORE.

THOU art, oh God, the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Are all reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine.
When day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into heaven;
Those hues, that mark the sun's decline,
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes ;-

That sacred gloom, those fires divine,

So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower that summer wreathes
Is born beneath thy kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine.

NATURE.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

O, NATURE! holy, meek, and mild,
Thou dweller on the mountain wild;
Thou haunter of the lonesome wood;
Thou wanderer by the secret flood;
Thou lover of the daisied sod,

Where Spring's light foot hath lately trod;
Finder of flowers, fresh-sprung and new,
Where sunshine comes to seek the dew;
Twiner of bowers for lovers meet;
Smoother of sods for poets' feet;
Thrice-sainted matron! in whose face
Who looks in love, will light on grace;
Far-worshipp'd goddess! one who gives
Her love to him who wisely lives;-
O! take my hand, and place me on
The daisied footstool of thy throne;
And pass before my darken'd sight
Thy hand, which lets in charmed light;

ין

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