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WILLIAM CROSWELL. THĘ Rev. William Croswell, D. D., is a son of the Rev. Dr. Croswell, of New Haven, and was educated at Yale College, where he was graduated in the summer of 1824. He was subsequently, for two years, associated with Dr. Doane, now Bishop of New Jersey, in the editorship of the “ Episcopal Watchman,” at Hartford, after which he removed to Boston, and then to Auburn, in the western part of the state of New York. He is now rector of church in New Haven. Bishop Doane, in a note to his edition of Keble's " Christian Year,” remarks that “ he has more unwritten poetry in him” than any man he knows. His published poems are characterized by an elegant fancy and a fine vein of religious sentiment.
THE SYNAGOGUE. " But even unto this day, when Moses is read, the veil is upon their heart. Nev. ertheless, when it shall turn to the Lord, the veil shall be taken away."-St. Paul.
I saw them in their synagogue,
As in their ancient day,
The scene will fade away,
The latticed galleries shine
In their beauty half-divine !
The solitary light
A lustre nothing bright;
It falls with saddening tinge,
Phylacteries and fringe.
Before the eastern screen,
With chanted prayers between,
And mid the tissued vails disclosed,
Of many a gorgeous dye, Enveloped in their jewelled scarfs,
The sacred records lie.
Robed in his sacerdotal vest,
A silvery-headed man
The backward letters ran;
The glow and power that sate Upon his face, as forth he spread
The roll immaculate.
And fervently that hour I prayed,
That from the mighty scroll Its light, in burning characters,
Might break on every soul, That on their hardened hearts the veil
Might be no longer dark, But be forever rent in twain
Like that before the ark.
For yet the tenfold film shall fall,
0, Judah! from thy sight, And every eye be purged to read
Thy testimonies right, When thou, with all Messiah's signs
In Christ distinctly seen, Shall, by Jehovah's nameless name,
Invoke the Nazarene.
THE CLOUDS. “ Cloud land! Gorgeous land !"-COLERIDGB. I CANNOT look above and see
Yon high-piled, pillowy mass Of evening clouds, so swimmingly
In gold and purple pass,
And think not, Lord, how thou wast seen
On Israel's desert way,
Pavilioned all the day!
Or, of those robes of gorgeous hue
Which the Redeemer wore, When, ravished from his followers' view,
Aloft his flight he bore,
He curtained his ascent,
Above the firmament.
Is it a trail of that same pall
Of many colored dyes,
Hangs midway down the skies--
Which shall be all unfurled About the Saviour, when he holds
His judgment on the world?
For in like manner as he went,
My soul, hast thou forgot? Shall be his terrible descent,
When man expecteth not ! Strength, Son of man, against that hour,
Be to our spirits given, When thou shalt come again with power,
Upon the clouds of heaven!
Alas for me if I forget
The memory of that day
E'en sleep can take away!
In dreams I still renew the rites
Whose strong but mystic chain The spirit to its God unites,
And none can part again. How oft the bishop's form I see,
And hear that thrilling tone Demanding with authority
The heart for God alone!
While he above me stands,
of his hands. Again the priests in meet array,
As my weak spirit fails,
Before the chancel-rails ;
Of God's elect are by, When
many a voice its utterance lost,
And tears dimmed many an eye. As then they on my vision rose,
The vaulted aisles I see, And desk and cushioned book
repose In solemn sanctity, The mitre o'er the marble niche,
The broken crook and key,
With polished tracery;
All, all, save me unchanged,
With decency arranged ;
Beneath their covering shine,
To bless the bread and wine.
The solemn ceremonial past,
And I am set apart
With undivided heart;
Which God and man have heard,
In action and in word.
0 Thou, who in thy holy place
Hast set thine orders three,
To win a good degree;
And in my office tried,
Thy church be edified !
The thickly-woven boughs they wreathe
Through every hallowed fane
Of summer's gentle reign;
Which, like an emerald's glow,
Upon the crowds below.
O, let the streams of solemn thought
Which in those temples rise,
Dependent on the skies :
And winter's withering chill
Shall be unchanging still.