GOD bids the sun ascend the skies, Through the dull eve, the blithsome morn, Thus over life's wide darkling plain, Thro' many a path of joy and pain And though sometimes in prospect view'd, On hearing the Church Bells, while long confined by AGAIN these solemn sounds-again In social bands while others move, I hear the call, I see them go, Th' awak'ning sound, the solemn show, Speak to my soul of sabbaths past Of time, for me how short to last, While here my moveless useless frame Might heavenly grace abroad be shed The powerful voice that wakes the dead Tho' exil'd from Thy dwelling place Could I before Thy blessed cross All earthly joys contemn as dross, Tho' in thy earthly temple here pay, The sorrows of a soul sincere Thou wilt not cast away. Thou canst refresh my fainting soul That depth of love th' angelic host O can that boon, profusely pour'd O let thy sanctifying Dove Teach me to pray, teach me to love, So shall a gleam of heavenly light THE SEASONS.-By an American Lady. Which crowns with full maturity the year; I love the rich profusion Autumn yields, I love the bright effulgence Winter wears, When o'er the plains his fleecy showers descend, And the soft germs which shiv'ring Nature bears, From the rude blasts and piercing cold defend. I love but ah! such matchless beauties rise, - So thick the forms of varied goodness throng, That sweet confusion dims my wond'ring eyes, And swelling transports overpower my song. For still the impress of a Hand Divine Marks each mutation of this earthly ball, Through all its scenes parental bounties shineFATHER of light and life! I love them all. FROM THE SONG OF DAVID. HE sung of GOD, the mighty source From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes, The world, the clustering spheres he made, The multitudinous abyss, Where secrecy remains in bliss, And Wisdom hides her skill. Tell them, I AM, JEHOVAH said FROM THE GERMAN OF KLIEST. How rich the splendors of the western skies, Mountains of gold, and flaming waves of light. Save where the flute breathes softly thro' the vale, The streams, low murmuring, glide along the plains, Or Night's sad songstress chants her long-drawn plaintive strains. O Thou! my guide divine! whose sacred power Can bid the dangerous storms of passion cease, Shed on my soul the blessings of this hour, The beams of virtue, and the dews of peace. Led by Thy hand, I pass'd thro' life's fair morn, And brav'd the ardours of its noontide ray; Still may thy love its future hours adorn, Bless the mild evening of my mortal day, And bid unclouded shine its last declining ray. And ye! than wealth more priz'd, than fame more dear, Ye friends for ever lov'd, ye chosen few ! In trembling transport rais'd to glorious scenes on high! THEODORE AND ROSETTA, OR THE DAY-FLY. Bp. Kenn. Theo. Where had you those sweet flowers, Ros. O Theodore, I got them by the way, Stood at the door its beauties to descry, At parting, she, her neighbour to endear, Gave me the flow'rs and fruits which I have here. Theo. We'll eat the fruit for banquet to our meal, But what is that you in your hand conceal? |