GOD bids the sun ascend the skies,
And heaven and earth rejoice;
He speaks, the rushing whirlwind flies,
Obedient to His voice.

Through the dull eve, the blithsome morn,
He leads the changing seasons on ;
And still those smiling seasons tell,
That He who rules them, rules them well.

Thus over life's wide darkling plain,
Unheeded as we roam,

Thro' many a path of joy and pain
He leads His children home.

And though sometimes in prospect view'd,
The winding way seems dark and rude;
Ah! who the backward scene hath scann'd,
Nor bless'd his Father's guiding hand!

On hearing the Church Bells, while long confined by
Illness.

AGAIN these solemn sounds-again
That awful call I hear,
For me, alas! it sounds in vain
When sabbath morns appear.

In social bands while others move,
Devoted hearts to bring;
And in His courts with holy love
Their MAKER's praise to sing;

I hear the call, I see them go,
In slow procession by ;

Th' awak'ning sound, the solemn show,
That meet my ear and eye,

Speak to my soul of sabbaths past
Oft wasted, unimprov'd;

Of time, for me how short to last,
Of friends whom earth remov'd.

While here my moveless useless frame
So long remains confin'd,
O may devotion's holy flame
Light up my darken'd mind.

Might heavenly grace abroad be shed
To melt my frozen heart,

The powerful voice that wakes the dead
Would vital warmth impart.

Tho' exil'd from Thy dwelling place
Where happier friends adore,
Would'st Thou reveal Thy gracious face,
My soul would droop no more.

Could I before Thy blessed cross
A contrite spirit bend,

All earthly joys contemn as dross,
And claim a Heavenly Friend;

Tho' in thy earthly temple here
No more my vows I

pay,

The sorrows of a soul sincere

Thou wilt not cast away.

Thou canst refresh my fainting soul
With cordials from above,
My trembling guilty doubts control,
And tell me-GOD is love,

That depth of love th' angelic host
Attempt in vain to scan;
Pour'd out to ransom creatures lost,
The helpless race of man.

O can that boon, profusely pour'd
The captive souls to free,
So long desired, so oft implor'd,
Be vainly sought by me!

O let thy sanctifying Dove
With healing wings descend,

Teach me to pray, teach me to love,
And all my sorrows end!

So shall a gleam of heavenly light
Dispel this mournful gloom,
And cheer, with rays serenely bright,
My passage to the tomb.

THE SEASONS.-By an American Lady.
I LOVE the rising grace, the varied charms,
Which on the Earth's enamell'd bosom play,
When Nature bursts from April's humid arms,
And springs impatient to the Ides of May.
I love the rip'ning beam, the fervid glow,

Which crowns with full maturity the year;
When busy Summer shows his swarthy brow,
And severs from the root the bending ear.

I love the rich profusion Autumn yields,
When, in his party-colour'd robes array'd
He treads triumphant o'er the lighten'd fields,
And twines their rifled honours round his head.

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.
Christopher Smart.

HE sung of GOD, the mighty source
Of all things, the stupendous force
On which all things depend:

From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes,
All period, power, and enterprize,
Commence, and reign, and end.

The world, the clustering spheres he made,
The glorious light, the soothing shade,
Dale, champaign, grove, and hill ;

The multitudinous abyss,

Where secrecy remains in bliss,

And Wisdom hides her skill.

Tell them, I AM, JEHOVAH said
To Moses, while Earth heard in dread,
And smitten to the heart;
At once above, beneath, around,
All nature, without voice or sound,
Replied, O LORD, THOU ART!

FROM THE GERMAN OF KLIEST.

How rich the splendors of the western skies,
In purple tints and glowing crimson bright!
Where varying forms and shadowy landscapes
rise,

Mountains of gold, and flaming waves of light.
The sweetest fragrance scents the evening gale,
And o'er reposing nature silence reigns;

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 !
Who o'er the failings of a heart sincere
With generous hand the veil of friendship drew!
Shed o'er my latest hour one parting tear,
To fond remembrance give one tender sigh,
When the faint shadows of this earthly sphere
Shall sink in death before my closing eye,

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,
Rosetta, say.

Ros. O Theodore, I got them by the way,
You of our great man's garden know the fame,
And as I tow'rds you with our dinner came,
I saw it open, and my greedy eye

Stood at the door its beauties to descry,
When a kind maid, who of the flow'rs took care,
Invited me to take the garden air;

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?