Sheds down a dim and dubious light, And 'neath her beams, so dreamy bright,

The earth doth slumbering lie.

Amid the still profound

In pensive mood I stray,

And nought is heard

Save night's lone bird,

That pours her swelling flood of sound,

Filling the vocal air around

With her melodious lay.

Or in the pale moonbeam,
When all is sunk to rest,
In musing fit

I lonely sit,

Wrapt in an airy, wakeful dream,
As o'er me thronging visions teem,
Like spirits of the blest.

For memory brings to view

Past scenes in bright array,—

Fond hopes long fled,
And joys long sped,-

The lov'd, the mourn'd, the dead, anew,Lost friends," how many, yet how few!"For ever past away.

Ah! not for ever fled!

"For yet a little while,"

From death's dark gloom,

In youthful bloom,

Each slumberer from his narrow bed
Shall, beaming, rise, and o'er us shed
His wonted, sunny smile.

Then shall the tender ties

That bind our hearts around,
Which death doth sever,

Be joined for ever;

For death unbinds, but not destroys
Our friendships, loves, our hopes and joys,
To be more firmly bound.

The love of life innate,

Of home, and this fair earth,-
All instincts given

Once pure from heaven,

Shall share fruition's endless date,

All free from sin, in that blest state
Which hastens to the birth.

For this fair earth again.

Man's home shall be,-his heaven,

Renewed quite

From sin's fell blight;

Where he, with Christ his Lord, shall reign,

And sin, and death, and woe, and pain,

From thence be ever driven.

TO AN ABSENT FRIEND.

O THAT I'd pinions like the dove!
Then would I fly away,

In rapid flight, to those I love,

From this dull house of clay; But ah! my prison'd soul is barr'd, Like some poor, hapless, captive bird,

That pants and struggles to be free,
And beats its bleeding breast,
And tears its fluttering wings, to fly
Away, and be at rest;
And vainly spends its little rage
To burst the prison of its cage.

Yet now, as in the parting hour,

How sweet this cheering truth Comes o'er the soul, in all its power,

The aching heart to sooth,— "That there's a better, brighter shore,

Where we shall meet, to part no more!"

STANZAS.

"Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night? The morning cometh, and also the night."-ISAIAH XXI, 11.

THE night is wearing fast away,

A streak of light is dawning,-
Sweet harbinger of that bright day,
The fair millennial morning.-

Gloomy and dark the night has been,
And long the way, and dreary,
And sad the weeping saints are seen,
And faint, and worn, and weary.

Ye mourning pilgrims! dry your tears,
And hush each sigh of sorrow,
The sign of that bright day appears,
The long sabbatic morrow.

Lift up your heads, behold from far
A flood of splendour streaming,-
It is "the bright and morning star"
In living lustre beaming.

And see that star-like host around

Of angel bands attending,

Hark! hark! the trumpet's gladd'ning sound,
Mid shouts triumphant blending.

O weeping Spouse! arise, rejoice,
Put off your weeds of mourning,
And hail the Bridegroom's welcome voice,
In triumph now returning.

He comes, the Bridegroom promis'd long,-
Go forth with joy to meet Him,

And raise the new and nuptial song,
In cheerful strains, to greet Him.

Adorn thyself, the feast prepare,
Whilst bridal sounds are swelling;
He comes, with thee all joys to share,
And make this earth His dwelling.