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• THE thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain,
While I look upwards to thee. It would seem
As if God poured thee from his “hollow hand,”
And hung his bow upon thine awful front;
And spoke in that loud voice, which seem'd to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake,
, “The sound of many waters; ” and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back
And notch His cent’ries in the eternal rocks.

Deep calleth into deep, And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime !
Oh! what are all the notes that ever rung
From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side
Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him,
Who drown'd a world, and heap'd the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains 7 — a light wave,
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker's might !


In those evils which are allotted us by Providence, such as deformity, privation of the senses, or old age, it is always to be remembered, that impatience can have no present • effect, but to deprive us of the consolations which our condition admits, by driving away from us those by whose conversation, or advice, we might be amused or helped; and that with regard to futurity, it is yet less to be justified, since without lessening the pain, it cuts off the hope of that reward, which he, by whom it is inflicted, will confer upon those that bear it well.



A MEDDLING Jackdaw was vain enough to imagine that he wanted nothing but the colored plumes to render him as elegant a bird as the Peacock. Puffed up with this wise conceit, he dressed himself in some of their most beautiful feathers, and in this borrowed garb, forsaking his old companions, endeavored to pass for a Peacock; but he no sooner attempted to associate with these elegant birds, than an affected strut betrayed the vain pretender.

The offended peacocks, plucking from him their


degraded feathers, soon stripped him of his finery, reduced him to a mere Jackdaw, and drove him back to his brethren; by whom he was now equally despised, and justly punished with derision and contempt.


False pretences are sure of detection.


O CLouds ! ye ancient messengers,
Old couriers of the sky,
Treading as in primeval years,
Yon still immensity.
In march how wildly beautiful
Along the deep ye tower,
Begirt, as when from chaos dull
Ye loomed in pride and power,

To crown creation's morning hour.
* * + +

Yelinger with the silver stars,
Ye pass before the sun–
Ye martial elements to wars,
And when the roar is done,
Ye lift your volumed robes in light,
And wave them to the world,
Like victory flags o'er scattered fight,
Brave banners all unfurled —
Still there, though rent and tempest hurled.
* + * , f *
And then, in still and suminor hours,
When men sit weary slown,
Ye come o'er heated £is and flowers,

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Evening comes on: arising from the stream,
Homeward the tall flamingo wings his flight;
And where he sails athwart the setting beam,
His scarlet plumage glows with deeper light.
The watchman, at the wished approach of night,
Gladly forsakes the field, where he all day,
To scare the winged plunderers from their prey,
With shout and sling, from yonder clay-built height,
Hath borne the sultry ray.
Hark! at the Golden Palaces,
The Bramin strikes the hour –
For leagues and leagues around, the brazen sound
Rolls through the stillness of departing day,
Like thunder far away.


HE that indulges himself in ridiculing the little imperfections and weaknesses of his friends, will in time find mankind united against him. The man who sees another ridiculed before him, though he may, for the present, concur in the general laugh, yet in a cool hour he will consider the same trick might be played against himself; but when there is no sense of this danger, the natural pride of human nature rises against him, who, by general censures, lays claim to general superiority.


AMong the vexations, our tempers to try,
Sure, vanity brings us the largest supply:
'T is a failing, though common, all find of no use:
I hope no young gent. will e'er act like my goose.

The fowl, that I speak of—a fine-looking bird, –
How much I regret she could be so absurd :
Was so plump and so fat, of white plumage profuse,
That she look'd like a very respectable goose.

But it was not sufficient, in her silly mind,
To act well in the station by nature assign'd,
She envied the swans, and she fled with abuse
From her more humble tribe — What a vain giddy goose :

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