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REGINALD HEBER.

The preacher prays, "Lord, bless us!" "Lord, bless us!" echo cries; "Amen!" the breezes murmur low; "Amen!" the rill replies: The ceaseless toil of woe-worn hearts The proud with pangs are paying, But here, O God of earth and heaven! The humble heart is praying.

How softly, in the pauses

Of song, re-echoed wide,
The cushat's coo, the linnet's lay,
O'er rill and river glide!
With evil deeds of evil men

The affrighted land is ringing;
But still, O Lord, the pious heart
And soul-toned voice are singing!

Hush! hush! the preacher preacheth:
"Woe to the oppressor, woe!"
But sudden gloom o'ercasts the sun
And saddened flowers below;
So frowns the Lord!-but, tyrants, ye
Deride his indignation,

And see not in the gathered brow
Your days of tribulation!

Speak low, thou heaven-paid teacher!
The tempest bursts above:
God whispers in the thunder; hear
The terrors of his love!

On useful hands and honest hearts

The base their wrath are wreaking; But, thanked be God! they can't prevent The storm of heaven from speaking.

CORN-LAW HYMN.

LORD! call thy pallid angel,

The tamer of the strong!

And bid him whip with want and woe
The champions of the wrong!
O, say not thou to ruin's flood,
"Up, sluggard! why so slow?"

But alone let them groan,
The lowest of the low;
And basely beg the bread they curse,
Where millions curse them now!

No; wake not thou the giant

Who drinks hot blood for wine, And shouts unto the east and west, In thunder-tones like thine, Till the slow to move rush all at once, An avalanche of men,

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While he raves over waves That need no whirlwind then ; Though slow to move, moved all at once, A sea, a sea of men!

REGINALD HEBER.

[1783-1826.]

IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE.

IF thou wert by my side, my love,
How fast would evening fail
In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale!

If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,
How gayly would our pinnace glide
O'er Gunga's mimic sea!

I miss thee at the dawning gray,
When, on our deck reclined,
In careless ease my limbs I lay,
And woo the cooler wind.

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,

But most beneath the lamp's pale beam
I miss thee from my side.

I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer,
But miss thy kind, approving eye,
Thy meek, attentive ear.

But when of morn or eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,

I feel, though thou art distant far,
Thy prayers ascend for me.

Then on then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still;
O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads,
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates
Nor wild Malwah detain;

For sweet the bliss us both awaits
By yonder western main.

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they

say,

Across the dark-blue sea; But ne'er were hearts so light and gay As then shall meet in thee!

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Or may be if they will, and we prepare Their souls and ours to meet in happy air,

A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sings

In unison with ours, breeding its future wings.

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw within the moonlight in his

room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold; Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,

then,

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Her white arm wad be a pillow for me
Far safter than the down;
And Luve wad winnow owre us his kind,
kind wings,

An' sweetly I'd sleep, an' soun'.
Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve,
Come here, and kneel wi' me!
The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God,
An' I canna pray without thee.

The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers,

The wee birds sing kindlie an' hie; Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dyke,

And a blythe auld bodie is he. The Beuk maun be taen when the carle comes hame, Wi' the holie psalmodie;

And thou maun speak o' me to thy God, And I will speak o' thee.

SHE'S GANE TO DWALL IN HEAVEN.

SHE 's gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie,
She 's gane to dwall in heaven:
Ye're owre pure, quo' the voice o' God,
For dwalling out o' heaven!

O, what 'll she do in heaven, my lassie? O, what 'll she do in heaven?

She'll mix her ain thoughts wi' angels' sangs,

An' make them mair meet for heaven.

She was beloved by a',

my lassie, But an angel fell in love wi' her, She was beloved by a';

An' took her frae us a'.

Low there thou lies, my lassie,
A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird,
Low there thou lies;

Nor frae it will arise!

Fu' soon I'll follow thee, my lassie,
Fu' soon I'll follow thee;
Thou left me naught to covet ahin',
But took gudeness sel' wi' thee.

I looked on thy death-cold face, my lassie,
I looked on thy death-cold face;
Thou seemed a lily new cut i' the bud,
An' fading in its place.

I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie,
I looked on thy death-shut eye;
An' a lovelier light in the brow of heaven
Fell time shall ne'er destroy.

Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie,
Thy lips were ruddy and calm;
But gane was the holy breath o' heaven,
To sing the evening psalm.

There's naught but dust now mine, lassie,
There's naught but dust now mine;
My saul's wi' thee i' the cauld grave,
An' why should I stay behin'

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