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That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, LORD! are thine.

When youthful spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.

OH! THOU, WHO DRY'ST THE
MOURNER'S TEAR.

"He healeth the broken in heart, and hindeth up their wounds."--Psalms cxlvii. 3.

OH! Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,

If, when deceiv'd and wounded here,
We could not fly to thee.

The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown;

And he, who has but tears to give,

Must weep those tears alone.
But thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of wo.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And e'en the hope, that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanquish'd too!

Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love

Come brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above?
Then, sorrow, touch'd by thee, grows bright,
With more than rapture's ray ;-

As darkness shows us worlds of light,
We never saw by day!

THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.

THIS world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given :

The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow-

There's nothing true but Heaven!

And false the light on Glory's plume,
As fading hues of even;

And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb-
There's nothing bright but Heaven!

Poor wanderers of a stormy day,
From wave to wave were driven,
And Fancy's flash, and Reason's ray,
Serve but to light the troubled way--

There's nothing calm but Heaven!

WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S
TEARS.

WERE not the sinful Mary's tears
An offering worthy Heaven,
When o'er the faults of former years
She wept—and was forgiven?

When, bringing every balmy sweet
Her day of luxury stor❜d,
She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet
The precious perfume pour'd,—

And wip'd them with that golden hair,

Where once the diamond shone,

Though now these gems of Grief were there
Which shine for God alone!

Were not those sweets so humbly shed---
That hair--those weeping eyes--
And the sunk heart, that inly bled--
Heav'n's noblest sacrifice!

Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep,
Oh! would'st thou wake in heaven,
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep,
"Love much,"* and be forgiven!

Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, for

she loved much." St. Luke, vii. 47.

1

ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DIED A FEW WEEKS AFTER HER MARRIAGE.

WEEP not for those, whom the veil of the tomb, In life's happy morning, hath hid from our

eyes,

Ere Sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,

Or earth had profan'd what was born for the

skies.

Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd it,

'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its

course,

And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heav'n has unchain'd it,

To water that Eden, where first was its source!

Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, In life's happy morning hath hid from our

eyes,

Ere Sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,

Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies.

Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale,
Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now;
Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale,
And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her
brow;

Oh! then was her moment, dear Spirit for flying From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown,

And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly in dying,

Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own! Weep not for her-in her spring-time she flew To that land, where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd,

And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world.

MIRIAM'S SONG.

"And Miriam, the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances."-Exod. xv. 21.

SOUND the lond timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! JEHOVAH has triumph'd,--his people are free. Sing-for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave;

How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken,

And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the

wave.

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! JEHOVAH has triumph'd,—his people are free.

Praise to the CONQUEROR, praise to the LORD, His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword!

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