That sacred gloom, those fires divine, When youthful spring around us breathes, OH! THOU, WHO DRY'ST THE "He healeth the broken in heart, and hindeth up their wounds."--Psalms cxlvii. 3. OH! Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear, If, when deceiv'd and wounded here, The friends, who in our sunshine live, And he, who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone. When joy no longer soothes or cheers, Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom, Come brightly wafting through the gloom As darkness shows us worlds of light, THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW. THIS world is all a fleeting show, The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo, There's nothing true but Heaven! And false the light on Glory's plume, And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, Poor wanderers of a stormy day, There's nothing calm but Heaven! WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S WERE not the sinful Mary's tears When, bringing every balmy sweet And wip'd them with that golden hair, Where once the diamond shone, Though now these gems of Grief were there Were not those sweets so humbly shed--- Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep, 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, 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! |