Who shall return to tell Egypt the story

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her

pride?

For the LORD hath look'd out from his pillar of glory,*

And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the

tide.

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

ST. JEROME'S LOVE.

WHO is the maid my spirit seeks,
Through cold reproof and slander's blight?
Has she Love's roses on her cheeks?
Is hers an eye of this world's light?
No, wan and sunk with midnight pray'r,
Are the pale looks of her I love;
Or if, at times, a light be there,
Its beam is kindled from above.

I chose not her, my soul's elect,

From those who seek their Maker's shrine,
In gems and garlands proudly deck'd,
As if themselves were things divine!

"And it came to pass, that in the morning watch, the LORD looked unto the host of the Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of the cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians.-Exodus, xiv. 24.

No-Heav'n but faintly warms the breast,

That beats beneath a broider'd veil; And she who comes in glittering vest To mourn her frailty, still is frail.

Not so the faded form I prize

And love, because its bloom is gone; The glory in those sainted eyes

Is all the grace her brow puts on. And ne'er was beauty's dawn so bright, So touching as that form's decay, Which, like the altar's trembling light, In holy lustre wastes away!

1

THE BIRD, LET LOOSE IN EASTERN SKIES.

THE bird, let loose in Eastern skies,*
When hastening fondly home,

Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air,

Above all low delay,

and light,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,

Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God, from every care,
And stain of passion free,

The Carrier Pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in order to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined.

Aloft, thro' Virtue's purer air,

To hold my course to thee! No sin to cloud-no lure to stay My soul, as home she springs:Thy sunshine on her joyful way, Thy freedom in her wings!

THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRÁGRANT SHRINE.

THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine,
My temple, Lord! that arch of thine:
My censor's breath the mountain airs,
And silent thoughts my only prayers.*

My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
When murmuring homeward to their caves,
Or when the stillness of the sea,

Even more than music, breathes of thee!

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown,
All light and silence, like thy throne!
And the pale stars shall be, at night,
The only eyes that watch my rite.

Thy Heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look,
Shall be my pure and shining book,
Where I shall read, in words of flame,
The glories of thy wond'rous name.

*Pii orant tacite

I'll read thy anger in the rack
That clouds awhile the day-beam's track;
Thy mercy in the azure hue

Of sunny brightness breaking through!

There's nothing bright, above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,
But in its light my soul can see
Some feature of thy Deity!

There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy love,
And meekly wait that moment, when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again!

COME NOT, O LORD!

COME not, Oh Lord! in the dread robe of splendour

Thou wor'st on the mount, in the day of thine

ire;

Come veil'd in those shadows, deep, awful, but tender,

Which mercy flings over thy features of fire!

Lord! thou rememb'rest the night, when thy nation*

Stood fronting her foe by the red-rolling

stream!

And it came between the camp of the Egyp tians and the camp of Israel; and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light, by night, to

On Egypt thy pillar frown'd dark desolation, While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam.

So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold thee From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove; While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold thee,

Oh! turn upon us the mild light of thy love;

AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS

RETREATS.

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean, Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can

see,

So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world rises silent to Thee; My God! silent to Thee;

Pure, warm, silent to Thee!

So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee!

As still, to the star of its worship, tho' clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world
shrouded,

The hope of my spirit turns trembling to
Thee;

these."-Exod. xiv. 20. My application of this passage is borrowed from some late prose writer, whose name I am ungrateful enough to forget.