The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown, In deepest adoration bends; The weight of glory bows him down, Then most when most his soul ascends; -Nearest the throne itself must be The footstool of humility. HE DAVID. Christopher Sharp. sang of God, the mighty source Of all things, that stupendous force, On which all strength depends; From whose bright arm, beneath whose eyes, All period, power, and enterprise Commences, reigns, and ends. The world, the clustering spheres he made, The glorious light, the soothing shade, Dale, champaign, grove, and hill; The multitudinous abyss, Where secrecy remains in bliss ; And wisdom hides her skill. THE ADVENT. Campbell. WHEN Jordan hush'd his waters still, When Bethl'hem's shepherds through the night, Hark! from the midnight hills around, A voice of more than mortal sound, Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul. Then swift to every startled eye, New streams of glory light the sky; On wheels of light, on wings of flame, High heav'n with songs of triumph rung O Zion! lift thy raptured eye, The Prince of Salem comes to reign. See, Mercy from her golden urn Pours a rich stream to them that mourn! Behold, she binds with tender care, He comes to cheer the trembling heart, O Zion! lift thy raptured eye, The Prince of Salem comes to reign. MY GRAVE! FAR from the city's ceaseless hum, Lowly and lonely be my grave, Fast by this streamlet's oozing wave, And heaven's fair face reflecting clear! No rank luxuriance from the dead Draw the green turf above my head: But cowslips, here and there, be found, When his course is nearly run, And when the robin's boding song To soothe my shade, at twilight dim! Save bending towards the house of prayer ; Few human sounds disturb the calm, And, view'd with superstitious awe, And think, as o'er my turf they bend, There pause in musing mood, and all |