Rise, and bless the name of God!
Who amid your hosts hath trod,
Whilst the banner of His love
Did amongst your dwellings, move;
Ye, from terror's empire riven,
Rise, and bless the hand of heaven!
"In his hand are the deep places of the earth: the strength of the hills is his also."-PSALM XCV. 4.
L'AMIE DE L'HUMANITÉ.
I SEE that form, and can I once forget,
Upon that brow the stamp of truth to set?
I see that beaming face, that speaking eye-
That soul of high originality!
I hear that voice whose gentle notes would make
The heart of adamant, to softness, break;
I feel that spirit, whose exalted tone
Can make commingling sympathies her own.
But rather, let me speak it—would she bring
All hearts-as subjects-to their Sovereign King,
And lead them to the cross-and with them there,
Breathe out her soul's desire in fervent prayer.
She sought the drunkard, on his downward road,
And bade him leave the path his steps had trod;
The friendless stranger and the houseless poor
Gathered around her hospitable door,
And, for the sons of Adam in distress,
She poured the oil and wine ordained to bless.
Humanity, her heart's delightful theme!
Benevolence, her day-star's cheering beam!
Religion and her Lord! for these her soul
Now runs its race—and seeks to win the goal.
Here let the muse with home's sweet visions blend,
And there converse with virtue's chosen friend:
She loves the young-the sprightly and the good—
By these her sympathies are understood,-
She mingles in their pastimes, and can bear
In all their cherished joys her liberal share,
She strokes the sportive kitten-and her pet
Lies on her hearth-rug, with his eyes of jet ;-
Poor Cato fondly does thy mistress hold
That heart of thine which never may grow cold:
She guards the humble donkey, on whose breast
The load of life too gravely is imprest,
And she will plead thy council-and will be
A friend at court, to legislate for thee:
"Poor little foal of an oppressed race,
"She loves the languid patience of thy face!"
Nor let us pass unnoticed and unsung
Those loftier themes, to which her powers were strung:
Taste, genius, intellect and science shed
Their playful beams of radiance round her head;
For her the field of nature largely strown
With countless charms-had pleasures of its own;
The wild flower and the coral and the shell,
On these her tutored eye would fondly dwell;-
And more than all-amid the range of mind,
'Twas her's a source of pure delight to find.
She wooed the Muses to her sylvan bower,
And paid them court in love and friendship's hour,
Whilst with the souls sublime, of earth's low bound,
She communed-as on high and holy ground.
Farewell! and may that mantle, dipt in love,
On thee descending from the courts above,-
Around us fall-infold us-and supply
An ample vest of perfect charity-
Farewell! and may the spirit that is thine,
On us-as from the Saviour's presence shine!
"A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast."-PROV. xii. 10.
THE BIRD OF MORNING.
WHO is it that with sweetest melody,
Whilst tones mellifluous, melting, soft and free
Are breathing there.
To heaven they rise!
They greet the skies,
And from this shadowy zone, they reach high paradise.
'Tis music on the gale!
"Tis euphony and grace!
Devotion's form our spirits hail,
And in this hallowed place,
The finger of our God, His workmanship we trace.
Hark! for the notes ascend,
Mysteriously they blend,
Whilst in the soul
We feel, as well we may
Their dulcet harmony,
Their mild control.
A spirit voice is heard,
By no mean impulse stirred,
The airs of Paradise those numbers sing;
'Tis inspiration, all,
When from this nether ball
We wake and rise and soar on thought's adoring wing.
A gift of love is there,
It is the voice of prayer,
pure incense reaches heaven's high throne ;And thou hast learned to raise
Seraphic notes of praise
Which as an offering meet, before His face are gone.
Now dost thou stand confest,
Where myriads of the blest
For ever dwell:
Before that unveiled sight,
In beatific light,
Whilst from those golden harps, Redemption's glories swell.
Yes! thou hast joined the throng,
Thou minstrel loved so long,
Who here on earth,
Didst tune thy trembling lyre
To join each sainted choir,
And give to mortal strains, a new and heavenly birth.
Thou badest the lisping tongue
The Saviour's name prolong,
Whilst infant lips perfected praise divine;
They learned, whilst here below,
His matchless worth to show,
Who bids them evermore, in His own image shine!
"Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery and harp; I myself will awake early."-PSALM lvii. 8.
OH what a curious labourer wast thou,
With industry engraven on thy brow;
'Twas thine from Scripture's rich, exhaustless field
To glean the fruits its golden harvests yield,
And thus with kind indulgence to supply
A banquet of divine philosophy.
'Twas thine to search with observation clear,
Where pearls of truth in liquid light appear,
'Twas thine their choice gradations to divide,
And place their fair perfections side by side
With purity translucent, beaming forth
In brightness, that outshines the gems of earth,
By Heaven's own sun illumin'd, where they shine,
And thus pronounce, "Our Maker is divine."
Methinks I see thee where with generous oil,
The student's lamp illumes thy midnight toil,
Where tomes on tomes in chaste disorder, seem
The loved companions of thy waking dream,
Where large divinity thy spirit fills
And sacred knowledge heavenly dew distils.
Thy aid is lent to cheer us as we climb
The pathway from the elements of time
To yon eternal summit, where afar
Truth's beacon shines-our being's polar star.
How hast thou served posterity! full well
On thy rich legacy shall memory dwell
And thank thee for thy labours, whilst thy mind
Traced that grand alphabet to teach mankind.
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