Alike praise Thee. The snow-flakes, as they fall,
Silvering the pines' dark grove;

E'en the small titmouse, 'neath the sheltering eaves,-
All things, speak of Thy love.

The whole wide earth is one glad song of praise,
The flowers bloom in the vale

But for Thy glory, and for Thee the birds
Sing through the forest dale.

Why, then, O man, dost thou alone sleep on
In thankless apathy?

Wake from thy slumber, rise, and praise thy God
With joyful melody.

Praise Him when the shrill herald of the dawn
Proclaims the morning light,

And when, upon the hills, eve's rosy tints
Are deepening into night.

Praise Him when solemn Night, with her dark robe,
The sleeping earth enshrouds,

And when the radiant stars beam, silver-bright,
Athwart the rifted clouds.

For thee the young Spring crowns the earth with flowers,
And the sun's fostering beam

Ripens the grape, whose bright juice cheers thy heart
With generous flowing stream.

The rustling grove and murmuring streamlet speak Peace to thy troubled breast,

And choirs of birds pour forth their sweetest lays, To sing thy soul to rest.

Sing, then, thy Maker's praise, and honour him
By virtuous deeds, which rise

More precious in His sight than incense clouds
Upwreathing to the skies.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

HUSH! not so loudly here pour forth thy sad
And love-lorn tale,

As 'mid the scented apple-bloom thou sitt'st,
Sweet Nightingale.

For thou hast waked love's pangs again with thy
Sweet warbling throat,

As through my heart, in quick response, doth thrill Each melting note.

And sleep again deserts my weary couch;
With tear-dimmed eye,

And pale, wan cheek, once more I gaze upon
The midnight sky.

Fly then, sweet bird, fly to the leafy shade.
Of forest dale,

And, in thy nest, sing to thine own true love,
Sweet Nightingale.

THE EARLY GRAVES.

Он, welcome, thou silvery moon,

Lovely, silent companion of night.

Fleest thou already? Stay, sweet friend of thought. Ah! see, she stays-'twas but the clouds in flight.

There is nought but the wakening morn That can vie with the soft summer night, When, shaking dewdrops from his sunny locks, He climbs the distant hills with purpling light.

The dark mosses creep o'er the stone

Where ye, my beloved ones, are laid;
How blest was I when erst with you I watched
Morn's rosy tints and evening's gathering shade.

CONFIRMATION HYMN.

FROM THE GERMAN.

LORD, 'midst Thy congregation,

Thy children, pledged to Thee, Renew their solemn promise,

Thine evermore to be.

Yea, Father, they have pledged them

Thine evermore to be,

And, 'midst Thy congregation,

Joyful they worship Thee.

Low at Thy footstool kneeling,
They pray for strength's increase,
To tread, through life, the pathways
That lead to joy and peace.
Oh, may their footsteps ever

Be led to joy and peace;
Grant them Thy Spirit, Father,

And give their strength increase.