For the sunless cave was the Martyr's home, And the thousand lights of the starry dome When the clang of the conflict rung on the heath, And the watchword of freedom rose, Like the tones of heaven, on the saint's last breath, Far, far o'er the battle-notes of death, As he soar'd to his last repose! The vision pass'd; but the home is mine, On the rocky altars and mossy shrine, Where the weeds and flowers of the desert twine Round the Martyr's bed of rest. The lover of freedom can never forget His sires Each name, that on Scotia's moorlands met ; like a seal on the heart, is set, The pride of his father-land! ANGELIC MINISTRY. Spenser. AND is there care in heaven? and is there love To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe. How oft do they their silver bowers leave, They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, O why should heavenly God to men have such regard. HYMN TO SUNSET. CALM, pensive, prayer-inspiring hour, Thy breath is balm from primrose dale, And voice and breath fall sweet when blended in the gale. Thy sigh the breeze, whose whispers stray As if its glance would paint Heaven's glories on O be it mine to walk with thee! On dewy footstep through the vale, When the long shadow marks the lea Where willows droop their foliage pale, And o'er the stream white clouds on noiseless pinions sail. Soul-touching hour! about me fold Thy shadowy mantle; let thy blue, Pale vestment, with its weft of gold, From dewy fringe dim-shining through, Be o'er me cast, and bathe my spirit in its hue. And take me by the hand, where'er To bid the bird's green haunts farewell, And lead me to the mountain crest, Gray sentinel of land and sea, Where thy last beam delights to rest, Where thy last look is sure to be, And I will sit and weave a poet's wreath for thee. Sweet hour! thy voice, thy breath of balm, Thy sigh of breeze, thy smile of light, Thy waving robe, have each a charm That wings my spirit on its flight To him who bade thee be—so beautiful and bright. VALIANT FOR THE TRUTH. J. Montgomery. FIGHT the good fight;-lay hold Upon eternal life; Keep but thy shield, be bold, Stand through the hottest strife; Invincible while in the field, Thou canst not fail,-unless thou yield. No force of earth or hell, Though fiends with men unite, Truth's champion can compel, However press'd, to flight; Invincible upon the field, He must prevail,—unless he yield. Apollyon's arm may shower Darts thick as hail, and hide Heaven's face, as in the hour When Christ on Calvary died; No powers of darkness, in the field, Can tread thee down,-unless thou yield. |