SONG OF THE STARS.

"Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar,

In the infinite azure, star after star,

How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass!
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass!
And the path of the gentle winds is seen,
Where the small waves dance, and the young

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woods lean.

"And see, where the brighter day-beams pour,
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower;
And the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues,
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews;
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
With her shadowy cone the night goes round!

"Away, away! in our blossoming bowers,
In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,
See, Love is brooding, and Life is born,
And breathing myriads are breaking from night,
To rejoice like us, in motion and light.

"Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,
To weave the dance that measures the years;
Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent,
To the farthest wall of the firmament,-
The boundless visible smile of Him,

To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim."

HYMN OF THE CITY.

NoT in the solitude

Alone, may man commune with Heaven, or see Only in savage wood

And sunny vale, the present Deity;

Or only hear his voice

Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.

Even here do I behold

Thy steps, Almighty !—here, amidst the crowd
Through the great city rolled,

With everlasting murmur, deep and loud-
Choking the ways that wind

'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind

Thy golden sunshine comes

From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies, And lights their inner homes

For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies, And givest them the stores

Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores.

Thy spirit is around,

Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;

HYMN OF THE CITY.

And this eternal sound

Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng

Like the resounding sea,

Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee.

And when the hours of rest
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,
Hushing its billowy breast-

The quiet of that moment, too, is thine;
It breathes of Him who keeps

The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.
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"NO MAN KNOWETH HIS SEPULCHRE."

WHEN he, who, from the scourge of
Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,
Saw the fair region, promised long,

And bowed him on the hills to die;

wrong,

God made his grave, to men unknown,
Where Moab's rocks a vale infold,
And laid the aged seer alone

To slumber while the world grows old.

Thus still, whene'er the good and just
Close the dim eye on life and pain,
Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust,
Till the pure spirit comes again.

Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
His servant's humble ashes lie,

Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
To call its inmate to the sky.

"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN."

OH, deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenour keep;
The Power who pities man, has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of wo and pain
Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide, an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere,
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,
Though with a pierced and broken heart,
And spurned of men, he goes to die.