EXTRACT. THE soul is better than its frame, The spirit than its temple. What's the brow, Or colour, but the beautiful links that chain A talisman in intellect, which yields Touches it cunningly. It sleeps beneath But when the lip is faded, and the cheek Is robbed of its rich bloom; and when the form Delights the eye no more, and human love Falters in its idolatry, this charm will hold Its strength unbroken, and go on Stealing anew the affections. RELIANCE ON GOD'S PROMISES. "As thy day, so shall thy strength be." WHEN adverse winds and waves arise, That "as my day, my strength shall be." When with sad footsteps memory roves Still to thy promise, Lord, I flee, That," as my day, my strength shall be." One trial more must yet be passed, One pang-the keenest and the last; And when, with brow convulsed and pale, Redeemer, grant my soul to see, That "as her day, her strength shall be." L. H. SIGOURNEY. HYMN TO THE STARS. Ay, there ye shine, and there have shone, Each rolling burningly, alone, Through boundless space and countless time. Ay, there ye shine! the golden dews That pave the realms by seraphs trod, There, through yon echoing vault diffuse The song of choral worlds to God. Ye visible spirits! bright as erst Young Eden's birthnight saw ye shine Gold frets to dust-yet there ye are ; Time rots the diamond-there ye roll In primal light, as if each star Enshrined an everlasting soul! And does it not-since your bright throngs Could man but see what ye have seen, From all that is, to what has been, The glance how rich! the range how vast! The birth of time, the rise, the fall Of empires, myriads, ages flown; Thrones, cities, tongues, arts, worships-all The things whose echoes are not gone. Ye saw rapt Zoroaster send His soul into your mystic reign; Ye saw the adoring Sabian bend The living hills his mighty fane! Beneath his blue and beaming sky, He worshipped at your lofty shrine, And deemed he saw, with gifted eye, The Godhead in his works divine. And there ye shine, as if to mock The children of a mortal sire. The storm, the bolt, the earthquake's shock, Drought, famine, plague, and blood, and flame, Ay, there ye roll-emblems sublime That more divides the soul and sod, Yon burning blazonry of God! |