The sun himself, with weary clouds oppress'd, But fixed, O God, for ever stands thy throne; Th' eternal fire that feeds each vital flame, He dwells within his own unfathom'd essence, But oh! our highest notes the theme debase, "AS THY DAY, SO SHALL THY SIGOURNEY. WHEN adverse winds and waves arise, l'hat "as my day, my strength shall be." 98 The sun himself, with weary clouds oppress'd, Shall in his silent, dark pavilion rest; His golden urn shall, broke and useless, lie Amidst the common ruins of the sky! The stars rush headlong in the wild commotion, And bathe their glitt'ring foreheads in the ocean. But fixed, O God, for ever stands thy throne; Jehovah reigns, a universe alone; Th' eternal fire that feeds each vital flame, Collected or diffus'd, is still the same. He dwells within his own unfathom'd essence, And fills all space with his unbounded presence. But oh! our highest notes the theme debase, And silence is our least injurious praise. Cease, cease your songs, the daring flight contre, Revere him in the stillness of the soul; With silent duty meekly bend before him, And deep within your inmost hearts adore him. When with sad fo 'Mid smitten joys, One trial more mu DEDIC O THOU, to whor Not now, on Zion The favoured w The grateful son In this thy house, For social worsh THERE were sounds of mirth and joyousness And there was many a merry laugh, And the glass was freely passed around, A voice arose in that place of mirth, I have no fear-I have no fear- And he wars but with his breath. Cheer, comrades, cheer! We drink to Life, And we do not fear to die!" Just then a rushing sound was heard, As of spirits sweeping by; And presently the latch flew up, And the door flew open wide; And a stranger strode within the hall, He spoke: "I join in your revelry, Bold sons of the Bacchan rite; And I drink the toast you have drunk before, And he wars but with his breath. He's a noble soul, that champion knight, O, he'll pass the gates of Paradise, A muttered curse, and a vengeful oath-- He struck-and the stranger's guise fell off, A grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing, And they struggled awhile, till the stranger blew And the Bacchanal fell at the phantom's feet, TWILIGHT. HALLECK. THERE is an evening twilight of the heart, We gaze upon them as they melt away, In youth, the cheek was crimson'd with her glow; Her smile was loveliest then; her matin-song Was heaven's own music, and the note of woe Was all unheard her sunny bowers among. Life's little world of bliss was newly born; We knew not, cared not, it was born to die. Flush'd with the cool breeze and the dews of morn, With dancing heart we gazed on the pure sky, And mock'd the passing clouds that dimm'd its blue, Like our own sorrows then-as fleeting and as few. And manhood felt her sway too,--on the eye, Half realized, her earthly dreams burst bright, Her promised bower of happiness seem'd nigh, Its days of joy, its vigils of delight; And though at times might lour the thunder-storm, And the red lightnings threaten, still the air Was balmy with her breath, and her loved form, The rainbow of the heart was hovering there. |