Ambition, pride, revenge depart,
And folly flies her chastening rod;
She makes the humble, contrite heart
A temple of the living God.

Beyond the narrow vale of time,
Where bright celestial ages roll,
To scenes eternal, scenes sublime,
She points the way, and leads the soul.

At her approach the Grave appears
The Gate of Paradise restored;

Her voice the watching cherub hears,
And drops his double flaming sword.

Baptized with her renewing fire,
May we the crown of glory gain;
Rise when the Host of heaven expire,

And reign with GOD, forever reign.

"THE JOY OF GRIEF."

SWEET the hour of tribulation,
When the heart can freely sigh;

And the tear of resignation

Twinkles in the mournful eye.

Have you felt a kind emotion

Tremble through your troubled breast;

Soft as evening o'er the ocean,

When she charms the waves to rest?

Have you lost a friend, or brother?
Heard a father's parting breath?

Gazed upon a lifeless mother,

Till she seem'd to wake from death?

Have you felt a spouse expiring
In your arms, before your view?
Watch'd the lovely soul retiring
From her eyes, that broke on you?

Did not grief then grow romantick,
Raving on remember'd bliss?
Did you not, with fervour frantick,
Kiss the lips that felt no kiss?

Ossian.

Yes! but, when you had resign'd her, Life and you were reconciled; ANNA left-she left behind her,

One, one dear, one only child.

But before the green moss peeping,
His poor mother's grave array'd,
In that grave, the infant sleeping
On the mother's lap was laid.

Horrour then, your heart congealing, Chill'd you with intense despair; Can you call to mind the feeling ;— No! there was no feeling there!

From that gloomy trance of sorrow,
When you woke to pangs unknown,
How unwelcome was the morrow,
For it rose on YOU ALONE.

Sunk in self-consuming anguish,
Can the poor heart always ache ?
No; the tortured nerve will laħguish,
Or the strings of life must break.

O'er the yielding brow of sadness,
One faint smile of comfort stole;
One soft pang of tender gladness
Exquisitely thrill'd your soul.

While the wounds of wo are healing,
While the heart is all resign'd,
'Tis the solemn feast of feeling,
'Tis the sabbath of the mind.

Pensive Memory then retraces
Scenes of bliss forever fled,
Lives in former times and places,
Holds communion with the dead.

And when night's prophetick slumbers
Rend the veil to mortal eyes,

From their tombs the sainted numbers
Of our lost companions rise.

You have seen a friend, a brother,
Heard a dear, dead father speak;
Proved the fondness of a mother,

Felt her tears upon your cheek!

Dreams of love your grief beguiling,
You have lasp'd a consort's charms,
And received your infant smiling
From his mother's sacred arms.

Trembling, pale, and agonizing,

While you mourn'd the vision gone,

Bright the morning star arising

Open'd Heaven, from whence it shone.

Thither all your wishes bending,

Rose in ecstacy sublime,

Thither all your hopes ascending
Triumph'd over death and time.

Thus afflicted, bruised, and broken,
Have you known such sweet relief?
Yes, my friend! and by this token,
You have felt, "THE JOY OF GRIEF."

THE BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA.

At Thebes, in ancient Egypt, was erected a statue of Memnon, with a harp in his hand, which is said to have hailed with delightful musick, the rising sun, and in melancholy tones to have mourned his departure. The introduction of this celebrated Lyre, on a modern occasion, will be censured as an anachronism by those only who think that its chords have been touched unskilfully.

HARP of Memnon! sweetly strung

To the musick of the spheres: While the HERO's dirge is sung, Breathe enchantment to our ears.