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Thy life runs on-and while it runs,
Vainly to know him dost thou try:
That is a bliss for realms on high,
When thou shalt breathe diviner air,
And drink of heaven's felicity;

For knowledge knows no boundary there.
O! if joy be here thy doom

Give it anchorage above;

If thy path be dark with gloom

Steal a ray from heavenly love.
Source of joy!-my friend!-my father!

In thy presence let me be,-
Here the flower of virtue gather,

Blooming for eternity.

ABEL'S SACRIFICIAL ADDRESS.

Who made us,

BY BRYON.

OH, God!

and who breathed the breath of life Within our nostrils, who hath blessed us,

And spared, despite our father's sin, to make
His children all lost, as they might have been,
Had not thy justice been so tempered with
The mercy which is thy delight, as to
Accord a pardon like a paradise,

Compared with our great crimes:-Sole Lord of light!

Of good, and glory, and eternity;

Without whom all were evil, and with whom
Nothing can err, except to some good end
Of thine omnipotent benevolence-
Inscrutable, but still to be fulfilled-

Accept from out thy humble first of shepherd's
First of the first-born flocks-an offering,
In itself nothing-as what offering can be
Aught unto thee?-but yet accept it for
The thanksgiving of Him who spreads it in
The face of thy heaven, bowing his own
Even to the dust, of which he is, in honour
Of Thee, and of Thy name, for evermore!

HYMN

OF THE DAUGHTERS OF JERUSALEM.

BY MILMAN.

KING of Kings! and Lord of Lords!
Thus we more our sad steps timing
To our cymbals' faintest chiming,
Where thy house its rest accords.
Chased and wounded birds are we;
Through the dark air fled to thee;
To the shadow of thy wing,
Lord of Lords! and King of Kings!

H

Behold, oh Lord! the Heathen tread
The branches of thy fruitful vine,
That its luxurious branches spread
O'er all the hills of Palestine.

And now the wild boar comes to waste
Even us, the greenest boughs and last,
That drinking of thy choicest dew,
On Zion's hill in beauty grew.

No! by the marvels of thine hand,
Thou still wilt save thy chosen land!
By all thine ancient mercies shown
By all our father's foes o'erthrown;
By the Egyptian car-borne host,
Scattered on the Read Sea coast;
By that wide and bloodless slaughter
Underneath the drowning water.
Like us in utter helplessness,
In their last and worst distress-
On the sand and sea-weed lying,
Israel poured her doleful sighing;
While before the deep sea flowed,
And behind fierce Egypt rode-
To their fathers' God they prayed,
To the Lord of Hosts for aid.

On the margin of the flood

With lifted rod the Prophet stood;
And the summoned east wind blew,

And aside it sternly threw

The gathered waves, that took their stand,

Like crystal rocks, on either hand,

Or walls of sea-green marble piled
Round some irregular city wild.

Then the light of morning lay
On the wonder-paved way,
Where the treasures of the deep
In their caves of coral sleep.
The profound abysses, where
Was never sound from upper air,
Rang with Israel's chanted words,
King of Kings! and Lord of Lords!
Then with bow and banner glancing,
On exulting Egypt came,

With her chosen horsemen prancing,
And her cars on wheels of flame,

In a rich and boastful ring

All around her furious king.

But the Lord from out his cloud,

The Lord looked down upon the proud;

And the host drove heavily

Down the deep bosom of the sea.

With a quick and sudden swell

Prone the liquid ramparts fell;
Over horse, and over car,
Over every man of war,

Over Pharaoh's crown of gold,

The loud thundering billows rolled.

As the level waters spread

Down they sunk, they sunk like ead,

Down without a cry or groan.

And the morning sun that shone

On myriads of bright-armed men,

Its meridian radiance then

Cast on a wide sea, heaving, as of yore,
Agains; a silent, solitary shore.

Then did Israel's maidens sing,

Then did Israel's timbrels ring,

To him, the King of Kings! that in the sea,
The Lord of Lords! had triumphed gloriously.
And our timbrels' flashing chords,
King of Kings! and Lord of Lords!
Shall they not attuned be
Once again to victory?
Lo! a glorious triumph now;

Lo! against thy people come
A mightier Pharaoh! wilt not thou

Craze the chariot wheels of Rome?
Will not like the Red Sea wave
Thy stern anger overthrow?
And from worse than bondage save,
From sadder than Egyptian wo,
Those whose silver cymbals glance,
Those who lead the suppliant dance,
Thy race, the only race that sings
"Lord of Lords! and King of Kings!"

In this wide world the fondest and the best
Are the most tried, most troubled, and distress'd.

Crabb.

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