Power underived and mighty.-' Peace, be still!'

The great waves heard Him, and the storm's loud tone Went moaning into silence at His will:

And the thick clouds, where yet the lightning shone, And slept the latent thunder, rolled away Until no trace of tempest lurked behind, Changing upon the pinions of the wind To stormless wanderers, beautiful and gay.

Dread Ruler of the tempest! Thou, before

Whose presence boweth the uprisen storm-
To whom the waves do homage, round the shore
Of many an island empire!- if the form
Of the frail dust beneath thine eye may claim
Thy infinite regard — oh, breathe upon

The storm and darkness of man's soul, the same
Quiet, and peace, and humbleness, which came
O'er the roused waters, where Thy voice had gone,
A minister of power- -to conquer in Thy name!

THE SAILOR'S FUNERAL.

THE ship's bell tolled! and slowly o'er the deck

THE

Came forth the summoned crew. Bold, hardy men,

Far from their native skies, stood silent there

With melancholy brow. From a low cloud
That o'er the horizon hover'd, came the threat
Of distant muttered thunder. Broken waves

Heaved up their sharp white helmets o'er the expanse
Of ocean, which in brooding stillness lay
Like some vindictive king, who meditates

On hoarded wrongs, or wakes the wrathful war.

The ship's bell tolled! and, lo! a youthful form
Which oft had boldly dared the slippery shrouds
At midnight's watch, was as a burden laid
Down at his comrades' feet. Mournful they gazed
Upon his sunken cheek, and some there were
Who in that bitter hour remembered well

The parting blessing of his hoary sire,

And the big tears that o'er his mother's cheek
Went coursing down, when his beloved voice
Breathed its farewell. But one who nearest stood
To that pale, shrouded corse, remembered more;
Of a white cottage with its shaven lawn,
And blossomed hedge, and of a fair-haired girl
Who, at her lattice veiled with woodbine, watched
His last, far step, and then turned back to weep.
And close that comrade in his faithful breast
Hid a bright chestnut lock, which the dead youth
Had severed with a cold and trembling hand
In life's extremity, and bade him bear,
With broken words of love's last eloquence,
To his blest Mary. Now that chosen friend
Bowed low his sun-bronzed face, and, like a child,
Sobbed in deep sorrow.

But there came a tone, Clear as the breaking moon o'er stormy seas, 'I am the resurrection.' Every heart Suppressed its grief, and every eye was raised. There stood the chaplain — his uncovered brow Unmarked by earthly passion, while his voice, Rich as the balm from plants of Paradise, Poured the Eternal's message o'er the souls Of dying men. It was a holy hour!

There lay the wreck of youthful beauty-here Bent mourning manhood, while supporting Faith Cast her strong anchor 'neath the troubled wave.

There was a plunge! The riven sea complained! Death from his briny bosom took her own. The awful fountains of the deep did lift Their subterranean portals, and he went Down to the floor of ocean, 'mid the beds Of brave and beautiful ones. Yet to my soul, In all the funeral pomp, the guise of woe, The monumental grandeur, with which earth Indulgeth her dead sons, was nought so sad, Sublime, or sorrowful, as the mute sea Opening her mouth to whelm that sailor youth.

NEW ENGLAND'S DEAD.

"I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs none. There she is; behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history. The world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill; and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia; and there they will remain forever."-WEBSTER's Speech.

The land is holy where they fought,

And holy where they fell;

For by their blood that land was bought,
The land they loved so well.
Then glory to that valiant band,
The honored saviors of the land!

Oh, few and weak their numbers were

A handful of brave men;

But to their God they gave their prayer,

And rushed to battle then.

The God of battles heard their cry,

And sent to them the victory.

They left the ploughshare in the mould,
Their flocks and herds without a fold,
The sickle in the unshorn grain,
The corn, half-garnered, on the plain,
And mustered, in their simple dress,
For wrongs to seek a stern redress,

To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe, To perish, or o'ercome their foe.

And where are ye, O fearless men?

And where are ye to-day?

I call the hills reply again

That ye have passed away;

That on old Bunker's lonely height,

In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground, The grass grows green, the harvest bright, Above each soldier's mound.

The bugle's wild and warlike blast
Shall muster them no more;
An army now might thunder past,
And they heed not its roar.

The starry flag, 'neath which they fought
In many a bloody day,

From their old graves shall rouse them not,
For they have passed away.

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

OMEWHAT back from the village street stands the old-fashioned country-seat;

Across its antique portico

Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;
And from its station in the hall
An ancient timepiece says to all,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

Halfway up the stairs it stands,

And points and beckons with its hands,

From its case of massive oak,

Like a monk, who, under his cloak,

Crosses himself, and sighs, alas!

With sorrowful voice to all who pass,

"Forever-never!

- Never-forever!"

By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say at each chamber door,
"Forever never!

Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude

Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,
"Forever never!

Never forever!"

In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality:

His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;

But like the skeleton at the feast,

That warning timepiece never ceased "Forever- never!

Never forever!"

There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed;
Oh, precious hours! oh, golden prime,

And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,

Those hours the ancient timepiece told-
"Forever-never!

Never forever!"

From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;

There, in that silent room below,

The dead lay in his shroud of snow;