PRAISE AND GRATITUDE ON JEHOVAH'S

DAY.

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King of the world! I worship thee;

Lord of the mind! the Sabbath 's thine :-
A contrite heart, a bended knee,

To-day shall be my corn, my wine.
A choral song for sacrifice

Will mount as fire, and heavenward own
The green-leaved earth, through joys and sighs,

A satellite round Mercy's throne.
The moon comes up to wake the dew,

And hang a star on every leaf;
The sun can take a rainbow hue,

To kiss away the meadow's grief;
The wave will lay its buoyance by,

To let the cloud take anchor there;
Earth, through her flowers, salutes the sky;

The sky meets earth in balmy air.
And I was born to see and say

How beauty beams, without, within:
From the fly, made to gild a day,

To my own soul, outliving sin.
Even now I feel thy cherubim

Have come to me from thee, All-wise !
Then, Silence, thou shalt be my hymn,

And thought, my only sacrifice.

THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF.

There is a tongue in every leaf,

A voice in every rill !
A voice that speaketh everywhere,
In flood and fire, through earth and air;

A tongue that's never still!
'T is the great spirit, wide diffused

Through everything we see,
That with our spirits communeth
Of things mysterious—Life, and Death-

Time--and Eternity!
I see him in the blazing sun,

And in the thunder cloud;
I hear him in the mighty roar
That rusheth through the forest hoar,

When winds are piping loud.
I see him, hear him, everywhere,

In all things-darkness, light,
Silence, and sound; but most of all,
When slumber's dusky curtains fall

At the dead hour of night.

I feel him in the silent dews,

By grateful Earth betray'd;
I feel him in the gentle showers,
The soft south wind, the breath of flowers,

The sunshine, and the shade,

And yet--ungrateful that I am !

I've turned in sullen mood From all these things, whereof he said, When the great whole was finished, That they were

very good." My sadness on the loveliest things

Fell like unwholesome dew;
The darkness that encompassid me,
The gloom I felt so palpably,

Mine own dark spirit threw.

Yet he was patient, slow to wrath,

Though every day provoked By selfish, pining discontent, Acceptance cold or negligent,

And promises revoked.
And still the same rich feast was spread

For my insensate heart-
Not always so—I woke again,
To join Creation's rapturous strain,

"O Lord! how good thou art !”

The clouds drew up, the shadows filed,

The glorious sun broke out; And love, and hope, and gratitude Dispellid that miserable mood

Of darkness and of doubt.

THE GENIUS OF DEATH.

What is Death ? 'Tis to be free!

No more to love, or hope, or fearTo join the great equality : All alike are humble there!

The mighty grave

Wraps lord and slave;
Nor pride, nor poverty dares come
Within that refuge-house, the tomb!

Spirit with the drooping wing,
And the ever

rer-weeping eye,
Thou of all earth's kings art king!
Empires at thy footstool lie !

Beneath thee strow'd

Their multitude Sink, like waves upon the shore; Storms shall never rouse them more!

What's the grandeur of the earth

To the grandeur round thy throne !
Riches, glory, beauty, birth,
To thy kingdom all have gone.

Before thee stand

The wondrous bandBards, heroes, sages, side by side, Who darken'd nations when they died !

Earth has hosts; but thou canst show

Many a million for her one;

Through thy gates the mortal flow
Has for countless years rollid on:

Back from the tomb

No step has come;
There fix'd, till the last thunder's sound
Shall bid thy prisoners be unbound !

“EVERY PLANT WHICH MY HEAVENLY

FATHER HATH NOT PLANTED, SHALL BE ROOTED UP."

Swift the tempest strips the wood,
Swift the sun dries up the flood;
Trophied domes and aisles decay,
Tribes and empires melt away,
Like the wreath of mountain snow,
When summer's breeze begins to blow.
Error, like the flimsy sail
Rent by every passing gale,
Floats her moment on the stream,
Glitters in the morning beam,
Dares the breath of heaven to brave,
And founders in the foaming wave.
Even the little garden flower,
Once the joy of all the bower,
Fondly watch'd from day to day,
From its stem is swept away;
Yester morn, what bower so bright?
But, ah! how desolate to-night!