THE PENITENT'S RETURN.

MRS. HEMANS.

My father's house once more,

In its own moonlight beauty! Yet around,
Something, amidst the dewy calm profound,
Broods, never mark'd before!

Is it the brooding night?

Is it the shivery creeping on the air,
That makes the home, so tranquil and so fair,
O'erwhelming to my sight!

All solemnized it seems,

And still'd, and darken'd in each time-worn hue,
Since the rich clustering roses met my view,
As now, by starry gleams.

And this high elm, where last

I stood and linger'd-where my sisters made
Our mother's bower-I deem'd not that it cast
So far and dark a shade!

How spirit-like a tone
Sighs through yon tree! My father's place was

there

At evening-hours, while soft winds waved his hair!
Now those gray locks are gone!

My soul grows faint with fear!
Even as if angel-steps had mark'd the sod.
I tremble where I move-the voice of God
Is in the foliage here!

SACRED HARMONY.

Is it indeed the night

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That makes my home so awful? Faithless-hearted!
Tis that from thine own bosom hath departed,
The inborn gladdening light!

No outward thing is changed;
Only the joy of purity is fled,

And, long from Nature's melodies estranged,
Thou hear'st their tones with dread.

Therefore, the calm abode

By thy dark spirit is o'erhung with shade,
And, therefore, in the leaves, the voice of God
Makes thy sick heart afraid!

The night-flowers round that door,

Stil breathe pure fragrance on the untainted air;
Thou, thou alone, art worthy now no more
To pass, and rest thee there!

And must I turn away?

-Hark, hark!-it is my mother's voice I hear, Sadder than once it seem'd-yet soft and clearDoth she not seem to pray?

My name!-I caught the sound!

Oh! blessed tone of love-the deep, the mildMother, my mother! Now receive thy child, Take back the Lost and Found!

From stern Necessity call grace

Call order from the dreams of ChanceBid your material god replace

The heavenly fountain we advance: The seasons would return no more,

The erring planets lose their track, Confusion stalk from shore to shore, And ruin shout to chaos back!

Can knowledge, then, oppress the brain,
O'erload the reason's glorious might;
Imagination's wing restrain,

And blind our intellectual sight?-
No: the rivers of the world combined
Have never filled the boundless sea;
And what is ocean to the mind?
Like time unto eternity!

Not knowledge hath debased the sense,
But vice-that, even in our youth,

THE CLIFT OF THE ROCK.
ANON.

Ar Horeb's foot the man of God delay'd,
And to behold Jehovah's glory pray'd;
The ancient prophet in his ardent faith
Knew not, while clothed in flesh,the sight was death,
For one, until this mortal coil's unroll'd,
Living those glorious features can behold.
But God in mercy grants not every claim,
He knows our weakness, thinks upon our frame,
And whilst He manifests His love and grace,
Hides the consuming splendour of His face.
Thus unto Moses did the Lord declare,
"A fitting shelter is behind thee there,
Climb half-way up the rock and take thy stand,
Then will I take thee gently in my hand,
I'll place thee in a narrow clift that's nigh
And cover thee the while I'm passing by

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