AN OCCASIONAL HYMN.

Through shades and solitudes profound
The fainting traveller winds his way;

Bewildering meteors glare around,
And tempt his wandering feet astray.

Welcome, thrice welcome, to his eye,
The sudden moon's inspiring light,

When forth she sallies through the sky,
The guardian angel of the night!

Thus mortals, blind and weak, below
Pursue the phantom bliss, in vain;

The world's a wilderness of woe,
And life a pilgrimage of pain!

Till mild Religion, from above,
Descends, a sweet engaging form,

The messenger of heavenly love,
The bow of promise in a storm!

Then guilty passions wing their flight,
Sorrow, remorse, affliction cease;

Religion's yoke is soft and light,
And all her paths are paths of peace.

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 swore

Baptized with her renewing fire,
May we the crown of glory gain;

Rise when the host of Heaven expire,
And reign with God, for ever reign!

"THE JOY OF GRIEF."

— OSSIAN.

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

And the tear of resignation
Twinkles in the mournful eye.

nave you felt the 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, a 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 1

Watch'd the lovely soul retiring
From her eyes that broke on you?

Did not grief then grow romantic,
Raving on remember'd bliss 1

Did you not, with fervour frantic,
Kiss the lips that felt no kiss?

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Yes! but, whea you had resign'd her,
Life and you were reconciled;

Anua 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.

Horror 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 l

No, the tortured nerve will languish,
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 woe 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 for ever fled,

Lives in former times and places,
Holds communion with tho dead.