Anon a gleam of peace shot through his soul,
And he was calm; but soon more solemn thoughts,
Like thunder-laden clouds, enshroud his mind,
And troubled looks denote no love of God.
The minstrel now is call'd—a fair-hair'd boy,
Who oft had soothed, by his entrancing notes,
The soul of mighty Saul. A noble boy

In look and mien, whom God had early bless'd,
And brought from Bethlem's plains, a shepherd-boy,
To reign, the future king of Israel.

At bidding of proud Saul he struck his harp,
And sung with joy of God's unceasing love,
Who saved him from the bear and lion's paw,
And from the spear of giant Philistine;
Who victory to Israel gave, and sent
Confusion and defeat on all her foes.

He sang of Judah's bondage, and the way
God led them through the desert's pathless waste,-
Of Egypt's plagues, and sad discomfiture.

But deep and louder grew the thrilling strain, When of the patriarchal chief he sang, whence should arise

The promised Lord of glory,-Sion's King,-
The King of kings,-Most High,-Omnipotent,-
The Lord of all, and yet the Son of Man.
Saul heard entranced, till mention of a king
Stirr'd in his soul most hideous jealousy.

The prophet's words, "God hath rejected thee,
And hath thy kingdom to thy neighbour given,"
Rose like some dismal spectre on his sight.
The plaudits of the crowd, "Saul hath thousands
But David tens of thousands nobly slain,"
Inflamed his mind with horrible revenge.
He saw the words inscribed on every side,
And heard the acclamations loud arise,
Re-echoed by innumerable crowds.

His wild imagination figures up

A regal throne, on which the youth is placed,
The shepherd-boy transform'd a lordly king!
Upon his fair and sunny brow a crown
Is set, refulgent with the brightest gems;
Thousands in his presence wait obsequious,
And tens of thousands cry, exulting,
"King David, live for ever!" Starting up,
Alarm'd, incensed, and full of deadly hate,
The jealous Saul a javelin seized and flung,
With murd'rous aim, at God's anointed one;
But mercy interposed, and turn'd its point
'Gainst the insensate wall. The youth escaped
Like bird from fowler's snare, uninjured but amazed,
And praising God Most High, while Saul alone
Stood, stung with disappointment and despair.

TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY.

THE morning of nature shall teach me to sing, And the life-giving breezes that wait on the spring, While, bursting to verdure, and hasting to bloom, They bear us from winter and turn us from gloom.

O learn from the season a lesson of truth, While now in the morning and spring-time of youth,

Let the life-giving breeze be received in your soul, And your heart shall expand and your graces unroll.

And think on the mercy who taught you to trace In the Founder of nature the Giver of grace; That the beams of His goodness on you should arise

Who planted the hills and extended the skies.

Let the bloom of your spring-time his sacrifice be, Who has shown you these favours so great and so free;

Let the round of your seasons be spent in his praise, And your feet be delighted to walk in his ways.

But the spring has its blight, and the summer its

storm,

And the sweet fruit of autumn hides ofttimes a

worm,

And the keen frost of winter makes leafless the bough That was blushing with sweetness and beauty but

now.

Yet the gardener can shield from the blight and the storm,

And he too can rescue the fruit from the worm, And the amaranth fears not the winter's keen frost, But lives when the summer-tree's leaves are all

lost.

Then learn from the season a lesson of truth— While now in the morning and spring-time of

youth,

Let the Saviour protect from the blight of the

spring,

Let him hide from the storm when the summerbirds sing.

No worm of the autumn your fruit shall consume, But blossoms and fruit yield a charming perfume; And winter shall find you an amaranth bright, And Jesus transplant to the kingdom of light.

ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER.

James Grahame,

AUTHOR OF "THE SABBATH."

DEAR to my soul ! ah, early lost :
Affection's arm was weak to save;

Now Friendship's pride, and Virtue's boast,
Have come to an untimely grave.

Closed, ever closed those speaking eyes,

Where sweetness beam'd, where candour shone;

And silent that heart-thrilling voice,

Which Music loved, and call'd her own.

That gentle bosom now is cold,

Where Feeling's vestal splendours glow'd;
And crumbling down to common mould,
That heart where Love and Truth abode.

Yet I behold the smile unfeign'd,

Which doubt dispell'd and kindness won; Yet the soft diffidence, that gain'd

The triumph it appear'd to shun.