THAT YE, THROUGH HIS POVERTY, MIGHT BE RICH."

Low in the dim and sultry west
Is the fierce sun of Syria's sky;
The evening's grateful hour of rest,
Its hour of feast and joy, is nigh.

But he, with thirst and hunger spent,
Lone, by the wayside faintly sinks;
A lowly hand the cup hath lent,

And from the humble well he drinks.

The gloom of twilight gathers fast, And o'er the waters drearily

Sweeps the bleak evening blast.

The weary bird hath left the air,
And sunk into his shelter'd rest;

The wandering beast hath sought his lair,
And laid him down to welcome rest.

Still, near the lake, with weary tread,
Lingers a form of human kind;
And, from his lone, unshelter'd head,
Flows the chill night-damp on the wind.

Why seeks not he a home of rest?

Why seeks not he the pillow'd bed?

Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest;—
He hath not where to lay his head!

Such was the lot he freely chose,

To bless, to save the human race;
And through his poverty there flows
A rich, full stream of heavenly grace.

DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN.

THOU art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee;

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb, The Savior has pass'd through its portals before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave,- -we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to infold thee, And sinners may hope, since the sinless has died.

Thou art gone to the grave,—and its mansion forsaking,

Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt linger'd long; But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on thy waking,

And the song which thou heardst was the seraph

im's song.

Thou art gone to the grave,-but 't were wrong to deplore thee,

When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy

guide;

He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee, Where death hath no sting, since the Savior hath died.

THE THUNDER-STORM.

Ir thunders! sons of dust, in reverence bow!
Ancient of Days! thou speakest from above!
Thy right hand wields the bolt of terror now;
That hand which scatters peace, and joy, and love.
Almighty! trembling like a timid child,

I hear thy awful voice-alarm'd—afraid—
I see the flashings of thy lightning wild,
And in the very grave would hide my head.

Lord! what is man? up to the sun he flies-
Or feebly wanders through earth's vale of dust:
There is he lost 'midst heaven's high mysteries,
And here in error and in darkness lost.

Beneath the storm-clouds, on life's raging sea,
Like a poor sailor-by the tempest toss'd

In a frail bark—the sport of destiny,

He sleeps and dashes on the rocky coast.

Thou breathest; and the obedient storm is still :
Thou speakest; silent the submissive wave:
Man's shatter'd ship the rushing waters fill,
And the hush'd billows roll across his grave.

Sourceless and endless God! compared with Thee, Life is a shadowy momentary dream ;

And time, when view'd through Thy eternity, Less than the mote of morning's golden beam.

THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT SINAI.

I SEEK the mountain cleft: alone

I seem in this sequester'd place :—
Not so I meet, unseen, yet known,
My Maker, face to face.

My heart perceives his presence nigh,
And hears his voice proclaim,
While bright his glory passes by,
His noblest name.

LOVE is that name-for "God is Love."
Here, where, unbuilt by mortal hands—
Mountains below, and heaven above-
His awful temple stands,

I worship.-Lord, though I am dust
And ashes in thy sight,

Be thou my strength;-in thee I trust,-
Be thou my light.

Hither, of old, the Almighty came:

Clouds were his car, his steeds the wind; Before him went devouring flame,

And thunder roll'd behind.

At his approach the mountains reel'd,
Like vessels, to and fro;

Earth, heaving like a sea, reveal'd
The gulfs below.

Borne through the wilderness in wrath,
He seem'd, in power alone, a God:
But blessings follow'd in his path,
For Mercy seized his rod.

He smote the rock, and, as he pass'd,
Forth gush'd a living stream;
The fire, the earthquake, and the blast,
Fled as a dream.

ETERNAL UNION OF FRIENDS.

If high that world, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving Love endears;
If there the cherish'd heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tears—
How welcome those untrodden spheres!
How sweet this very hour to die!
To soar from earth and find all fears
Lost in thy light-Eternity!

It must be so: 't is not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs.