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"Redeem mine hours-the space is briefWhile in my glass the sand-grains shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief,

When TIME and thou shalt part for ever!"

CAMPBELL.

THE RAINBOW.

TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,

I ask not proud philosophy

To teach me what thou art.

Still seem as to my childhood's sight
A midway station given,
For happy spirits to alight,

Betwixt the earth and heaven.

Can all that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?

When science from creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,

What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,

Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.

When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign!

And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child,
To bless the bow of God.

Methinks thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang,
On earth deliver'd from the deep,
And the first poet sang.

Nor ever shall the Muse's eye,
Unraptur'd greet thy beam;
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme.

The earth to thee its incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshen'd fields
The snowy mushroom springs.

How glorious is thy girdle cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town,

Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down.

As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem,
As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.

For, faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man.

THE NATIVITY.

WHEN Jordan hush'd his waters still,

And silence slept on Zion hill;

When Bethl'hem's shepherds through the night

Watch'd o'er their flocks by starry light:

Hark! from the midnight hills around,
A voice of more than mortal sound,
In distant hallelujahs stole,

Wild murm'ring o'er the raptur'd soul.

Then swift to every startled eye,
New streams of glory light the sky;
Heav'n bursts her azure gates to pour
Her spirits to the midnight hour.

On wheels of light, on wings of flame,
The glorious hosts of Zion came;

High heav'n with songs of triumph rung
While thus they struck their harps and sung:

O Zion! lift thy raptur'd eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh;
The joys of nature rise again,

The Prince of Salem comes to reign.

See, Mercy from her golden urn

Pours a rich stream to them that mourn!
Behold, she binds, with tender care,
The bleeding bosom of despair!

He comes to cheer the trembling heart,
Bids Satan and his host depart;
Again the Day-star gilds the gloom,
Again the bow'rs of Eden bloom!

O Zion! lift thy raptur'd eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh;
The joys of nature rise again,
The Prince of Salem comes to reign.

EXTRACT FROM THE LAST MAN.

*

"THIS spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recall'd to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robb'd the grave of Victory,-
And took the sting from Death!

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste,

To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man shall taste

Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On earth's sepulchral clod,
The dark'ning universe defy
To quench his immortality,
Or shake his trust in God!"

PROFESSOR WILSON.*

MAGDALENE'S HYMN.

FROM "THE CITY OF THE PLAGUE,”

THE air of death breathes through our souls,
The dead all round us lie;
By day and night the death-bell tolls,
And says, "Prepare to die."

The face that in the morning sun
We thought so wond'rous fair,
Hath faded, ere his course was run,
Beneath its golden hair.

I see the old man in his grave
With thin locks silvery-grey;

I see the child's bright tresses wave
In the cold breath of the clay.

A very beautiful specimen of the serious verse of this distinguished writer is given with the Memoir of the Author of The Sabbath, at page 30th of this volume.

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