THE INDIAN FIRE-FLY.

WHEN first bold Gama's venturous band
Approached far India's coral strand,
They viewed, at eve, the sea-girt shore,
With brightest gems bespangled o'er :
Where'er they turn the gazing eye,
On peopled land, on cloudless sky,
The moving wonder still pursues,
And still their wonderment renews :
Not fairy tale, or magic sight,

Can match the splendour of that light,
With which, eclipsed and bright, by turns,
The meteor-fly instinctive burns.

Philosophy must deign to pause
Ere she disown the primal Cause,
Jehovah's glory thus displayed
Even amidst night's dunnest shade:
Let all her dreams unfold the plan,
Which last created wondrous man,
And as a curtain spread the sky,
"Arrayed in glory bright" on high:
Then, that no spot might not contain
A token of his boundless reign,

Wherever reason should survive,

Willed that this beauteous fly should live.

Perhaps too (who shall ever tell?)
The choral hymn of praise to swell,
Almighty power this fly designed
For rapturous bliss, as erst mankind:
And thus this glittering, living gem
But speaks the endless love of Him,
When bounding in its eastern pride,
Joying in life at even-tide:
Creation's voice attesting loud
The praise of vast creation's God,
Who bade the Indian fire-fly shine,
And idols own the hand Divine.

THE SAILOR'S EVENING PRAYER.

LONG the sun hath gone to rest,
Dimmed is now the deepening west;

And the sky hath lost the hue
That the rich clouds o'er it threw :
Lonely on the pale-blue sky
Gleam faint streaks of crimson dye,
Gloriously the evening star
Looks upon us from afar;

Aid us, o'er the changeful deep,
God of Power;

Bless the sailor's ocean-sleep
At midnight's hour.

On the stilly twilight air

We would breathe our solemn prayer,

"Bless the dear ones of our home, Guide us through the wild waves' foam, To the light of those dear eyes,

Where our hearts' best treasure lies,
To the love in one fond breast,

That unchanging home of rest!

Hear her, when at even-tide

She kneels to pray,

That God would bless, defend, and guide, Those far away!"

Now the moon hath touched the sea,

And the waves, all tremblingly,

Throw towards heaven their silvery spray,

Happy in the gladdening ray :

Thus, Redeemer, let thy love

Shine upon us from above;

Touched by Thee, our hearts will rise,

Grateful towards the glowing skies;

Guard us, shield us, mighty Lord,
Thou dost not sleep;

Still the tempest with thy word,—
Rule the deep!

PARAPHRASE OF PSALM LXXX.

THE vine of the incarnate Word
Was planted by the mighty Lord
Near Jordan's sacred streams:
'Twas nurtured in a lowly bed,
By dews from heaven watered,

And warmed by vernal beams.

'Twas pruned and fenced around with care, Guarded from blight-infected air,

And from the noxious worm:

The briers and thorns that filled the land
Were weeded out with powerful hand,
To aid the rising germ.

It spread a wide-extended root,
And upward struck a healthful shoot,
Which cast its branches round:
Her boughs to distant ocean strayed,
And mighty streams beneath her shade
Watered the thirsty ground.

Why hast Thou laid her hedges low,
That in may rush the forest foe
To revel o'er her root?

Why wilt Thou let the passer-by
Stretch forth with bold impiety,

To pluck her clustering fruit?

Let not wild beasts nor herding swine
Uproot, O God! the precious vine,

Which here thy hand hath sown:

That branch which Thou hast made so strong,
For Christ's sake, let it flourish long,

And be proclaimed thine own.

From heaven, O God! thy resting-place,
Shed forth, we pray, thy wonted grace,
And cause thy face to shine;

When in unholy union joined,
Zealot and Infidel combined,

Threaten thy cultured vine.

Thou showest, in thy sacred word,
That they shall be thy branches, Lord,
Who still abide in Thee;

To whom but Thee, Lord! can we go,
Who hast declared, no powers below
Shall blight thy hallowed tree?

THE SABBATH.

Lo! smiling like an angel from the sky,

The Sabbath-morning comes to bless mankind: Before her face earth's meaner pleasures fly,

And groveling cares. Th' emancipated mind Now feels its freedom, casts the world behind,

And with glad welcome hails the happy train That wait upon her steps. There Rest, reclined

On Peace, advancing, cheers the toil-worn swain; Devotion moves with meek and solemn mien,

By Contemplation wrapt in holy trance:
Hope, led by Truth, regardless of the vain

And transient joys of life, with forward glance,
Beholds, while Faith directs her raptured eye,
Th' unbroken Sabbath of Eternity.

THE PASSING BELL.

STOP, Oh! Stop the Passing Bell!

Painfully, too painfully,

It strikes against the heart, that knell;
I cannot bear its tones-they tell

Of misery, of misery!

All that soothed and sweetened life

In the mother and the wife

All that would a charm have cast
O'er the future as the past-
All is torturing in that knell!
Stop, oh! stop the passing bell.

Stop it! no-but change the tone,
And joyfully, ay, joyfully,
Let the altered chimes ring on,
For the spirit that hath flown,
Exultingly, exultingly!

She hath left her couch of pain;

She shall never feel again

But as angels feel-afar,

Climbed beyond the morning star,

Agony and death unknown!
Let the joyful chimes ring on,

AGAINST WANDERING THOUGHTS ON THR

SABBATH-DAY.

Он, why should the thought of a world that is flying
Encumber the pleasure of seasons like these!

Or why should the Sabbath be sullied with sighing,
While faith the bright things of eternity sees !