SONG OF THE STARS. WHEN the radiant morn of creation broke, And orbs of beauty, and spheres of flame, And this was the song the bright ones sung : "Away, away! through the wide, wide sky,The fair blue fields that before us lie, Each sun, with the worlds that round us roll, "For the Source of glory uncovers his face, "Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar, In the infinite azure, star after star, How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass! How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass! And the path of the gentle winds is seen, Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean. "And see where the brighter day-beams pour, "Away, away!-in our blossoming bowers, "Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, To the veil of whose brow our lamps are dim." -THAT YE, THROUGH HIS POVERTY, MIGHT BE RICH." Low in the dim and sultry west But he, with thirst and hunger spent, 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, Still, near the lake, with weary tread, Why seeks not he a home of rest? Why seeks not he the pillow'd bed? Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest;- Such was the lot he freely chose, To bless, to save the human race; 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! I hear thy awful voice—alarm'd—afraid— Lord! what is man? up to the sun he flies Or feebly wanders through earth's vale of dust: Beneath the storm-clouds, on life's raging sea, He sleeps—and dashes on the rocky coast. Thou breathest; and the obedient storm is still : |