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THE VILLAGE CHURCH.

I LOVE the organ's joyous swell,
Sweet echo of the heavenly ode;
I love the cheerful village bell,

Faint emblem of the call of God;
Waked by the sound, I bend my feet,
I bid my swelling sorrows cease;
I do but touch the mercy-seat,

And hear the "still small voice" of

And as the ray of evening fades,

peace.

I love amidst the dead to stand,
Where, in the altar's deepening shades,
I seem to meet the ghostly band:
One comes-Oh mark his sparkling eye,
The light of glory kindles there;
Another, hear his deep-drawn sigh-
Oh, 't is the sigh of dumb despair!

Another treads the shadowy aisle,

I know him 't is my sainted sireI know his patient, angel smile,

His shepherd's voice, his eye of fire: His ashes rest in yonder urn;

I saw his death; I closed his eye; Bright sparks amidst those ashes burn, That death has taught me how to die.

Long be our Father's temple ours,

Wo to the hand by which it falls;

A thousand spirits watch its bowers,
A cloud of angels guard its walls,
And be their shield by us possess'd;
Lord, rear around the blest abode,
The buttress of a holy breast,
The rampart of a present God.

IS THERE A GOD?

ANSWERED BY AN APPEAL TO MORNING, NOON, AND

NIGHT.

Now breathes the ruddy MORN around

His health-restoring gales,

And from the chambers of the east

A flood of light prevails.

Is there a God? Yon rising sun
An answer meet supplies,
Writes it in flame upon the earth,
Proclaims it round the skies.

The pendent clouds that curtain round
This sublunary ball,

And firmament on high, reveal

A God that governs all.

The warbling lark, in realms of air,
Has trill'd her matin lay;

The balmy breeze of morn is fled,-
It is the Noon of day.

Is there a God? Hark! from on high
His thunder shakes the poles;

I hear his voice in every wind,
In every wave that rolls.

I read a record of his love,

His wisdom and his power, Inscribed in all created thingsMan, beast, and herb and flower.

The sultry sun has left the skies,
And day's delights are flown;
The owlet screams amid the shade,
And NIGHT resumes the throne.

Is there a God? With sacred fear,
I upward turn mine eyes;
There is! each glittering lamp of light-
There is! my soul replies.

If such convictions to my mind
His works aloud impart;
O, let the wisdom of his word
Inscribe them on my heart:

That while I ponder on his deeds,
And read his truth divine,
Nature may point me to a God,

And grace may make him mine.

THE BIBLE.

It is the one True Light,

That, when all other lamps grow dim, Shall never burn less purely bright, Nor lead astray from HIM.

It is Love's blessed band,

That reaches from the eternal throne To him-whoe'er he be-whose hand Will seize it for his own!

It is the Golden Key

To treasures of celestial wealth,

Joy to the sons of poverty,

And to the sick man, health!

The gently proffer'd aid

Of one who knows us, and can best

Supply the beings he has made

With what will make them bless'd.

It is the sweetest sound

That infant years delight to hear, Travelling across that holy ground, With God and angels near.

There rests the weary head,

There age and sorrow love to go; And how it smooths the dying bed, O! let the Christian show!

SONNET.

THE GOD OF THE STORM AND THE WHIRLWIND.

THOU thy stern robe of terrors hast put on,

O mighty Ruler of the winds and waves!
The spirit bows to thee!-from ocean caves
Even to the expansive heaven of heavens, thy throne,
All elements, all beings trembling own

The greatness of thy presence. 'Tis the hour
Of vast, unmitigated, boundless power,
And the heart bends to Thee, and Thee alone.
Most Mighty! O how bless'd to feel and know,
Even in this hour of dread, that dear to thee
Is the confiding spirit. Ye may blow,

Fierce tempests! but to pass His fix'd decree,
Or 'gainst His will one moment's war to wage,
Is more than ye can do, with all your swelling rage.

PEACE.

SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell?—I humbly

crave

Let me once know.

I sought thee in a secret cave,

And ask'd if Peace were there.

A hollow sound did seem to answer, "No:
Go, seek elsewhere."

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