Thy child am I, and not an hour,
Revolving in the orbs above,
But brings some token of thy power,

But brings some token of thy love;
And shall this bosom dare repine,

In darkness dare deny the dawn,
Or spurn the treasures of the mine,
Because one diamond is withdrawn?

The fool denies, the fool alone,

Thy being, Lord, and boundless might; Denies the firmament, thy throne,

Denies the sun's meridian light;

Denies the fashion of his frame,

The voice he hears, the breath he draws:

O idiot atheist! to proclaim

Effects unnumbered without cause!

Matter and mind, mysterious one,

Are man's for threescore years and ten; Where, ere the thread of life was spun ? Where, when reduced to dust again? All-seeing God, the doubt suppress; The doubt thou only canst relieve My soul thy Saviour-Son shall bless, Fly to thy gospel, and believe.

WHY SHOULD I FEAR IN EVIL DAYS.

WHY should I fear in evil days,

With snares encompassed all around?
What trust can transient treasures raise
For them in riches who abound?
His brother who from death can save?

What wealth can ransom him from God?
What mine of gold defraud the grave ?
What hoards but vanish at his nod?

To live forever is their dream;

Their houses by their name they call; While, borne by time's relentless stream, Around them wise and foolish fall; Their riches others must divide;

They plant, but others reap the fruit :

In honor man cannot abide,

To death devoted, like the brute.

This is their folly, this their way;

And yet in this their sons delight; Like sheep, of death the destined prey, The future scorn of the upright; grave their beauty shall consume,

The

Their dwellings never see them more; But God shall raise me from the tomb, And life for endless time restore.

What though thy foe in wealth increase,
And fame and glory crown his head?

Fear not, for all at death shall cease,

Nor fame, nor glory, crown the dead: While prospering all around thee smiled,

Yet to the grave shalt thou descend; The senseless pride of fortune's child

Shall share the brute creation's end.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,

ONE of the most celebrated poets of modern times, was born at Cockermouth, in Cumberland, on the 7th of April, 1770; was educated at Cambridge, with his brother, the late Rev. Christopher Wordsworth, D.D., and after a long career of the truest glory, is still living. A complete edition of his works has been published in Philadelphia, under the care of his friend Professor Henry Reed.

INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY, FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD.

"The child is father of the man;

And I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety."

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and spring,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore ;-
Turn whereso'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the rose;

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare :

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth,

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,

And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief;
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong;

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the world is gay:

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May

Doth every beast keep holiday;---
Thou child of joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy
Shepherd boy!

Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other made; I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,

The fulness of your bliss-I feel-I feel it all.
Oh, evil day! if I were sullen,
While earth herself is adorning

This sweet May-morning,

And the children are culling

On every side,

In a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,

And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm :-
I hear, I hear—with joy I hear!

But there's a tree, of many one,

A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,

And cometh from afar;

Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,

But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home;
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing boy;

But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy:

The youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid

Is on his way attended;

At length the man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,
And no unworthy aim,

The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came.

Behold the child among his new-born blisses,-
A six years' darling of a pigmy size!

See, where 'mid work of his own hand, he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly learned art:
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;