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And see; those sable pines along the steep,
Like stoled monks they stand and chant the dirge
"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising: the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang."-The Pilgrim's Progress.
Now, brighter than the host that all night long,
In fiery armor, far up in the sky
Stood watch, thou com'st to wait the morning's song,
Thou com'st to tell me day again is nigh,
Star of the dawning! Cheerful is thine eye;
Thou bidd'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him.
Canst thou grow sad, thou say'st, as earth grows bright?
In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light
Pours on their nests, from out the day's fresh source?
With creatures innocent thou must perforce
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure.
And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure,
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure.
I feel its calm. But there's a sombrous hue,
And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong.
But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth,
Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties :-
It is because man useth so amiss
Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad;
From her fair face?-It is that man is mad!
When nature grieves; nor deem this heart is bad.
Thou look'st towards earth; but yet the heavens are thine; While I to earth am bound :-When will the heavens be mine?
If man would but his finer nature learn,
Of simpler things; could nature's features stern
But not for this alone, the silent tear
Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the morn,
Shall see them pass. Breathe calm-my spirit's torn;
Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-off world bring nigh.
And when I grieve, O, rather let it be
Should leave, and go with care, and passions fierce and wild!
How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft
Laugh in the wakening light.-Go, vain desire!
And pining discontent, like them, expire!
Be called my chamber, Peace, when ends the day ; And let me with the dawn, like Pilgrim, sing and pray.
INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY.
O LISTEN, man!
A voice within us speaks the startling word,
-O, listen, ye, our spirits! drink it in
From all the air! "Tis in the gentle moonlight;
Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve,
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast, mystic instrument, are touched
By an unseen, living Hand, and conscious chords
-The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth
THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD.
THOU little bird, thou dweller by the sea,
O'er the waves dost thou fly?
O! rather, bird, with me
Through the fair land rejoice!
Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale,
As if thy mates had shared
The doom of us : Thy wail
What does it bring to me?
Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge, Restless and sad: as if, in strange accord
With the motion and the roar
Of waves that drive to shore,
One spirit did ye urge―
The Mystery-the Word.
Of thousands, thou both sepulchre and pall,
A tale of mourning tells
Tells of man's wo and fall,
His sinless glory fled.
Then turn thee, little bird, and take thy flight
Where the complaining sea shall sadness bring
Come, quit with me the shore,
For gladness and the light
Where birds of summer sing.
WILLIAM KNOX, the author of "Songs of Israel," and "The Harp of Sion," was born in humble life in Roxburgshire, in 1789, and died in Edinburgh in 1825. Some of his pieces evince fancy and feeling, and a fine command of poetical language.
Он, why should the spirit of mortal be proud!
The leaves of the oak and the willows shall fade,
And the young and the old, and the low and the high,
The child whom a mother attended and loved,
The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye,
The hand of the king who the sceptre hath borne,
The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap,
Have faded away like the grass that we tread.