EVENING IN JUDEA.

(PSALM Xcii. 2.)

THE sun is set and yet his light
Is lingering in the crimson sky,
Like memory, beautiful and bright,
Of holy men that die.

O'er Tabor's hill, o'er Baca's dale,
The shades of evening softly creep—
Softly as mother draws the veil

To wrap her infant's sleep.

The dews fall gently on the flower,
Their freshening influence to impart—
As pity's tears of soothing power,
Revive the drooping heart.

The twilight star from Hermon's peak,
Comes mildly o'er the glistening earth;
And weary hirelings joy to seek

Their dear domestic hearth.

Who sends the sun to ocean's bed?
Who brings the nightshade from the west?
Who bids the balmy dews be shed?
Who gives the weary rest?

Even he who, at the season due,
Sends forth the sun's returning light;

Whose mercies every morn are new,
Whose faithfulness each nigt.

Go, with his praises in your hearts,
Ye mortal's, to your night's repose—
For all the comforts he imparts,
The blessings he bestows!

Go to your rest, ye things of clay!
Prepared your spirits to resign;
Ye know not if another day
For you may ever shine.

NEBUCHADNEZZAR.

(DANIEL, iv. 29-37.)

THE monarch of Babylon strode through his hall,
And his bosom with impious joy was o'erflowing,
As he looked on his mighty possessions on all
The splendours that round him their radiance were
throwing.

"Is this not"-he cried in the pride of his heart—
"The city I built for my honour and glory?
The city from earth that shall never depart―

That shall ever be bright with the light of my story?"—

While the words of ambition were yet on his tongue, Like swift-shooting bolt from the thunder-cloud darted,

A voice fell from heaven-" The sceptre is wrung,

Vain King! from thy hand, and thy glory departed.

NEBUCHADNEZZAR.

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"And thou shalt be driven from the presence of men, And browse upon grass like the oxen before thee, And thou shalt be lodged with the beast in his den— Till seven long years of affliction pass o'er thee.

"Till thou shalt acknowledge who reigneth in heaven, Who rules as he wills in this lower creation

Till thou shalt confess who thy kingdom hath given, Who humbles thee now from the throne of thy nation."

That hour from the presence of men he was driven, And he browsed upon grass like the oxen before

him;

And his body was wet with the dew-drops of heaven, And the storm of the wild in its fury blew o'er him.

His heart by no human endearment was stirred; His howlings went forth where the forest-gloom gathers;

Till the nails of his hands grew like claws of a bird, And the hairs of his head like the wild eagle's feathers.

When seven long years of affliction had passed,

He returned-all renewed-to the throne of his

nation;

And he bowed him in trembling submission, at last,

To the Monarch of monarchs-the Lord of creation.

CHARITY.

(ECCLESIASTES, xi.)

O THOU on whom the Lord bestows

The treasures of this world below! Bethink thee, 'mid thy calm repose, Of widowed ones in want and wo; Of orphan babes for whom shall flow No more the stream that once hath flowedO let their hearts thy bounties know, And trust thy recompence to God!

The sky-cloud drops its treasured shower,
To fertilize the barren land;
The fruit-tree, in the autumn bower,
Resigns its store at Heaven's command
So let thy charitable hand

Be opened by the needy's prayer

Thou know'st not, 'mid thy visions bland, What evils thine own heart may share.

He that awaits the favouring gale,

Shall put not forth his hand to sow; Who dreads the threatening clouds that sail, Shall reap not what his corn-fields grow: He that deferreth to bestow,

Till heap is treasured upon heap;

Shall leave the naked in their wo,

Shall leave the hungry still to weep:

BIRTH-DAY OF JOB.

Thou knowest not, short-sighted man!
How bones of unborn infants grow;
Thou knowest not the Almighty's plan,
Who doth the living soul bestow;

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Thou knowest not, though thou may'st sow, If thine own harvest hands shall reap; Thou knowest not what winds may blow, And from thee thy possessions sweep.

Sweet is the radiant light of heaven

To souls that are at ease like thine; But o'er thy path shall yet be driven

The storms in which thou shalt decline; In which thou shalt thy breath resign, And be again a senseless clod

O aid thy brother men that pine, And trust thy recompence to God!

BIRTH-DAY OF JOB.
(JOB, iii. 3-18.)

O LET the day when I was born
For ever perish from the earth!
And let it be like night forlorn,
And let it hear, at eve or morn,
No song of choral mirth :

And let the eye of God disdain

To look upon it from on high;
And let a cloud of darkness stain,
And let a shade from death's domain,
Upon it ever lie: