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• He bids the red thunderbolt sleep in its cloud,
While calmly it floats o'er the head of the just; But wings it with rage at the crest of the proud, Brings him down, lays him low, brings him down
to the dust. * King of kings, Lord of lords, God of heaven and
earth, Supreme, as in wisdom, in might and in love, Thy sheltering hand overshadow'd my birth,
And hung o'er my childhood a shield from above. - When borne on the treacherous current of youth, Thy love steer'd my bark, and made tranquil
the stream; Unfolded benignant the lamp of thy Truth, And made me, though trembling, rejoice in the
beam. "To the bright shore of Manhood when eager I flew, And with novelty charm'd the gay landscape
survey'd; To a lone valley pointing, thy Love bade me view How soft was the verdure, how peaceful the
shade; • Bade my feet from its confines aspire not to stray, Bade me trace its pure brook, nor the streamlet disdain;
[way Bade me learn (may I learn!) from the emblem my
In silence to hold, yet to hold not in vain. 6 0 Father! for now from her orbit the year, Ere yon fires set again, shall her speed have
withdrawn; And another with pinions unfurld her career,
Stands prepared te begin at the peep of the dawn; 0, frown not, her tribute while gratitude pays, And hails Thee with rapture the Lord of her
doom; If Hope, still confiding, her accent should raise,
And plead with Thee, Father, for mercy to come!
Be the year now at hand as the day that is past !
As the sun rose this morn in calm lustre array'd, So rise the new year by no grief overcast,
No turbulent storm of misfortune dismay'd!
On the splendour of noon no obscurity stole, Save the dim fleeting cloud that but temper'd
the ray: So if Sorrow must darken the months as they roll,
0, mild be her shadows, and passing her sway!
As the moonlight now slumbers on wood, hill,
and plain, And in silence the winds and the waters repose; So may Peace shed her beams on the year in its
wane, So bright be its evening, so tranquil its close!
• And when morn, noon, and eve I no longer behold, When days, months, and years, Lord, I number
no more ; In the arms of thy mercy thy servant enfold, Thy works to contemplate, thy name to adore!'
REV. T. GISBORNE,
THE DYING INDIAN. .
Your torments I defy!
How Mohawk warriors die.'
The stake was rear'd, the captive bound : The smouldering faggot slowly blazed,
Age and youth, assembled round, With taunting aspect gazed;
While thus, retorting scorn for scorn, The song of death he raised.
• Pale at the sight of blood,
Ye women chiefs, go hunt some helpless prey!
Lurk for the marten, traps for 'sables lay,
Vilest of the Indian name,
Your bravest chiefs of yore
The woods return'd their moan!
See Mohawk vengeance rise !
Lo, swift as lightning flies,
The wood they scour, the swamp, the glen: I see the shortlived fray!
Wood and hill and trackless fen
Hung, a dim vapour, in the distant sky,
And scenes of martial deed,
The dauntless warrior's meed. There they mark your servile race
To women's toils, to coward's doom consign'd. My sires! I come; we mount the wind, And scoff at their disgrace!'
Hail, my unequal'd son,' said Pride.
Hark !" Lord, their sin forgive !
REV. T. GISBORNE.
Lo! o'er the earth the kindling spirits pour
The flames of life, that bounteous Nature gives; The limpid dew becomes the rosy flower;
The'insensate dust awakes and moves and lives.
All speaks of change: the renovated forms
Of long forgotten things arise again.
The everlasting motions of the main;
The One Intelligence; whose potent sway Has ever acted, and is acting still,
Whilst stars, and worlds, and systems, all obey: VOL, I.