PALESTINE.

I tread where the TWELVE in their wayfaring trod;

I stand where they stood with the CHOSEN Of God:

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Where his blessing was heard, and his lessons were taught,

Where the blind were restored, and the healing was

wrought.

Oh, here with his flock the sad Wanderer came,
These hills he toiled over in grief are the same-

The founts where he drank by the wayside still flow,
And the same airs are blowing which breathed on his brow.

And throned on her hills sits Jerusalem yet,

But with dust on her forehead, and chains on her feet: For the crown of her pride to the mocker hath gone, And the holy Shechinah is dark where it shone !

But wherefore this dream of the earthly abode

Of Humanity clothed in the brightness of God?
Were my spirit but turned from the outward and dim,
It could gaze, even now, on the presence of Him!

Not in clouds and in terrors, but gentle as when

In love and in meekness he moved among men ;

And the voice which breathed peace to the waves of the

sea,

In the hush of my spirit would whisper to me!

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PALESTINE.

And what if my feet may not tread where He stood,
Nor my ears hear the dashing of Galilee's flood,

Nor my eyes see the cross which He bowed him to bear,
Nor my knees press Gethsemane's garden of prayer.

Yet, Loved of the Father, thy spirit is near,

To the meek, and the lowly, and penitent here,
And the voice of thy love is the same even now,
As at Bethany's tomb, or on Olivet's brow,—

Oh, the outward hath gone!-but in glory and power, The SPIRIT Surviveth the things of an hour; Unchanged, undecaying, its Pentecost flame

On the heart's secret altar is burning the same!

THE APRIL SHOWER.

BY MRS. SEBA SMITH.

THE April rain! the April rain !
I hear the pleasant sound,
Now soft and still, like gentle dew,
Now drenching all the ground.

Pray tell me why an April shower
Is pleasanter to see

Than falling drops of other rain?

I'm sure it is to me.

I wonder if 'tis really so,
Or only Hope, the while,

That tells of swelling buds and flowers,
And Summer's coming smile:
Whate'er it is, the April shower

Makes me a child again;

I feel a rush of youthful blood,
As falls the April rain.

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THE APRIL SHOWER.

And sure, were I a little bulb,
Within the darksome ground,
I should love to hear the April rain
So softly falling round;

Or any tiny flower were I,
By Nature swaddled up,
How pleasantly the April shower
Would bathe my hidden cup!

The small brown seed that rattled down
On the cold autumnal earth,

Is bursting from its cerements forth,
Rejoicing in its birth;

The slender spears of pale green grass

Are smiling in the light;

The clover opes its folded leaves,

As though it felt delight.

The robin sings on the leafless tree,
And upward turns his eye,
As if he loved to see the drops

Come filtering down the sky;

No doubt he longs the bright green leaves

About his home to see,

And feel the swaying summer winds

Play in the full-robed tree.

The young girl sings at the merry wheel
A song like the wildwood bird;

The creeping child by the old worn sill

Peers out with winking eye,

And his ringlets parts with his chubby hand,
As the drops come spattering by.

With bounding heart beneath the sky
The truant boy is out,

And hoop and ball are darting by,
With many a merry shout;

Ay, shout away, ye joyous throng!
For yours is the April day;
I love to see your spirits dance,
In your pure and healthful play!

THE VOICE OF THE GALE.

BY THOMAS J. CHARLTON.

the voice of the gale: I have heard it, at night, ep the depths of the sea with its terrible might; the sound of its wailing seemed fraught with the cry housands who sank mid the waters to die.