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PERE LA CHAISE-LA GRANGE TERRACE-LINES.

PERE LA CHAISE.

505

Judging from the praises which are uniformThis "Garden of the Dead," as it has some-ly bestowed upon the La Grange Terrace, by times been called, is one of the many wonders gentlemen of taste, it is to be presumed that siin the French capital; and unquestionably one milar terraces will hereafter be built in different of the most magnificent burial places in Europe. portions of the city. The upper part of that brilThere the ashes of the renowned and the noble hant thoroughfare-Broadway presents many are gathered in splendid repose;-the hero, the sites where such buildings might, with great proscholar, the actor, all sleep in noiseless proximi-priety, rise and shine. The impulses of wealth ty. It is a place for reflection,-for calm, sober and fashion continually drive the haut ton to and meditative reveries; and yet perhaps the erect their residences in something like the subvery best sketch of it has been made in the fewest urbs, away from the noise and vulgar bustle of words by a dashing English traveller. "What the town; but, alas! they no sooner become fairEnglishman," he asks,has not seen the ceme-ly located, than Business, pushing onward in its tery of Pere la Chaise? What Englishman will turn, environs the sequestered retreat; growing undertake either to condemn or entirely approve shops spread their seductive wares, and the it, unless he could enter completely into the sounds of commerce ring through streets that minds of the French themselves? The approach were lanes but lately; and thus the ball of townto it (a little way out of Paris) is literally gar-life rolls on. The purchase of extensive lots landed with flowers.' You imagine yourself in and the erection of terraces, enable the owners the neighbourhood of a wedding, a fair, or some to occupy an entire square, and thereby to preholiday festival. Women are sitting by the road vent effectually the encroachments of business, side or at their own doors, making chaplets of a with its brawling sounds and competition. To sort of yellow flowers, which are gathered in the those who have amassed an independence, this fields, baked, and will then last a French for offers something which appears to them like disever. They have taken the lean abhorred tinction; though after all, it can scarcely deserve monster' death, and strewed him o'er and o'er the name, since the next lot may be devoted to with sweets; they have made the grave a gar- stores and bazaars, of all kinds and dimensions. den, a flower bed, where all Paris repose, the rich and the poor, the mean and the mighty; gay and laughing, and putting on a fair outside, as in their life-time. Death here seems life's playfellow, and Grief and smiling Content sit at one tomb together. Roses grow out of the clayey ground; there is the urn for tears, the slender cross for faith to twine round; the neat marble monument, and the painted wreaths thrown upon it, to freshen memory and mark the hand of friendship. No black and melancholy yew' here darkens the scene, and adds a studied gloom to it—no ugly death's heads or carved skeletons shock the sight." He afterwards adds, more gravely-"To meet sad thoughts and overpower or allay them by other lofty and tender ones is right; but to shun them altogether, to affect mirth in the midst of sighing, and divert the pangs of inward misfortune by something to catch the eye and tickle the sense, is what the English do not sympathize with." [A shrewd Frenchman perhaps may ask, how then do they so often consult their wine cellars in their grief?" "It is an advantage the French have over us.'

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LA GRANGE TERRACE-NEW YORK.

This splendid array of buildings forms one of the most distinguished modern ornaments of New York. Situated in an elevated part of the city, in the northern quarter, and in one of the finest "Places," of which the town contains many that elicit much admiration, the La Grange Terrace exhibits itself as the terrace, par excellence. Its appearance to the passer by, is commanding and beautiful. The well arranged basement, and lofty stories; the spacious windows, the fluted columns, with their richlyworked capitals, and the finished elegance of the whole façade, entitle the architect to high commendation, for the excellence of his model. The work has been completed at great expense, and the dwellings are occupied by some of the most wealthy citizens of the metropolis.

In contemplating the La Grange Terrace, one is led to admire the fond remembrance which induced the name it bears. It is honourable to the citizens, that they bear vividly in mind, the services and merit of that patriot and hero, now among the few remaining participants in that great struggle which conferred upon our country the glorious boon of religious and political freedom. Warm sentiments of admiration and regard towards that noble man, are rife every where among the American people; and the day is far distant when his name will not be cherished and perpetuated with affectionate honour, throughout our happy republic. If, in the peaceful retreats of La Grange, the aged chieftain be permitted, as he surely is, to hear of the progress of our people in moral and pecuniary wealth-in political strength, and general importance, the reflection will add to his enjoyment, and brighten his decline.

LINES EXTEMPORE,
BY THOMAS PAINE, July, 1803.
Quick as the lightning's vivid flash,
The Poet's eye o'er Europe rolls,
Sees battles rage-hears thunders crash,
And dims at Horror's threat'ning scowls.
Mark Ambition's ruthless king,

With crimson'd banners scathe the globe,
While trailing after conquest's wing,
Man's festering wounds his demons probe.
Pall'd with the streams of reeking gore,

That stain the proud imperial day,
He turns to view the Western shore,
Where Freedom holds her bloodless sway.
"Tis here, her Sage triumphant sways
An Empire, in the People's love;
"Tis here, the Sov'reign will obeys,

No King but He, who rules above.

man, softened down by the peculiarity of a
French accent, could be distinguished. The
voice, I was told, belonged to the doctor, who
to take wine with him. At each remove the
was just then asking Mrs.
our hostess,
voice became stronger; and by the time that the
desert was on the table, the tones of the doctor's
voice were full, loud, and strong, and it was
soon permitted to sweep, uncontrolled, over the
entire range of the society. The puny punsters
became dumb, the small talkers were silent;
and no man, nor woman either,' presumed to
open their mouths, except to laugh at his Re-
verence's anecdotes, or to imbibe the good things
which my worthy friend L- - had set before
them.

I have heard story tellers in my time, but never felt the pleasure in listening to them that I did in attending to the anecdotes of the Rev. Doctor Reilly. The manner, the look, and the tone, added, I know, considerably to the effect; but such are the gifts of a good story teller, and they can neither be transferred to paper, nor communicated by an oral retailer. One great charm too, for me, in all these stories, was that the narrator was, some way or other, concerned in them. There was, to be sure, egotism in this; but then, it was an egotism that gave a verisimilitude to every thing he told, and you believed that he was not mentioning any thing which he did not know to be a fact, however strange, extraordinary, or improbable it might seem to be. Amongst the other stories told by Doctor Reilly was the following, which I endeavoured to report verbatim et literatim, as I heard it.

THE PRIEST'S HORSE. Proficies nihil hoc, cacdas licet usque flagello, Si tibi purpureo de grege currit equus. Martial. Lib. xiv. Epig. 55. It is not many weeks since I dined with a Roman Catholic family in the neighborhood of Dublin. I had been but a few minutes in the drawing room, when 1 found that the centre of attraction, the observed of all observers,' was a very old gentleman, whose dress, appearance, and demeanor, at once betrayed him to me as one of the old Catholic clergymen of Ireland. Father, or as he was most generally termed, Doctor Reilly, seemed to be in age not less than seventy years; and the abstraction of his manner, before dinner, as to every thing passing around him, would induce the belief that he had already attained his second childhood. His face was of that pure, rich, bright scarlet, which can neither be imparted to the countenance by the consumption of an extra quantity of whiskey punch, nor its still more vulgar and stupifying predecessor, port wine. No, it was a tint 'more exquisite still,' which claret, that sober, sedate, cool, and delicious liquid, can alone communicate to the 'human face divine.' The dress of the clergyman was evidently as antiquated as his complexion. The head was surmounted by a little, close, brown wig, divided by a single curl, and which appeared to be pasted to the pericranium on which it was fixed. Around his neck was a neat black silk stock, over which a milk white muslin band was turned. His black coat was out in the manner of the primitive Quakers; his dark silk waistcoat had large flaps which nearly covered his 'nether garment,' and that was fastened at the knees by large silver clasps, while thick silk stockings embraced his plump little legs; and then, his square-toed shoes were nearly concealed from the view by the enormous silver buckles placed upon them. I was assured by several, that the little old gentle man, whom I had not heard give utterance to a single word, was one of the most pleasant men I could meet with; and that after dinner, he would amuse me extremely. I could perceive no outward mark of genius about the Reverend Doctor; he took no notice of the conversation that was going on around him; and the only demonstration of intelligence I could discover in him, was the somewhat hasty glance he occasionally turned to the door, as each new visitor was announced, as if he expected the welcome "As well as I recollect, it was in the year news of 'Dinner on the table' was about being 1789, that I was parish priest of Leixlip, and at proclaimed to him. To me he appeared like that time Kit M'Gowran was, of a farmer lad, the canon in Gil Blas, as one disposed to partake one of my wealthiest parishioners. He had land of the good things that might be laid before him on an old lease, and might have been a grand at the festive board, but neither inclined nor ca-juror now, if he had minded the potatoes grow pacitated to increase their pleasures by any contribution of wit or fancy.

Dinner, that grand epoch in the history of the day, was at last announced; ladies, even in an Irish assembly, were forgotten, and twenty hands were stretched out to the doctor to conduct him to the dining room. At dinner, I heard nothing of the doctor until the first flask of champaign was uncorked; and then there broke upon the ear a mellow, little voice, in which the polished brogue of the Irish gentle

"Never, my children, never borrow a priest's horse-it's an unlucky thing to do, for many reasons. First, if the priest's horse is a good one, he does not like to lend it. Next, if it is a bad one, and the priest says he will lend it, the moment you ask for it, you may happen to break your neck, or your leg, or may-be your nose, and thereby spoil your beauty. And, lastly, a priest's horse has so many friends, that if you are in a hurry, it will be shorter for you to walk than to wait for the horse to pay its visits. It is now more than fifty years since I gave the very counsel that I am now administering to you, to Kit M'Gowran, one of my parishioners; but he thought, as may-be many of you think, that the priest was a fool, but he found the difference in a short time, as may-be most of you will before you die.

ing; but, instead of that, Kit was always in Dublin, playing rackets and balls, and drinking as much whiskey in a week, as would float a canal boat through a lock. For two or three years, Kit was but little seen in the parish, though I must say to his credit, he always sent me my dues regularly, so that you perceive he was not a reprobate entirely. I was sorry to hear the neighbours talking bad of him, and was thinking of looking after him some time or other, when I would have nothing else to do;

THE PRIEST'S HORSE.

when one day Kit came into my house dressed out in the pink of the fashion of that time. He was then what they called, I believe, a macaroni, and was the same sort of animal that is now termed a dandy. He had a little hat that would not go on a good ploughman's fist; his hair was streeling down his back and over his shoulders; the buttons on his coat were the size of saucepans, and the skirts of the coat hung down behind to the small of his leg; he had two watches, one on each side of his stomach, a waistcoat that did not cover his breast, and light leather small-clothes that came down below the calf, and were fastened there with bunches of ribbons, that were each as big as cauliflowers. Kit saw I was in great spirits, and had evidently some mad project in his head; but that, you know, was none of my business, if he did not choose to tell me of it. I had not, however, to ask him; for he mentioned at once what brought him to his parish priest. Poor Kit labored under a great defect, for he stuttered so dreadfully that you should know him for seven years before you could understand a word he said to you. He had a tongue that was exactly like a onenibbed pen,-which will splutter, and splash, and teaze, and vex you, and do every thing but express the sentiments of your mind.

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"At ten, your Reverence,' answered Kit, 'at ten to the minute.'

"Then, Kit, my boy,' said I, 'you should have been here at six to be in time, since you intend to ride the black horse.'

"Oh! bother!' said Kit; 'sure I am only six miles from town, and it's hard if I don't ride that in an hour,-so that in fact, I'll be before my time, and that won't be genteel; for may-be I'd catch Nelly Brangan with her hair in papers; and she won't look lovely that way I know, whatever charms there may be in the buttercool of gold guineas that the darling is going to give me.'

"Well, mount at once,' I observed, 'though I would advise you, as you are in a hurry,-to walk.'

"I had hardly said the word, when Kit jumped into the saddle, and gave his horse a whip and a spur-and off it cantered, as if it were in as great a hurry to be married as Kit himself. 1 followed them as fast as I could to the top of the hill, and there was Kit cutting the figure of six like any cavalry officer with his whip, and now and again plunging his heels into his horse's sides, and it kicking the stones before and behind it, and tattering over the road like lightning. In half a minute they were both out of my sight, lin with the horse in an hour, Kit M'Gowran and I thought that if any one could get to Dubwas the man to do it.

"Kit told me, in his own way, that he was going to be married the next day to Miss Nelly Brangan, a rich huckster's daughter in Dublin, who was bringing him a large fortune, and that lantly. He was laughing and joking, and think"For two miles of the road Kit went on galhe had accordingly, as in duty bound, come to ing to himself that I was only humbugging him me for his 'sar-tifi-cat,' and as a propitiation to in what I said about the horse, when in the very me for the bad life he had led, he gave me a middle of a hard gallop, it stopt as if it had golden guinea, and a very neat miniature of the been shot, and up went Kit M'Gowran in the same coin. I could not refuse my certificate to air, his long whip firmly fixed in his hand, and such a worthy parishioner; and after wishing his long coat flying like a kite's tail after him, him long life and happiness, and plenty of boys and the words, Who had the luck to see Donnyand girls, I thought Kit would be after bidding brook fair,' in his mouth; and he had not time me good morning. Kit, I found, had still some- to cease saying them, when he was landed head thing upon his mind. I asked him if I could over heels in a meadow, seven or eight yards oblige him farther. 'Why, Father Reilly,' says from the centre of the road! Kit was completely Kit, that is a mighty purty little black horse of puzzled by the fall; he could not tell how he got yours.' 'It is indeed, child,' I answered; but it there, or what caused it, or why he should be is very apt to go astray; for it left me for a week, there' at all, instead of being on the horse's and only returned to me last night.' 'Ah! then, back, until he looked about him, and saw the Father Reilly,' says he, 'it would be mighty re-creature taking a fine comfortable drink at a litspectable to see me riding up to-morrow morn-tle well by the side of the road, where I always ing to Miss Nelly Brangan's shop-door with such an elegant black horse under me. May-be stopped to refresh it. Kit, after scratching his you'd lend me a loan of it?' 'Indeed, child, I coat-and indeed they required it, for they were head, and his elbows, and the backwill,' 1 replied, 'but I would not advise you to take it; for my horse has a way of its own, and I have many friends between this and Dublin, that may-be it would sooner see than go to your wedding. Oh! as to that,' answered Kit, if it was the devil himself, begging your Reverence's pardon, 'I'd make him trot; so lend me the horse and I'll send it back to you to-morrow evening.' 'Take it then, Kit,' said I; 'but I warn you that it is an uneasy beast.'

"It was not until eight o'clock the next morning that Kit M'Gowran came for the horse, and in addition to his dress the day before, he had a pair of spurs on him, that would do for a fighting cock, they were so long and so sharp; and a whip that was like a fishing rod. 'Well, Kit,' says I, 'when are you to be married?'

his

a little warmer than when he set out-went over to the horse, mounted it, and rode off again on his journey; but I give you my word he did not gallop so fast nor use the whip so much as he had before the horse took a sup of the well water.

and as if it were a poor priest, and not a rol"The horse rode on as peaceable as a judge, locking young layman that was on its back; it went on so for about three quarters of a mile further, but when it got that distance Kit began to wonder at the way it was edging over to the right; and while they were arguing this point with one another, the day-coach from Dublin kept driving up to them. The guard sounded his horn, as much as to say, 'Kit M'Gowran, don't be taking up the entire road with yourself

and your horse.' Kit knew very well what the guard meant, and gave a desparate drag to his own (the left) side of the road; but the horse insisted upon the right, and the coach driving up in the same line, the leaders knocked up against my horse, and sent it and Kit into the ditch together, to settle there any little difference of opinion that might be between them! How long Kit lay in the ditch he could not rightly tell; but when he got out of it, he went to look after the horse, and about five yards nearer to Dublin than where the accident had happened, he found the little darling taking a feed of oats, which it always got from one of my parishioners, when I travelled that road; and now that he is dead and gone, poor man! (Tim Divine was his name,) I must say that I never got any thing else from him. Kit waited patiently till the horse had eaten its fill, and he then looked at one of his watches, and it told him that it was ten o'clock, and he then looked at the other, and it as plainly showed him that it was nine to the minute. Kit knew how his watches went, and he accordingly guessed that the truth lay between them; so that he found he had but half an hour to go a distance of four miles at least, to where he was to be married.

"Kit determined if he was to break his neck in the attempt, that he would be in Dublin to the minute he had promised, so that the instant he was on the horse's back again, he began cutting, and whipping, and spurring the beauty, as fast as his hands and legs would go-his legs particularly were working as fast as the arms of a wind-mill on a stormy day. The horse was not at first disposed to resent any indignity that was offered to it, particularly after the good feed and the good drink that it had got, so that it trotted on pretty quickly for half a mile or so; but Kit still continuing to whip and spur it, it first let on te him by one or two kicks, that it was displeased; but Kit not taking the hint, it stagged entirely. Kit lashed more furiously than he had done before-the horse curvetted about the road-it reared-it pranced-it kicked-it went in a circle round the same point fifty times. Kit leathered away with his long whip upon its ears and nose, and the horse backed and backed, until it at last left Kit back at Tim Divine's door, from which he had started about an hour before! Tim was astonished to see the animal so soon coming back to him for another feed; but having been informed by Kit of the way he had misbehaved towards it, Tim became the interpreter of the poor dumb creature, and told the rider that the best way of managing it was to let it go as it liked.

"Poor Kit resigned himself to his fate; that he should be late at his own wedding, he saw was inevitable; he was now too much tired to walk, and with a sigh he flung the reins on the horse's neck, and encouraged it to proceed again towards Dublin. It set off a second time from Divine's door; but ceased to gallop, to canter, or to trot-on it went at a most discreet pace, and as sober, and as melancholy, as if it felt sorry for disappointing him, or that it was travelling with myself to a friend's funeral.

"Kit could at last hear the town bells striking one o'clock-he was at Island Bridge, and

within view of Dublin-he could see Patrick's steeple pointing up into the sky, and looking as stiff and conceited, as if it were rejoiced at the annoyance of a Papist, while the arches of "Bloody-Bridge" seemed to be laughing to their full extent, at the impudence of such a young fellow riding into Dublin upon no less a horse than the favorite pony of the parish priest of Leixlip! So at least, Kit was thinking, when the creature remembered that I always stopped a day or two with Mrs. Robinson, a kind, goodbody of a widow woman, that lived at the end of the bridge. In there it plunged, to the narrow little hole of a stable, never thinking of my friend Kit on its back, and in entering the door, he was swept clean off its back, and left stretched upon a dunghill, with his nose, face, and hands all scratched, by the new-dashed wall against which he had been driven! He cursed, but that he found did not cure his hands; be swore, but that he perceived did not improve his appearance; so that he soon desisted from such modes of venting his passion; and after washing his hands, putting a few plaisters on his face, rubbing the dirt off his small-clothes, and coaxing the little horse out of the small stable, he again mounted, and rode off for Dublin,-a far uglier and less consequential personage than when he had cantered up the hill of Leixlip that morning.

"Kit was now in Barrack street-he was, at two o'clock, just four hours after the stated time in the city. Now,' thought Kit to himself, 'my troubles are at length all over, and I have only to make the best apology I can for my unaccountable absence to my darling Mrs. M'Gowran, that is to be my little bride-the wealthy Miss Nelly Brangan that was.' Such were Kit's thoughts, when he heard two men talking behind him

"Paddy, isn't that the horse we bid to be on the look out for?"

"By dad, Dennis, if it isn't it, it's very like it; and do you see the fellow that's riding it? He is mighty like the chap that was hung for horsestealing at the last assizes.'

"So like, Paddy, that if it isn't him, I'd take my oath it's one of the same gang. The horse, you know, is missing these five days; and do you see the patches on the robber's face that's to disguise himself. A decent dressed man wouldn't be in a fight, like one of us, Paddy, when we get a sup in our head.'

"That's true for you, Dennis; and see, it has lob-ears, wall-eyes, bald-face, and a docked tail;-it's the very horse. By my sowkins, we'll seize him,--he's a robber.'

""To be sure we will, Paddy,-he's a robber, and an unchristian robber too, to steal from a priest? Knock him down, Paddy!'

"That I will, and welcome, Dennis!'

"Kit was in the act of turning round to see a robber seized, when he felt his arms grappled by two stout frieze-coated countrymen, who both exclaimed in the same moment-'Where did you get the horse, you robber?'

"Poor stuttering Kit stammered out, 'I—I—I got it—it—it—'

'Where, you sacrilegious thief?' "In L---Leixlip,' said Kit, after many

WOOD HYMN-A THUNDER STORM.

minutes, and twisting his tongue, like a ha'p'orth of tobacco, in his mouth, to make himself understood.

""Oh! the villain,' said Paddy, 'he has confessed it.'

"Yes he has, the scoundrel,' exclaimed Dennis; and do you see the confusion of the fellow -he can't speak, he is so frightened at the thought of being hanged. Drag him off the horse and take him to the police office.'

"In a minute Kit was torn from the horse. A crowd collected around him, who were immediately informed by Paddy and Dennis, that they had seized a robber, who had 'stolen a priest's horse, and was going to sell him in Dublin.' Poor Kit was instantly assailed by the mob-his two watches dragged out of his fobs-his new coat torn to pieces-his little hat kicked to nothing-and his pantaloons covered with mud. Several times he attempted to say he had got a loan of the horse; but the people were in too great a rage to attend to his stuttering, and he was dragged into the police office. Paddy and Dennis preferred a charge of horse-stealing against him; and he was such a dirty looking blackguard, that the police officer at once handcuffed him, advised him to plead guilty, and removed him into the black-hole, where he passed the night!

"But this did not end the misfortunes of unlucky Kit M'Gowran; for Miss Nelly Brangan, after inviting all her friends to a wedding dinner, and a large evening party, was determined that they should not be disappointed. She waited patiently for Kit until the dinner was dressed, and then-bestowed her hand and fortune upon one of her neighbors, a Mr. James Devoy, who was to be bridesman to Kit; but who, in his absence, resolved to discharge those duties for which Kit had been particularly engaged.

"This, my young friends, I hope will be a warning to you. Never borrow a priest's horse, lest you should lose by the loan, a wife, a fortune, your liberty, two watches, and a new coat."

WOOD HYMN.

Broods there some spirit here!

The summer leaves hang silent as a cloud,
And o'er the pools, all still and darkly clear,
The wild wood hyacinth with awe seem bowed;
And something of a tender, cloistral gloom,
Deepens the violet's bloom.

The very light, that streams
Through the dim dewy veil of foliage round,
Comes tremulous with emerald-tinted gleams,
As if it knew the place were holy ground;
And would not startle, with too bright a burst,
Flowers, all divinely nursed.

Wakes there some spirit here?

A swift wind fraught with change comes rushing by,
And leaves and waters, in its wild career,
Shed forth sweet voices-each a mystery!
Surely some awful influence must pervade
These depths of trembling shade!
Yes, lightly, softly move!

There is a Power, a Presence in the woods;
A viewless Being, that with Life and Love
Informs the reverential solitudes :

The rich air knows it, and the mossy sodThou, Thou art here, my God!

And if with awe we tread

509

The Minster floor, beneath the storied pane,
And 'midst the mouldering banners of the dead;
Shall the green voiceful wild seem less Thy fane,
Where thou alone hast built?-where arch and roof
Are of thy living woof?

The silence and the sound

In the lone places, breathe alike of Thee;
The Temple-twilight of the gloom profound,
The dew-cup of the frail anemone;

The reed by every wandering whisper thrilled-
All, all with Thee are filled!

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And sanctify my heart

To meet the awful sweetness of that tone,
With no faint thrill, or self-accusing start,
But a deep joy the heavenly Guest to own;
Joy, such as dwelt in Eden's glorious bowers
Ere Sin had dimmed the flowers.

Let me not know the change
O'er Nature thrown by Guilt!-the boding sky,
The hollow leaf sounds ominous and strange,
The weight wherewith the dark tree-shadows lie!
Father! oh! keep my footsteps pure and free,

To walk the woods with Thee!

THOUGHTS ON A THUNDER STORM.
Hark! in the distant west I hear

A hollow murmuring sound;
It strikes upon the list'ning ear-
And now bright streaks of light appear-
Now, darkness reigns around.
Louder, and louder still-that roar

Moans through the threat'ning sky;
The troubled waves now lash the shore-
The bursting clouds in torrents pour
Their contents from on high.
Darker, and darker still, it grows-

The elements contend

In direful strife, like angry foes-
The vivid ligntning's fluid flows,

The thunder-bolts descend.

And now, we have one mingled scene
Presented to our view;

The thunder's roar-the lightning's gleam-
The angry voice of the Supreme
Jehovah-great and true!

But see-the glorious king of light
Comes to dispel our fears;

He sheds his rays in brilliance bright,
And soon the day succeeds the night
Of darkness, and appears.

How great is God! how wond'rous great!
How infinite his powers;

His might how boundless-his estate
To gain, should all our hearts elate,

And make it truly ours.

DELTA.

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