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Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies.
Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now;
And the garland of love was yet fresh on her brow;
From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown ;-
Were echo'd in heaven by lips like her own !
To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd,
Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world.
THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SARINE,
AIR-Stevenson. The turf shall be my fragrant shrine ; Where I shall read, in words of flame, My temple, Lord ! that arch of thine; The glories of thy wondrous name. My censer's breath the mountain airs, And silent thoughts my only prayers. I'll read thy anger in the rack
That clouds awhile the day-beam's My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
track ; When murmuring homeward to their Thy mercy in the azure hue caves,
Of sunny brightness, breaking through! Or when the stillness of the sea, E'en more than music, breathes of There's nothing bright, above, below, Thee !
From flowers that bloom to stars that
There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy love, Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, And meekly wait that moment, when Shall be my pure and shining book, Thy touch shall turn all bright again !
1 This second verse, which I wrote long after heard of her death. During her last delirium, the first, alludes to the fate of a very lovely she sang several hymns in a voice even clearer and amiable girl, the daughter of the late Colonel and sweeter than usual, and among them were Bainbrigge, who was married in Ashbourne some from the present collection (particularly Church, October 31, 1815, and died of a fever in 'There's nothing bright but Heaven'), which & few weeks after. The sound of her marriage. this very interesting girl had often heard during bells seemed scarcely out of our ears, when we the summer.
SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL.
: And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and a!! the women vent out after her with timbrels and with dances.'—Exod. xv. 20.
SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea !
His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord,
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ?
And all her brave thousands are dashd in the tide.
GO, LET ME WEEP.
AIR-Stevenson. Go, let me weep! there's bliss in tears, And, while they pass’d, a fragrance
When he, who sheds them, inly feels threw, Some lingering stain of early years But left no trace of sweets behind.
Effaced by every drop that steals. The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves The fruitless showers of worldly wou Is cold, is faint, to those that swell
Fall dark to earth, and never rise; The heart, where pure repentance While tears, that from repentance flow, grieves
In bright exhalement reach the skies. O'er hours of pleasure, loved too Go, let me weep! there's bliss in tears, well !
When he, who sheds them, inly feels Leave me to sigh o'er days that flew Some lingering stain of early years More idly than the summer's wind, E faced by every drop that steals, Avd, while they pass'd, a fragrance
threw, Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew But left no trace of sweets behind.
More idly than the summer's wind,
'I have so altered the character of this air, 2' And it came to pass, that in the morning which is from the begiuning of one of Avison's watch, the Lord looked unto the host of the old-fashioned concertos, that, without this ac. Egyptians through the pillar of fire and of the knowledymeut, it could hardly, I think, be cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians.'-recognised,
Exod. xiv, 24.