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I read Thy presence and Thy power

In each eternal rock I meet ; I trace Thy love in every

flower That blossoms at my feet.

Thou speakest from each rolling cloud

That pours its stormy mirth on high, When cliff to cliff is shouting loud,

Responsive to the sky.

Thy voice at night is in the sound

Of sinking glaciers, rushing rills, And avalanches thundering round

Among the startled hills.

The mountain mists, in all their moods,

The snows by earthly feet untrod, The fells, the forests, and the floods,

Are all instinct with God.

O regions, wonderful and wild,

Sublimity's inspiring home,
Scenes I have dreamt of since a child,

And longed as now to roam !

And I am here ! and I may range

Your length and breadth without control, And feel a world all new and strange

Break in upon my soul !

Hail, mountain monarchs ! hail ! Again

Before your reverend feet I bow : How poor is language to explain

The thoughts that fill me now !


MARY, thou art gone to rest ;

Why should we deplore thee? Light the turf lies on thy breast,

Soft the winds breathe o'er thee. Here within thy native clay

Calmly thou art sleeping, Safer, happier, far than they

Who are o'er thee weeping.

Pleasant is thy lowly bed,

Close to those that bore thee; Trees, 'neath which thy childhood played,

Gently waving o'er thee.

Hark the thrush ! how sweet his lay !

See the flowers, how blooming ! Weep not for the dead," they say, “ Though in earth consuming.

Weep not for her-she is gone

- Where no cares can move her ; “All her earthly labours done,

« All her trials over. “Weep not—she has found a home

Where no sorrow paineth: Sin, nor tears, nor terrors come, “Where a Saviour reigneth."


God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that He is

Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands. Acts xvii. 24.

The Lord hath builded for Himself;

He needs no earthly dome: The universe His dwelling is,

Eternity His home.

Yon glorious sky His temple stands,

So lofty, bright, and blue,
All lamped with stars, and curtained round

With clouds of every hue.

Earth is His altar : nature there

Her daily tribute pays : The elements upon Him wait,

The seasons roll His prais?.

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