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Circled with evil, till his very soul
AFTER A TEMPEST.
By M. C. BRYANT.
The wind was laid, the storm was overpast, -
Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last.
I stood upon the upland slope, and cast
Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast,
Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirr’d,
Was shaken by the flight of startled bird,
For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard About the flowers; the cheerful rivulets sung
And gossip'd as he hasten'd ocean-ward ; To the gray oak the squirrel, chiding, clung, And, chirping, from the ground the grasshopper upsprung. And from beneath the leaves that kept them dry
Flew many a glittering insect here and there, And darted up and down the butterfly,
That seem'd a living blossom of the air.
The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where The violent rain had pent them ; in the way
Stroll'd groups of damsels frolicksome and fair.
It was a scene of peace—and, like a spell,
Did that serene and golden sunlight fall
And precipice upspringing like a wall,
And glassy river and white waterfall,
And beauteous scene: while far beyond them all,
I look'd, and thought the quiet of the scene
An emblem of the peace that yet shall be, When o'er earth's continents and isles between,
The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea,
And married nations dwell in harmony; When millions, crouching in the dust to one,
No more shall beg their lives on bended knee, Nor the black stake be dress'd, nor in the sun The o'er-labour'd captive toil, and wish his life were done.
Too long, at clash of arms amid her bowers
And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last
The storm, and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past.
And like the glorious light of summer, cast
A MAIDEN'S SONG.
By Gerald Massey.
Sweet thoughts to God akin,
My heart of hearts within :
God keep the Serpent Sin!
I love! and into Angel-land
With starry glimpses peer!
When One is smiling near!
For every falling tear.
Dear God in heaven! keep without stain
My bosom's brooding Dove:
And give it place above!
I yearn to take, but Love.
THE MOTHER'S FIRST GRIEF. Extracted from Knickerbocker, an American Magazine.
She sits beside the cradle,
And her tears are streaming fast,
While she thinks of all the past :
When her first-born's answering kiss
That it knew no other bliss.
They but deepen her despair,
And her baby is not there!
There are words of comfort spoken,
And the leaden clouds of grief
And she feels a sad relief:
Till they settle on the scene
And of all that might have been !
Or a shining tress of hair,
That her baby is not there!
She sits beside the cradle,
But her tears no longer flow,
And forgets all earthly woe;
And the Voice that hush'd the sea
“Suffer them to come to Me."
On the soaring wings of prayer,
And she sees her baby there!
ADDRESS TO THE DEITY.
By Sir John Bowring. O Thou eternal One! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide, Unchanged through time's all devastating flight; Thou only God! There is no God beside! Being above all beings! Mighty One! Whom none can comprehend and none explore; Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : Embracing all-supporting-ruling o'erBeing whom we call God-and know no more. In its sublime research, philosophy May measure out the ocean deep-may count The sands or the sun's rays--but God! for Thee
There is no weight nor measure ; none can mount
A million torches lighted by thy hand