The Wizard.

He waved his wand! dark spirits knew
That rod—yet none obey'd its call;
And twice the mystic sign he drew,

And twice beheld them bootless all :
Then knew the seer Jehovah's hand,
And crush'd the scroll and broke the wand!

"I feel Him like a burning fire-
When I would curse, my lips are dumb;
But from those lips, mid hate and ire,
Uncheck'd the words of blessing come;

They come and on his people rest,
A people by the curser blest!

"I see them from the mountain-top,— How fair their dwellings on the plain; Like trees that crown the valley's slope, Like waves that glitter on the main ! Strong, strong the lion slumbering there-Who first shall rouse him from his lair?

Crouch, Amalek—and thou, vain king: Crouch by thine altars-vainer still! Hear ye the royal shouts that ring

From Israel's camp beneath the hill ? They have a God amidst their tents, Banner at once, and battlements!

127

THE WIZARD.

"A star shall break through yonder skies,
And beam on every nation's sight;
From yonder ranks a sceptre rise,
And bow the nations to its might:
I see their glorious strength afar

All hail, mild screptre! hail, bright Star?

And who am I, for whom is flung
Aside the shrouding veil of time?
The seer whosc rebel-soul is wrung
By wrath, and prophecy, and crime,
The future as the past I see-
Woe, then, for Moab! woe for me!'

On Peor's top the wizard stood,
Around him Moab's princes bow'd:
He bade—and altars stream'd with blood,
And incense wrapped him like a shroud!
But vain the rites of earth and hell-
He spake a master'd oracle!

MISS JEWSBURY.

I

Advent Bymu.

THE chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll in fire,
As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire:
Self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud,
And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are
bow'd.

The glory! the glory! around him are pour'd
The myriads of angels that wait on the Lord;
And the glorified saints and the martyrs are there,
And all who the palm-wreaths of victory wear.

The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard; Lo, the depths of the stone-covered monuments stirr'd!

From ocean and earth, from the south pole and north,
Lo, the vast generations of ages come forth!

The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set,
Where the Lamb and the white-vested elders are met;
All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on his word.

O mercy! O mercy! Look down from above,
Redeemer, on us, thy sad children, with love!
When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven
May our justified souls find a welcome in heaven!

MILMAN.

The Pilgrim's Bome.

THERE are climates of sunshine, of beauty and gladness,

Where roses are flourishing all the year long ; Their bowers are despoil'd not by wintery sadness, And their echoes reply to the nightingale's song: But coldly the Briton regards their temptations, Condemn'd from his friends and his kindred to

roam,

He looks on the brightness of lovelier nations,
But his heart and his wishes still turn to his home.

O why is this duteous and home-loving feeling
So seldom displayed by the Pilgrim of Life?
While faith to his mind a bright scene is revealing,
He toils through a world of sin, sorrow, and strife:
Yet, lured by the paltry attractions around him,

Too oft he forgets the pure pleasure to come,
And wildly foregoes for the toys that surround him,
His hopes of a lasting, a glorious Home.

Not such is the Christian:-devoted, believing, Through storm and through sunshine his trust shall abide:

The way that he wends may be dark or deceiving, But heaven is his shrine, and the Lord is his Guide;

130

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

And when death's warning angel around him shall hover,

He dreads not the mandate that bids him to

come;

It tells that his toils and temptations are over— 'Tis the voice of his Father: it calls to his

Home.

ANON.

A Mother's Love.

HAST thou sounded the depth of yonder sea,
And counted the sands that under it be?

Hast thou measured the height of heaven above?
Then may'st thou mete out a mother's love.

Hast thou talk'd with the blessèd, of leading on
To the throne of God some wandering son?
Hast thou witness'd the angels' bright employ?
Then may'st thou speak of a mother's joy.

Evening and morn hast thou watch'd the bee
Go forth on her errands of industry?
The bee for herself hath gather'd and toil'd,
But the mother's cares are all for her child.

Hast thou gone with the traveller Thought afar.
From pole to pole, and from star to star?
Thou hast-but on ocean, earth, or sea,

The heart of a mother has gone with thee.