These roofs demand; listen! with prelude slow,
Solemnly sweet, yet full, the organs blow.
And hark! again, heard ye the choral chant
Peal through the echoing arches, jubilant?
More softly now, imploring litanies,

Wafted to heaven, and mingling with the sighs
Of penitence, from yonder altar rise;

Again the vaulted roof "Hosannahs " rings,
"Hosannah! Lord of lords, and King of kings"!
Rent, but not prostrate; stricken, yet sublime;
Reckless alike of injuries or time;

Thou, unsubdued in silent majesty,

The tempest hast defied, and shalt defy!
The temple of our Sion so shall mock

The muttering storm, the very earthquake's shock,

Founded, O Christ, on thy eternal rock!

William Lisle Bowles.

FAMED

Maltby.

THE MALTBY YEWS.

AMED Maltby yews, with trunks like stone!
Are you or these gray rocks the older?
Like "death-in-life," ye strangely grow,
And, dead alive, they sternly moulder.
Memorials grand of death and life,
That seem from time new life to borrow!
Full many a race have ye outlived

Of men whose lives were crime and sorrow.

Age after age, while Time grew old,
Your writhen boughs here slowly lengthened;
Storm-stricken trees! your stormy strength
Five hundred years have darkly strengthened.
Yet safe beneath your mighty roots

The busy bee hath made its dwelling;
And, at your feet, the little mouse,
With lifted hands, its joy is telling.

And high above the full-voiced lark
The sun, that loves to see you, beameth
On lonely rock or mossy trunk,
That with the rock coeval seemeth;
While, all around, the desert flowers,
Where breezes drink their freshness, gather,
As children come to kneel and bend
In prayer around their father's father.

O, could I write upon your gloom
A solemn verse that would not perish,
My written thoughts should warn and bless,
And nations saved the precept cherish;
For I would bid the dark and strong
Be greatly good, and daily stronger,
That power to wrong, and will to wrong,
Like fiends divorced, might pair no longer.

Ebenezer Elliott.

I

Malvern.

AT MALVERN.

SHALL behold far off thy towering crest,

Proud mountain! from thy heights as slow I stray
Down through the distant vale my homeward way,
I shall behold upon thy rugged breast

The parting sun sit smiling: me the while
Escaped the crowd, thoughts full of heaviness
May visit, as life's bitter losses press
Hard on my bosom; but I shall beguile

The thing I am, and think that even as thou
Dost lift in the pale beam thy forehead high,
Proud mountain! whilst the scattered vapors fly
Unheeded round thy breast, so, with calm brow,
The shades of sorrow I may meet, and wear
The smile unchanged of peace, though pressed by care!

MALVERN HILLS.

William Lisle Bowles.

REWHILE I saw ye faintly through far haze
Spread many miles above the fields of sea;
Now ye rise glorious, and my steps are free
To wander through your valleys' beaten ways,
And climb above, threading the rocky maze;
And trace this stream alive with shifting light,
With whose successive eddies silver-bright
Not without pleasant sound the moonbeam plays.

My dear, dear bride, two days had made thee mine,
Two days of waxing hope and waning fear,
When under the night-planet's lavish shine
We stood in joy, and blessed that rillet clear;
Such joy unwarning comes and quickly parts,
But lives deep-rooted in our "heart of hearts."

Henry Alford.

Margate.

MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE.

I saw a little vulgar Boy, I said,

WAS in Margate last July, I walked upon the pier,

you here?

"What make

The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything

but joy";

Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy ?"

He frowned, that little vulgar Boy, he deemed I meant to scoff,

And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off." He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose, He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose!

"Hark! don't you hear, my little man ? — it's striking, nine," I said,

"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed.

Run home and get your supper, else your Ma will

scold, O fie!

It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!"

The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, His bosom throbbed with agony, — he cried like anything!

I stooped, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him

I have n't got no supper, and I have n't got no Ma!

And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world

alone;

I have not had this livelong day one drop to cheer

my heart,

Nor brown' to buy a bit of bread with, — let alone a tart.

"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in

employ,

By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy ;)

“And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed

intent

To jump as Mr. Levi did from off the Monument!

"Cheer up! cheer up! my little man,

kindly said,

cheer up!" I

"You are a naughty boy to take such things into your

head;