For, sore dismayed, through storm and | But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, Which God hath planned; Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. A torch, at the great temple's dedica But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features! tion! I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled; For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed, Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled: Antiquity appears to have begun Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, How the world looked when it was fresh and young, And the great deluge still had left it green; Or was it then so old that history's pages Contained no record of its early ages? Tell us, - for doubtless thou canst recol- Still silent!- Incommunicative elf! lect, To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect Of either pyramid that bears his name? Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer? Art sworn to secrecy? Then keep thy But, prithee, tell us something of thy REGINALD HEBER. The preacher prays, "Lord, bless us!" "Lord, bless us!" echo cries; "Amen!" the breezes murmur low; "Amen!" the rill replies: The ceaseless toil of woe-worn hearts The proud with pangs are paying, But here, O God of earth and heaven! The humble heart is praying. How softly, in the pauses Of song, re-echoed wide, The affrighted land is ringing; But still, O Lord, the pious heart And soul-toned voice are singing! Hush! hush! the preacher preacheth: Speak low, thou heaven-paid teacher! The base their wrath are wreaking; But, thanked be God! they can't prevent The storm of heaven from speaking. CORN-LAW HYMN. LORD! call thy pallid angel, The tamer of the strong! And bid him whip with want and woe The champions of the wrong! O, say not thou to ruin's flood, "Up, sluggard! why so slow?" But alone let them groan, The lowest of the low; And basely beg the bread they curse, Where millions curse them now! No; wake not thou the giant Who drinks hot blood for wine, And shouts unto the east and west, In thunder-tones like thine, Till the slow to move rush all at once, An avalanche of men, 143 While he raves over waves That need no whirlwind then; Though slow to move, moved all at once, A sea, a sea of men! REGINALD HEBER. [1783-1826.] IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE. If thou, my love, wert by my side, I miss thee at the dawning gray, I miss thee when by Gunga's stream But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I spread my books, my pencil try, But when of morn or eve the star I feel, though thou art distant far, Then on! then on! where duty leads, That course nor Delhi's kingly gates For sweet the bliss us both awaits Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold; Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,' But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, then, |