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"A little while," and all around,

The earth, the sea, the sky, The sunny light, and sound Of nature's minstrelsy,

Shall be as they had never been, And we so weak and vile

Be creatures of a brighter scene— We only wait" a little while."

NATURE A GUIDE AND A REPROVER.

EDMUND PEEL.

Oh, FOR a flowing tongue and spirit free
As air and ocean, wingéd words to pour
Of love and wonder, singing while they soar,
To Him who piled yon mountains o'er the sea!
O Thou, whose merits are our only plea,

Whom, teaching by the Galilean shore,
Men did of old, a faithful few, adore-
Incline the yearning heart to follow Thee.
Raise up thy servants with the rising sun

To join in Nature's universal song!
Approve our homage when the day is done;
And through the visions of the night prolong
The triumph of thy victory, dearly won

O'er wo and pain, and death, a ghastly throng!

THE VOICES AT THE THRONE.

T. WESTWOOD.

A LITTLE child,

A little meek-faced, quiet, village child,
Sat singing, by her cottage door at eve,
A low, sweet Sabbath song.
No human ear

Caught the faint melody—no human eye

Beheld the upturn'd aspect, or the smile

That wreathed her innocent lips the while they breathed The oft-repeated burden of the hymn,

"Praise God! praise God!"

A seraph by the Throne,

In the full glory, stood. With eager hand

He smote the golden harpstrings, till a flood
Of harmony on the celestial air

Well'd forth, unceasing. Then with a great voice,
He sang the "Holy, Holy, evermore,

Lord God Almighty!" and the eternal courts
Thrill'd with the rapture, and the hierarchies,
Angel, and rapt Archangel, throbb'd and burn'd
With vehement adoration. Higher yet
Rose the majestic anthem, without pause,
Higher, with rich magnificence of sound,

To its full strength; and still the infinite heavens
Rang with the "Holy, Holy, evermore!"
Till trembling from excess of awe and love,
Each sceptred spirit sank before the Throne,
With a mute hallelujah. But, even then,
While the ecstatic song was at its height,
Stole in an alien voice-a voice that seem'd
To float, float upward from some world afar—
A meek and child-like voice, faint, but how sweet!
That blended with the seraph's rushing strain,

Ev'n as a fountain's music with the roll

Of the reverberate thunder. Loving smiles

Lit up the beauty of each angel's face

At that new utterance. Smiles of joy that grew

More joyous yet, as ever and anon

Was heard the simple burden of the hymn,

"Praise God! praise God!" And when the seraph's song

Had reach'd its close, and o'er the golden lyre

Silence hung brooding-when the eternal courts
Rang but with echoes of his chant sublime,

Still through the abysmal space, that wand'ring voice
Came floating upwards from its world afar-

Still murmur'd sweet on the celestial air,
"Praise God! praise God!"

ST PETER'S AT ROME.

"And when he thought thereon, he wept."

"SOLACE OF SONG."

WHO sits, a sceptred monarch in his hall,
Upheld by Time that makes all others bow?
Himself unmoved, though nations rise and fall;
No snow-storm shed by ages on his brow?
High lot is his! nor change of rule to know,
Nor touch of hoary years, as centuries come and go.

What would ambition more? Eternal Rome

Seals with his name the emblems of her pride

High in the chamber of her proudest dome,
In godhead throned his image dare abide;
While pilgrims hasten with the offer'd vow,
And at his feet in low obeisance bow.

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