Oh, then we feel how empty and how vain, Which seems unnoticed on the mind to win, Its soft impressions may too soon efface, That trembling sunbeam draws its sacred birth, And bids the breast its own sweet comfort know, Too pure for sense! too beautiful for earth! 'Tis from those realms where we may shortly prove How bright, how pure, affection's lamp may burn; Where we may gaze upon the face we love, Nor dread the anguish of a cold return; Where, waking memory to a second birth, We may, untroubled, trace the path we trod, And having vainly sought for rest on earth, May find it in the bosom of our God. (Original.) SONNET TO THE MOON. REV. JOHN A. LATROBE. O THOU mild emblem of thy Maker's might, . Thy full-orbed eye beheld the earth as yet Thou steppest forth, when strikes the given hour, And still with swerveless foot ascend'st the skyWhile man, fall'n man, created to reflect Jehovah's glory as Jehovah's power, Shines not or like an earthborn gleam, flits by. JERUSALEM. BISHOP HEBER. JERUSALEM! JERUSALEM! enthroned once on high, the sky! Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a curse and grief to see; Jerusalem! Jerusalem! our tears shall flow for thee! Oh! hadst thou known thy day of grace, and flock'd beneath the wing Of Him who call'd thee lovingly, thine own anointed King, Then had the tribes of all the earth gone up thy pomp to see, And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all thy sons been free! And who art thou that mournest me? replied the ruin grey, And fear'st not rather that thyself may prove a castaway? I am a dried and abject branch; my place is given to thee, But woe to every barren graft of thy wild olive-tree! Our day of grace is sunk in night, our time of mercy spent, For heavy was my children's crime, and strange their punishment; Yet gaze not idly on our fall, but, sinner, warned be Who spared not His chosen seed may send His wrath on thee! Our day of grace is sunk in night, thy noon is in its prime, (Original.) OUR FATHER'S HOUSE. A. R. C. OUR Father's House! oh, blessed sound! Though strangers on this earthly ground, Our Father's House! Then we shall meet Beyond this scene of strife, And rest our worn and weary feet Beside the stream of life. Our Father's House! The thought is blest, No griefs the blessed share; There cannot be a lonely breast, A wounded spirit there! Our Father's House! Ah! who may tell What glory lies in store, How high the tides of rapture swell On that celestial shore! |