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Thy golden sunshine comes

From the round heaven, and on their dwelling lies,
And lights their inner homes:

For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies
And givest them the stores

Of ocean, and the harvest of its shores.

Thy Spirit is around,

Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along ;
And this eternal sound-

Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng
Like the resounding sea,

Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of thee.

And when the hours of rest,
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine
Hushing its billowy breast-

The quiet of that moment too is thine,
It breathes of Him who keeps

The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.

W. C. Bryant.

XLIV.

TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.

ADY! that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hath shunned the broad way and the

green,

And with those few art eminently seen, That labour up the hill of heavenly truth; The better part with Mary and with Ruth

Chosen thou hast ; and they that overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,

And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure, Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,

Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure!
J. Milton.

XLV.

DIVINE EJACULATIONS.

OUNTAIN of light and living breath,

Whose mercies never fail nor fade,
Fill me with life that hath no death,
Fill me with light that hath no shade,
Appoint the remnant of my days
To see Thy power and sing Thy praise.

Lord God of gods! before whose throne

Stand storms and fire, O what shall we
Return to heaven, that is our own,

When all the world belongs to Thee!
We have no offering to impart
But praises and a wounded heart.

O Thou that sitt'st in heaven, and seest

My deeds without, my thoughts within,
Be Thou my Prince, be Thou my Priest,
Command my soul, and cure my sin.

How bitter my afflictions be

I care not, so I rise to Thee.

What I possess, or what I crave,

Brings no content, great God, to me
If what I would, or what I have,

Be not possest and blest in Thee.
What I enjoy, oh, make it mine
In making me, that have it, Thine!

When winter fortunes cloud the brows

Of summer friends-when eyes grow strangeWhen plighted faith forgets its vows

When earth and all things in it change,

O Lord, Thy mercies fail me never;

When once Thou lovest, Thou lovest for ever.

Great God, whose kingdom hath no end,
Into whose secrets none can dive,

Whose mercy none can apprehend,

Whose justice none can feel, and live,——

What my dull heart cannot aspire

To know, Lord, teach me to admire.

XLVI.

THE BELLS.

1.

John Quarles.

EAR the sledges with the bells—

Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretelis!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

Hear the mellow wedding-bells

Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night

How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune

What a liquid ditty floats,

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!

How it dwells

On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells.

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Hear the loud alarum-bells-
Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night

How they scream out their affright!

Too much horrified to speak,

They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,

With a desperate desire,

And a resolute endeavour
Now, now to sit or never,

By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!

How they clang and clash and roar !
What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,

By the twanging

And the clanging,

How the danger ebbs and flows;

Yet the ear distinctly tells,

In the jangling

And the wrangling

How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-

In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!

IV.

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron bells!

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels !
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!

For every sound that floats

From the rust within their throats

Is a groan.

And the people-ah, the people

They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,

G

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