THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH.

THE groans of nature in this nether world,
Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end.
Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung,
Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp,
The time of rest, the promised sabbath comes.
Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh
Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course
Over a sinful world. And what remains
Of this tempestuous state of human things,
Is merely as the working of a sea

Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest.

For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds

The dust that waits upon His sultry march,

When sin hath moved Him, and His wrath is hot,
Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend

Propitious, in His chariot paved with love,
And what His storms have blasted and defaced
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair.

Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet
Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch;
Nor can the wonders it records be sung
To meaner music, and not suffer loss.
But when a poet, or when one like me,
Happy to rove among poetic flowers,

Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last
On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair,
Such is the impulse and the spur he feels
To give it praise proportion'd to its worth,

THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH.

That not t' attempt it, arduous as he deems
The labour, were a task more arduous still.

Oh scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? Rivers of gladness water all the earth,

And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach

Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field

Laughs with abundance; and the land once lean,
Or fertile only in its own disgrace,

Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd.
The various seasons woven into one,

And that one season an eternal spring,

The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence,

For there is none to covet, all are full.

The lion and the libbard and the bear

Graze with the fearless flocks. All bask at noon
Together, or all gambol in the shade

Of the same grove, and drink one common stream.
Antipathies are none. No foe to man
Lurks in the serpent now. The mother sees,
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand
Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm,
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue.

All creatures worship man, and all mankind

One Lord, one Father. Error has no place;

That creeping pestilence is driven away,

The breath of heav'n has chased it. In the heart

No passion touches a discordant string,

But all is harmony and love. Disease

Is not. The pure and uncontaminate blood

Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age.

One song employs all nations; and all cry,

Worthy the Lamb, for He was slain for us!"

THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH.

The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks
Shout to each other; and the mountain tops
From distant mountains catch the flying joy,
Till, nation after nation taught the strain,
Each rolls the rapturous Hosanna round.
Behold the measure of the promise fill'd,
See Salem built, the labour of a God!
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines;
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth
Flock to that light; the glory of all lands
Flows into her, unbounded is her joy,
And endless her increase. Thy rams are there
Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there;
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind,
And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there.
Praise is in all her gates. Upon her walls,
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts
Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there
Kneels with the native of the farthest West,
And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand,
And worships. Her report has travell'd forth
Into all lands. From every clime they come
To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy,
O Sion! an assembly such as earth

Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see.

Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restored. So God has greatly purposed; who would else In His dishonour'd works Himself endure Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. Haste then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, Ye slow-revolving seasons! We would see (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) A world that does not dread and hate His laws, And suffer for its crime: would learn how fair The creature is that God pronounces good,

THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTII.

How pleasant in itself what pleases Him.

Here ev'ry drop of honey hides a sting;
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers,
And even the joy that haply some poor heart
Derives from heaven, pure as the fountain is,
Is sullied in the stream; taking a taint
From touch of human lips, at best impure.
Oh for a world in principle as chaste

As this is gross and selfish! over which
Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway
That govern all things here, should'ring aside
The meek and modest truth, and forcing her
To seek a refuge from the tongue of strife
In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men.
Where violence shall never lift the sword,
Nor cunning justify the proud man's wrong,
Leaving the poor no remedy but tears.
Where he that fills an office shall esteem
Th' occasion it presents of doing good

More than the perquisite: where law shall speak
Seldom, and never but as wisdom prompts,
And equity; not jealous more to guard
A worthless form, than to decide aright:
Where fashion shall not sanctify abuse,
Nor smooth good-breeding (supplemental grace)
With lean performance ape the work of love.

Come then, and added to Thy many crowns Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, Thou who alone art worthy! it was Thine

By ancient covenant ere nature's birth,

And Thou hast made it Thine by purchase since,

And overpaid its value with Thy blood.

Thy saints proclaim Thee King; and in their hearts.

Thy title is engraven with a pen,

Dipt in the fountain of eternal love.

William Couper.

THE Curfew tolls the Knell of parting Day,
The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea,
The Ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the World to Darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimm'ring Landscape on the Sight,
And all the Air a solemn Stillness holds,
Save where the Beetle wheels his droning Flight,
Or drowsy Tinklings lull the distant Folds: