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In yon bright sphere, far up the heavens eternal,

Spirit divine, is thy pure dwelling found; Soon may I revel there, mid bowers vernal,

Exempt from sin and toil, with glory crowned.

Ye tranquil stars; there is a magic in
Your wreathèd charms, that halfway weans me

Myself; uplifts my struggling soul from this
Dim life, and purifies, and similates
To essence like yourselves, eternal.


Will you come with me, my own love?

Dearest, come with me;
With me, to seek yon distant grove,

And tread the dewy lea.
Oh! sweetly blooms the early rose,

And sweet the hawthorn tree;
And wild, delicious music flows

From rill and bird and bee.

The night is lovely. Far along, where the
Deep shadows of the oak tree lies, the pale
Moonbeams for an instant rest and quiver.
The wind, low whispering in Night's still ear,
Dallies with the umbrageous boughs, soft fans
The trembling leaves of these great trees, and

Lightly the streamers on yon distant hill.
Here are some lowly flowers, that uplift their
Dewy eyes to mine. Fair flowers, so fragile,
Yet consummate of beauty, well ye do
Personate that sweetest of all human

Oh! in an hour like this,
In a spot like this—beside me one dear
Friend, whose smile, calm as the pencilled star-

light, Should all reflect my soul's deep love—it were Not pain, methinks, to meet the angel Death; Passing from heavenly calm on earth to thee, Serenity of endless bliss above.

The deer, uprisen from his lair,

Is skipping merrily; There's gladness in the perfumed air,

Then come, my love, with me.
The squirrel on yon mountain's brow

Plays gayly on the tree;
The rabbit, in the copse below,

Leaps joyfully and free.


Just o'er the hills, in the eastern sky,

The early beams of morn,
In rosy lines of quivering light,

The fleecy clouds adorn.
All Nature calls; then why delay?

The grove, the spangled lea, Invite us forth, then come, my love,

Come to the woods with me.


STATESMAN, yes! tho' cold and lowly,

In the silent tomb,
A living light, intense and holy,

Bursts the gloom.
Bursts the gloom! A Nation, weeping,

Beholds that light, Like the morning sun-beams creeping

O'er the night.


Still he lives. O, yes, forever

And forever more! The light of such a life can never

Fade from all Time's shore.

How beautiful the night! How lovely now
Yon fair, broad moon! Emblem of purity,
Fit type of gentle love, my heart to thee
Leaps with impassionate yearning. Hearts to

In fond forgetfulness of earth, and sin,
And care, in every age have leaped; and thou
Hast felt their warm devotion, Moon, and with
A smile more sweet, more holy than thy wont,
Repaid the love they gave. E'en so, it seems
Thou smilest now.

Through the deep azure, gleam The countless stars of heaven. Have ye before E'er looked so beautiful as now, sweet orbs ? Ay, oft! and yet my soul was never thrilled With so deep a sense of your near presence.

Thoughts immortal, thoughts eternal,

His spirit bore; These bloom on earth, like flowers vernal,

Bloom evermore.

My Country, in thy darkest hour

Look up, and see In his words of strength and power,


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He shall live, and future ages

Hear his voice sublime, Speaking wisdom unto sages

Through coming time.


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DRYDEN PHELPS, was born in Suffield,

Conn., May 15, 1816. He is a direct descendant of William Phelps who came from Tewksbury, England, and was one of the first settlers of Windsor, Conn., where for many years he was a magistrate and very prominent in church and state. The parents of Dr. Phelps possessed strong characters, made sweet by loving sympathies, and were devoted Christians. Their influence left an impression on the life of their son. His preparation for college was in his native town in the Connecticut Literary Institution. Poems and numerous articles of his were published in various periodicals at that time. In 1842, when in college, his first volume, "Eloquence of Nature and Other Poems," appeared. He was graduated from Brown University, Providence, R. I., in 1844. For one year he was engaged in supplying the First Baptist Church of New Haven, Conn., while a theological student in Yale Divinity School, and became its pastor in January, 1846. This relation continued twentyeight years, closing December, 1873. In 1856 he published "Sunlight and Hearthlight; or Fidelity and Other Poems.” In 1859-60 he spent a year in Europe, Egypt and Palestine, and, in 1863, brought out a book of travels, entitled “Holy Land with Glimpses of Europe and Egypt,” which has passed through nine editions. In 1867 a third volume of poems called "The Poet's Song for the Heart and Home," was placed before an appreciative public. It contained many new poems, nearly all of those in the second volume and a few from the first. “Rest Days in Journeys Abroad,” appeared in 1887. It consists of sermons preached during his year of foreign travels, and subsequent tours in Europe, with prefatory notes and a poem appropriate to the subject following each sermon. “Special Sermons," preached chiefly in the First Baptist Church, New Haven, were collected into a volume the same year. In May, 1874, he became pastor of the Jefferson St. Baptist Church, Providence, R. I., serving two years. In 1876 he took charge, as publisher and editor, of the “Christian Secretary,” Hartford, Conn., and conducted that paper twelve years. He was married, August 26, 1847, to Miss Sophia Emilia Linsley, a daughter of Rev. James H. Linsley (Yale, 1817) who was a Baptist minister and noted naturalist, residing in Stratford, Conn., near New Haven Mrs. Phelps has great literary ability, is a constant writer, and her character is of rare loveliness. Their children were a daughter and four sons. The second son died when nearly four years of age.


Each mourns for the lost one, but seraphs rejoice;

Cora has gone to the angelic throng;
Seraphs her name, with the harp and the voice,

Have added, to sweeten their wonderful song.

To that fair choir does my bright one belong, Enjoying for ever the home of her choice.


All hail! thou beauteous season, hail!

Our human hearts o’erflow,
For well do Spring's glad smiles avail

To banish dreams of woe.
The morning breaks, the forests ring,

The bleating lambs reply;
All hail! thou coy young virgin, Spring,
That bidd'st dark winter fly.


The daughter, Miss Sophia Lyon Phelps, was endowed with musical, intellectual and personal attractions. She died in 1871, in her twenty-third year. A memorial pamphlet, by her parents, includes a touching poem from her father's pen. Three sons, Rev. Dryden W. Phelps, Rev. Arthur S. Phelps and Mr. William L. Phelps are living. Each inherits literary talents.

The residence of Dr. Phelps is in New Haven, Conn. His poetry is characterized by deep poetic conception and religious feeling. Among a number of this author's widely known hymns “Something for Thee" has been most used in collections, in this and in foreign countries. Dr. Phelps' latest publication, “Songs for all Seasons," was issued in 1891.

J. M. R.


In love my soul would bow,
My heart fulfill its vow,
Some offering bring Thee now,

Something for Thee.
O'er the blest mercy-seat

Pleading for me,
Upward in faith I look,

Jesus, to Thee.
Help me thy cross to bear,
Thy wondrous love declare,
Some song to raise, or prayer,

Something for thee.
Give me a faithful heart-

Likeness to Thee, That each departing day

Henceforth may see Some work of love begun, Some deed of kindness done, Some wanderer sought and won,

Something for thee. All that I am and have,

Thy gifts so free,
Ever, in joy or grief,

My Lord, for Thee;
And when thy face I see,
My ransomed soul shall be,
Through all eternity,

Something for Thee.


While I stand on one of her seven hills,

Gray old Rome is under my eye, And a glorious scene my spirit thrills,

As I gaze on the western sky.

There are gorgeous clouds of vermillion hue,

And splendors untold beside,
That rise and spread on the arching blue,

O’er the whole horizon wide.

'Tis the setting sun in his brilliant dyes,

And what matchless tints are given! They seem like the light of celestial skies

O'er the jasper walls of heaven.


How softly on groves of cypress and pine,

Domes, turrets and temples old,
The blending glories linger and shine,

And bathe St. Peter's in gold.

Upon Alban slope and Sabine crown

The purpling sunbeams play, And they drop on the winding Tiber down

Like glimmerings of upper day.

Fear not, Abraham, saith the Lord,
I'm thy shield and great reward;
I will bless thee now and ever,
Naught from thee my love shall sever.
Promises that I have made,
All the words my mouth hath said,
I'll fulfill them to the letter,
Than thy fears thy God is better.
I from Ur, with guiding hand,
Brought thee to this chosen land;
I have seen thy faith's true merit,
Thou this country shall inherit.

Beyond this brief and enchanting sight,

I look toward the sky divine, O City of Light, in a splendor more bright,

For ever thy glories shine.

Would'st thou have a certain sign That the blessing shall be thine? Canst thou count the stars of heaven? So shall seed to thee be given.


SAVIOR, thy dying love,

Thou gavest me, Nor should I aught withhold,

Dear Lord, from Thee.

From a land of trials sore,
After bondage years are o'er,
They shall here repeat the story
Of their triumph and my glory.

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