Hymn.

For the Boatmen as they approach the Rapids by Heidelberg.

W. WORDSWORTH.

ESU! bless our slender boat,

JE

By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings,―let them not
Drown the music of a song
Breathed Thy mercy to implore,

Where these troubled waters roar.

Saviour, for our warning, seen

Bleeding on that precious rood;
If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood,

We forgot Thee, do not Thou
Disregard Thy suppliants now!

Hither, like yon ancient tower
Watching o'er the river's bed,
Fling the shadow of Thy power,
Else we sleep among the dead;
Thou who trod'st the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!

Guide our bark among the waves;

Through the rocks our passage smooth;

Where the whirlpool frets and raves,

Let Thy love its anger soothe :

All our hope is placed in Thee;
Miserere Domine !

The Storm.

The Storm.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTOR.-Music by John Hullah.

HE tempest rages wild, and high

THE

The waves lift up their voice, and cry

Fierce answers to the angry sky,

Miserere Domine.

Through the black night, and driving rain,
A ship is struggling, all in vain,

To live upon the stormy main ;—

Miserere Domine.

The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,
Vain is it now to strive or dare;

A cry goes up of great despair,

Miserere Domine.

The stormy voices of the main,
The moaning wind and melting rain
Beat on the nursery window pane:-

Miserere Domine.

Warm curtain'd was the little bed,

Soft pillow'd was the little head,

"The storm will wake the child," they said:

Miserere Domine.

Cowering among his pillows white,

He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright,
66 Father, save those at sea to-night!"

Miserere Domine.

The morning shone, all clear and gay,

On a ship at anchor in the bay,
And on a little child at play.—

Gloria tibi Domine!

39

A Death Scene.

PHOEBE CAREY.

YING, still slowly dying,

DYIN

As the hours of night rode by,
She had lain since the light of sunset
Was red on the evening sky:
Till after the middle watches,

As we softly near her trod,

When her soul from its prison fetters
Was loosed by the hand of God.

One moment her pale lips trembled
With the triumph she might not tell,

As the sight of the life immortal
On her spirit's vision fell;
Then the look of rapture faded,
And the beautiful smile was faint,
As that, in some convent picture,
On the face of a dying saint.

And we felt in the lonesome midnight,

As we sat by the silent dead,

What a light on the path going downward

The feet of the righteous shed.

Then we thought how, with faith unshrinking,

She came to the Jordan's tide,

And, taking the hand of the Saviour,

Went up on the heavenly side.

Spring.

ONC

Spring.

A. DE VERE.

NCE more, through God's high will and grace,
Of hours that each its task fulfils,

Heart-healing Spring resumes its place
The valley through, and scales the hills.

Who knows not Spring? who doubts when blows
Her breath, that Spring is come indeed?

The swallow doubts not; nor the rose
That stirs, but wakes not; nor the weed.

Once more the cuckoo's call I hear;

I know, in many a glen profound, The earliest violets of the year

Rise up like water from the ground.

The thorn, I know, once more is white;
And far down many a forest dale,

The anemones in dubious light
Are trembling like a bridal veil.

By streams released that surging flow
From craggy shelf, through sylvan glades,

The pale narcissus, well I know,

Smiles hour by hour on greener shades.

The honey'd cowslip tufts once more
The golden slopes ;-with gradual ray
The primrose stars the rock, and o'er

The wood-path strews its milky way.

41

I see her not-I feel her near,

As charioted in mildest airs
She sails through yon empyreal sphere,
And in her arms and bosom bears

That urn of flowers, and lustral dews,
Whose sacred balm, on all things shed,
Revives the weak, the old renews,

And crowns with votive wreaths the dead.

T

Youth and Age.

EDMUND WALLER.

'HE seas are quiet when the winds are o'er,

So calm are we when passions are no more!
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.

Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal'd that emptiness which age descries;
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.

Stronger by weakness wiser men become,

As they draw near to their eternal home;

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,

That stand upon the threshold of the new.