TO THE DEITY. The following fine poem appeared some years since in the columns of the newspapers. We know not the author's name, but it well deserves preservation in these pages. O THOU Eternal One! whose presence bright Whom none can comprehend, and none explore: Embracing all,-supporting-ruling o'er,— In its sublime research, Philosophy May measure out the ocean deep-may count Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try And Thought is lost ere Thought can soar so high, Thou, from primeval nothingness, didst call Eternity had its foundation; all Sprang forth from Thee of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin :-all life, all beauty Thine. Thy word created all, and doth create; Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine. Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious! Great! Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround: So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee; And as the spangles in the sunny rays Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. A million torches, lighted by Thy hand, Wander, unwearied, through the blue abyss: Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? Yes! as a drop of water in the sea, All this magnificence in Thee is lost: What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee? Is but an atom in the balance weigh'd Against Thy greatness! Is a cipher brought Nought! But the effluence of Thy light divine, As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Thou art! directing, guiding all,—Thou art! I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,— On the last verge of mortal being stand, Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land! The chain of being is complete in me; I can command the lightning, and am dust; Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word Its heavenly flight beyond its little sphere, O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest! Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; SPRING. These sweet stanzas were published in The Leisure Hour. The author's name is BURLEIGH, but we know nothing of his history. THE Sweet south wind-so long In the bright land of song ;— Wakes unto us and laughingly sweeps by, His The labourer at his toil Feels on his cheek its dewy kiss, and lifts open brow to catch its fragrant gifts, The aromatic spoil Borne from the blossoming garden of the south, While its faint sweetness lingers round his mouth. The bursting buds look up And greet the sunlight, while it lingers yet Opens her azure cup Meekly, and countless wild flowers wake to fling Their earliest incense on the gales of Spring. The reptile, that hath lain And the little snake crawls forth from caverns chill, To bask as erst upon the sunny hill. Continual songs arise From universal nature, birds and streams Thrice blessed Spring! thou bearest gifts divine; Nor unto earth alone! Thou hast a blessing for the human heart, And bringing hope upon thy rainbow wing, "MOTHER, OH! SING ME TO REST." A touching little lyric, by Lady JOHN SCOт. MOTHER, oh! sing me to rest : Lay my tired head on thy breast: Lay my tired head on thy breast: LOVE. This well-known passage is from SoUTHEY's Curse of Kehama. THEY sin who tell us love can die; All others are but vanity. In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell, Earthly these passions; of the earth, They perish where they have their birth; Its holy flame for ever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth ; At times deceived, at times opprest, Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest: |