a bound, accompanied by a terrific howl, rushes upon his victim.

But if the lion is thus endowed by nature with the powers necessary to his subsistence, we shall perceive that he is in some respects inferior to other animals. We have before said that he was not swift-footed, and on this account he becomes less terrible. If he had the fleetness of the antelope, or the power of making long rapid excursions like the wolf, he would soon desolate the countries he inhabits, and thus, while all the larger quadrupeds would become extinct, his own race, for the want of sustenance, would also cease to exist. It is thus that the powers of the animal world are wonderfully balanced, and the more we study into the ways of Providence, the more of wonderful knowledge, art, and wise design shall we discover in them.

HAIL, SABBATH! thee I hail, the poor man's day;
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke;
While wandering slowly up the river's side,
He meditates on HIм, whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its roots; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy, each rural charm,

He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope,
That heaven may be one SABBATH without end
But now his steps a welcome sound recalls;
Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile,
Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe :

Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved ground:
The aged man, the bowed down, the blind

Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes
With pain, and eyes the new-made grave well-pleased;
These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach
The house of God; these spite of all their ills,
A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise
They enter in. A placid stillness reigns,
Until the man of God, worthy the name,
Arise, and read the anointed shepherd's lays.
His locks of snow, his brow serene, his look
Of love, it speaks, 'Ye are my children all;
The gray-haired man, stooping upon his staff,
As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye
Pursues the swallow flitting thwart the dome."
Loud swells the song: O how that simple song,
Though rudely chanted, how it melts the heart,
Commingling soul with soul in one full tide
Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble trust!
Next comes the unpremeditated prayer,
Breathed from the inmost heart, in accents low,
But earnest. Altered is the tone; to man

Are now addressed the sacred speaker's words.

Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace,

Flow from his tongue: O chief let comfort flow!
It is most needed in this vale of tears:

Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for joy;
The stranger to discern the Almighty's shield
Held o'er his friendless head; the orphan child
Feel, 'mid his tears, I have a father still!

"T is done. But hark that infant querulous voice! Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear:

And see the father raise the white-robed babe
In solemn dedication to the Lord :

The holy man sprinkles with forth-stretched hand
The face of innocence; then earnest turns,
And prays a blessing in the name of HIM,
Who said, Let little children come to me;
Forbid them not the infant is replaced
Among the happy band: they, smilingly,
In gay attire, hie to the house of mirth,
The poor man's festival, a jubilee day,
Remembered long.

Nor would I leave unsung

The lofty ritual of our sister land :

In vestment white, the minister of God
Opens the book, and reverentially

The stated portion reads. A pause ensues.
The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes,
Then swells into a diapason full:

The people rising, sing, With harp, with harp,

And voice of psalms; harmoniously attuned
The various voices blend; the long-drawn aisles,
At every close, the lingering strain prolong
And now the tubes a mellowed stop controls
In softer harmony the people join,

While liquid whispers from yon orphan band
Recall the soul from adoration's trance,
And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears.
Again the organ peal, loud rolling, meets
The hallelujahs of the choir: Sublime,
A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,
As if the whole were one, suspended high
In air, soaring heavenward: afar they float,
Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch:
Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close,
Yet thinks he hears it still his heart is cheered;
He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise,
'Would I were now beneath that echoing roof!
No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow;
My heart would sing and many a Sabbath-day
My steps should thither turn; or, wandering far
In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow,
There would I bless his name who led me forth
From death's dark vale, to walk amid these sweets;
Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow
Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye.'

It is not only in the sacred fane

That homage should be paid to the Most High;

There is a temple, one not made with hands.
The vaulted firmament: far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city-chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air;
When not the limberest leaf is seen to move,
Save where the linnet lights upon the spray;
When not a flowret bends its little stalk,
Save where the bee alights upon the bloom;
There, rapt in gratitude, in joy and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon;
Silence his praise: his disembodied thoughts,
Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend
Beyond the empyrean.

Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne,
The Sabbath service of the shepherd boy.
In some lone glen, where every sound is lulled
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretched on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ;
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,

And wonders why he weeps: the volume closed,
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conned
With meikle care beneath the lowly roof

Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth
Pines unrewarded by a thankless state.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen,

The shepherd boy the Sabbath holy keeps,