The Irish poet, Thomas Moore, describes the delicious climate of Syria and Palestine, with their productions, in one of his poems.

SYRIA.

Now, upon Syria's land of roses
Softly the light of eve reposes,
And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

To one, who looked from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sun light falls ;—
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls
Of ruined shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light ;-

And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,
With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam

Of the warm west, as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span:
The unclouded skies of Peristan!
And then, the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine,

Banquetting through the flowery vales ;-
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods, so full of nightingales!

ODE TO THE SAVIOUR.

-For thou wert born of woman! thou didst come,
Oh Holiest to this world of sin and gloom,
Not in thy dread omnipotent array,
And not by thunders strew'd
Was thy tempestuous road;

Nor indignation burnt before thee on thy way.
But thee, a soft and naked child,
Thy mother undefil'd

In the rude manger laid to rest
From off her virgin breast.

The heavens were rot commanded to prepare
A gorgeous canopy of golden air;

Nor stoop'd their lamps th' enthroned fires on high :
A single silent star

Came wandering from afar,

Gliding uncheck'd and calm along the liquid sky;

The Eastern sages leading on

As at a kingly throne,

To lay their gold and odours sweet

Before thy infant feet.

The Earth and Ocean were not hush'd to hear
Bright harmony from every starry sphere;
Nor at thy presence break the voice of song
From all the cherub choirs,

And seraphs' burning lyres,

Pour'd thro' the host of heaven the charmed clouds along. One angel-troop the strain began,

Of all the race of man

By simple shepherds heard alone,
That soft Hosanna's tone.

And when thou didst depart, no car of flame

To bear thee hence in lambent radiance came;
Nor visible angels mourn'd with drooping plumes:
Nor didst thou mount on high

From fatal Calvary

With all thy own redeen'd out-bursting from their tombs.

For thou didst bear away from earth

But one of human birth,

The dying felon by thy side, to be

In Paradise with thee.

Nor o'er thy cross the clouds of vengeance break
A little while the conscious earth did shake

At that foul deed by her fierce children done;

A few dim hours of day

The world in darkness lay;

Then bask'd in bright repose beneath the cloudless sun; While thou didst sleep within the tomb,

Consenting to thy doom;

Ere yet the white-rob'd angel shone

Upon the sealed stone.

And when thou didst arise, thou didst not stand
With devastation in thy red right hand,
Plaguing the guilty city's murderous crew;
But thou didst haste to meet

Thy mother's coming feet,

And bear the words of peace unto the faithful few.
Then calmly, slowly didst thou rise

Into thy native skies,

Thy human form dissolved on high

In its own radiancy.

Milman.

LINES,

On seeing a clear stream which supplied the neighbour

hood with water.

Gentle reader, see in me

An emblem of true charity :

For, while my bounty I bestow,

I'm neither heard nor seen to flow;

And I have fresh supplies from heaven

For every cup of water given.

Bishop Hoadly.

THOMAS MOORE.

Mr. Moore is a native of Ireland, only a small portion of his poetry is of a serious character; but two of his hymns are selected as illustrative of his talent for sacred poetry.

THE UNIVERSE IS GOD'S TEMPLE.

To thee whose temple is all space,
Whose altar earth, sea, skies,

One chorus let all beings raise,
All nature's incense rise.

Pope.

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine,
My temple, Lord! that arch of thine;
My censer's breath the mountain airs,
And silent thoughts my only prayers*.

My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
When murmuring homeward to their caves,
Or when the stillness of the sea,

Even more than music, breathes of thee!

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown,
All light and silence, like thy throne!
And the pale stars shall be, at night,
The only eyes that watch my rite.

Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look,
Shall be my pure and shining book,
Where I shall read, in words of flame,
The glories of thy wond'rous name.

I'll read thy anger in the rack

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track;
Thy mercy in the azure hue

Of sunny brightness, breaking through!

*Pii orant tacite.

T

There's nothing bright, above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow
But in its light my soul can see
Some feature of thy Deity.

There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy love,
And meekly wait that moment, when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again!

THE KINGDOM COME.

These verses repeat the figures by which the Hebrew Prophets, Isaiah, and others indicate the reign of Christ. The Jews believed he would be their political ruler, and the splendid oriental imagery by which the circumstances of his power were illustrated, led them to presume that he would be arrayed in all the magnificence of eastern inonarchs.

Those who know the history of the Christian religion, know, that though the life of Jesus was humble, and his death ignominious, yet kings and princes," from every nook of earth" have acknowledged the truth of this religion, and that every nation of civilized men is subject in some measure to the blessed influences of Christiani4y..

Awake arise*! thy light is come!

The nations that before outshone thee,
Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb-
The glory of the Lord is on thee!

Arise-the Gentiles to thy ray,

From every

nook of earth shall cluster;
And kings and princes haste to pay
Their homage to thy rising lustre.

Lift up thine eyes around, and see,
O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters

* People of God.