Ye who beheld Him fainting on the cross,
And did him homage, say, may mortal join
The hallelujahs of the risen God?

Will the faint voice and grovelling song be heard
Amid the seraphim in light divine?

Yes, He will deign, the Prince of Peace will deign,
For mercy, to accept the hymn of faith,

Low though it be and humble.-Lord of life!
The Christ, the Comforter, thine advent now
Fills my uprising soul. I mount, I fly
Far o'er the skies, beyond the rolling orbs;
The bonds of flesh dissolve, and earth recedes,
And care, and pain, and sorrow, are no more.

NELSONI MORS.

*

YET once again, my Harp! yet once again,
One ditty more, and on the mountain-ash
I will again suspend thee. I have felt
The warm tear frequent on my cheek, since last,
At eventide, when all the winds were hush'd,
I woke to thee the melancholy song.
Since then with Thoughtfulness, a maid severe,
I've journey'd, and have learn'd to shape the freaks
Of frolic fancy to the line of truth;
Not unrepining, for my froward heart

Still turns to thee, mine Harp, and to the flow
Of spring-gales past-the woods and storied haunts
Of my not songless boyhood.-Yet once more,
Not fearless, I will wake thy tremulous tones,
My long-neglected Harp.-He must not sink;
The good, the brave-he must not, shall not sink
Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Though from the Muse's chalice I may pour
No precious dews of Aganippe's well,

: Or Castaly, though from the morning cloud
I fetch no hues to scatter on his hearse :
Yet will I wreathe a garland for his brows,
Of simple flowers, such as the hedge-rows scent
Of Britain, my loved country; and with tears
Most eloquent, yet silent, I will bathe
Thy honor'd corse, my Nelson, tears as warm
And honest as the ebbing blood that flow'd
Fast from thy honest heart.-Thou, Pity, too,
If ever I have loved, with faltering step,
To follow thee in the cold and starless night,
To the top-crag of some rain-beaten cliff;
And as I heard the deep gun bursting loud
Amid the pauses of the storm, have pour'd
Wild strains, and mournful, to the hurrying winds,
The dying soul's viaticum; if oft
Amid the carnage of the field I've sate

With thee upon the moonlight throne, and sung
To cheer the fainting soldier's dying soul,
With mercy and forgiveness-visitant
Of heaven-sit thou upon my harp,
And give it feeling, which were else too cold
For argument so great, for theme so high.
How dimly on that morn the sun arose,
'Kerchieft in mists, and tearful, when

PSALM XXII.

My God, my God, oh, why dost thou forsake me? Why art thou distant in the hour of fear?

HYMN II.

THE Lord our God is Lord of all, • His station who can find? I hear him in the waterfall!

I hear him in the wind!

If in the gloom of night I shroud,
His face I cannot fly;

I see him in the evening cloud,
And in the morning sky.

He lives, he reigns in every land,
From winter's polar snows

To where, across the burning sand,
The blasting meteor glows!

He smiles, we live; he frowns, we die;
We hang upon his word :-

He rears his red right arm on high,
And ruin bares the sword.

He bids his blasts the fields deform-
Then when his thunders cease,
Sits like an angel 'mid the storm,
And smiles the winds to peace!

Onward, Christians, onward go,
Join the war, and face the foe;
Faint not! much doth yet remain,
Dreary is the long campaign.

Shrink not, Christians; will ye yield?
Will ye quit the painful field?

HYMN V.

CHRISTIANS! brethren! ere we part,
Join every voice and every heart;
One solemn hymn to God we raise,
One final song of grateful praise.
Christians! we here may meet no more,
But there is yet a happier shore;
And there, released from toil and pain,
Brethren, we shall meet again.
Now to God, the Three in One,
Be eternal glory done;

Raise, ye saints, the sound again:
Ye nations, join the loud Amen.

HYMN III.

THROUGH Sorrow's night, and danger's path,
Amid the deepening gloom,
We, soldiers of an injured King,

Are marching to the tomb.

There, when the turmoil is no more,
And all our powers decay,
Our cold remains in solitude
Shall sleep the years away.
Our labors done, securely laid
In this our last retreat,
Unheeded, o'er our silent dust

The storms of life shall beat.

Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane,
The vital spark shall lie,

For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise
To see its kindred sky.

These ashes too, this little dust,
Our Father's care shall keep,
Till the last angel rise, and break
The long and dreary sleep.

Then love's soft dew o'er every eye
Shall shed its mildest rays,
And the long-silent dust shall burst
With shouts of endless praise.

HYMN IV.

A FRAGMENT.

MUCH in sorrow, oft in woe,
Onward, Christians, onward go,
Fight the fight, and worn with strife,
Steep with tears the bread of life.

HYMN.

In Heaven we shall be purified, so as to be able to endure the splendors of the Deity.

AWAKE, Sweet harp of Judah! wake,
Retune thy strings for Jesus' sake;
We sing the Savior of our race,

The Lamb, our shield, and hiding-place.

When God's right arm is bared for war,
And thunders clothe his cloudy car,
Where, where, oh where, shall man retire,
To escape the horrors of his ire?

"T is he, the Lamb, to him we fly,
While the dread tempest passes by;
God sees his Well-beloved's face,
And spares us in our hiding-place.
Thus while we dwell in this low scene,
The Lamb is our unfailing screen;
To him, though guilty, still we run,
And God still spares us for his Son

While yet we sojourn here below,
Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow;
Fallen, abject, mean a sentenced race,
We deeply need a hiding-place.

Yet courage-days and years will glide,
And we shall lay these clods aside;
Shall be baptized in Jordan's flood,
And wash'd in Jesus' cleansing blood.

Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed,
We through the Lamb shall be decreed;
Shall meet the Father face to face,
And need no more a hiding-place.

The last stanza of this hymn was added extemporaneously, one summer evening, when the author was with a few friends, on the Trent, and singing it as he was used to do on such oecasions.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she

The common fate of all things rare May read in thee;

How small a part in time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

[Yet, though thou fade,

From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise; And teach the Maid

That Goodness Time's rude hand defies, That Virtue lives when Beauty dies.]

H. K. WHITE.

"I AM PLEASED, AND YET I'M SAD."

WHEN twilight steals along the ground,
And all the bells are ringing round,

One, two, three, four, and five,

I at my study-window sit,

And, rapt in many a musing fit,

To bliss am all alive.

But though impressions calm and sweet Thrill round my heart a holy heat,

And I am inly glad,

The tear-drop stands in either eye,
And yet I cannot tell thee why,

I am pleased, and yet I'm sad.

The silvery rack that flies away
Like mortal life or pleasure's ray,

Does that disturb my breast?
Nay, what have I, a studious man,
To do with life's unstable plan,

Or pleasure's fading vest?

Is it that here I must not stop,
But o'er yon blue hill's woody top,

Must bend my lonely way?
No, surely no! for give but me
My own fire-side, and I shall be

At home where'er I stray.

Then is it that yon steeple there,
With music sweet shall fill the air,
When thou no more canst hear?
Oh, no! oh, no! for then forgiven
I shall be with my God in Heaven,
Released from every fear.

Then whence it is I cannot tell,
But there is some mysterious spell

That holds me when I'm glad; And so the tear-drop fills my eye, When yet in truth I know not why, Or wherefore, I am sad.

SOLITUDE.

It is not that my lot is low,
That bids the silent tear to flow;

It is not grief that bids me moan,
It is that I am all alone.

In woods and glens I love to roam,
When the tired hedger hies him home;
Or by the woodland's pool to rest,
When pale the star looks on its breast.

Yet when the silent evening sighs
With hallow'd airs and symphonies,
My spirit takes another tone,
And sighs that it is all alone.

The autumn leaf is sear and dead,
It floats upon the water's bed;
I would not be a leaf, to die
Without recording sorrow's sigh!

The woods and winds, with sudden wail,
Tell all the same unvaried tale;
I've none to smile when I am free,
And when I sigh to sigh with me.

Yet in my dreams a form I view,
That thinks on me, and loves me too;
I start, and when the vision's flown,
I weep that I am all alone.

IF far from me the Fates remove
Domestic peace, connubial love,
The prattling ring, the social cheer,
Affection's voice, affection's tear,
Ye sterner powers, that bind the heart,
To me your iron aid impart!

O teach me, when the nights are chill,
And my fire-side is lone and still;
When to the blaze that crackles near,
I turn a tired and pensive ear,
And Nature conquering bids me sigh
For Love's soft accents whispering nigh,
O teach me, on that heavenly road
That leads to Truth's occult abode,
To wrap my soul in dreams divine,
Till earth and care no more be mine.
Let blest Philosophy impart
Her soothing measures to my heart;
And while with Plato's ravish'd ears
I list the music of the spheres,
Or on the mystic symbols pore,
That hide the Chald's sublimer lore,
I shall not brood on summers gone,
Nor think that I am all alone.

FANNY! upon thy breast I may not lie!
Fanny, thou dost not hear me when I speak!
Where art thou, love?-Around I turn my eye,
And as I turn, the tear is on my cheek.

Was it a dream? or did my love behold

Indeed my lonely couch-Methought the breath Fann'd not her bloodless lip; her eye was cold And hollow, and the livery of death Invested her pale forehead-Sainted maid!

My thoughts oft rest with thee in thy cold grave Through the long wintry night, when wind and

wave

Rock the dark house where thy poor head is laid.

Yet hush! my fond heart, hush! there is a shore
Of better promise; and I know, at last,
When the long sabbath of the tomb is past,
We two shall meet in Christ-to part no more.

FRAGMENTS.

These Fragments are the author's latest compositions; and were, for the most part, written upon the back of his mathematical papers, during the few moments of the last year of his life, in which he suffered himself to follow the impulse of his genius.

I.

SAW'ST thou that light? exclaim'd the youth, and paused:

Through yon dark firs it glanced, and on the stream
That skirts the woods it for a moment play'd.
Again, more light it gleam'd,—or does some sprite
Delude mine eyes with shapes of wood and streams,
And lamp far-beaming through the thicket's gloom,
As from some bosom'd cabin, where the voice
Of revelry, of thrifty watchfulness,

Keeps in the lights at this unwonted hour?

No sprite deludes mine eyes,-the beam now glows
With steady lustre. Can it be the moon,
Who, hidden long by the invidious veil

O GIVE me music-for my soul doth faint;

I am sick of noise and care, and now mine ear

No moon to-night has look'd upon the sea Of clouds beneath her, answer'd Rudiger, She has been sleeping with Endymion.

II.

*

That may the spirit from its cell unsphere. Hark how it falls! and now it steals along, Like distant bells upon the lake at eve, When all is still; and now it grows more strong, As when the choral train their dirges weave, Mellow and many-voiced; where every close, O'er the old minster roof, in echoing waves reflows

O! I am rapt aloft. My spirit soars

Beyond the skies, and leaves the stars behind. Lo! angels lead me to the happy shores,

And floating pans fill the buoyant wind. Farewell! base earth, farewell! my soul is freed, Far from its clayey cell it springs

VII.

АH! who can say, however fair his view,
Through what sad scenes his path may lie!
Ah! who can give to others' woes his sigh,
Secure his own will never need it too?

Let thoughtless youth its seeming joys pursue,
Soon will they learn to scan with thoughtful eye
The illusive past, and dark futurity:
Soon will they know-

VIII.

AND must thou go, and must we part?
Yes, fate decrees, and I submit ;

The pang that rends in twain my heart,
Oh, Fanny, dost thou share in it?
Thy sex is fickle,—when away,

Some happier youth may win thy487