ELIJAH FED BY RAVEN S.

JAMES GRAHAME.

SORE was the famine throughout all the bounds
Of Israel, when Elijah, by command

Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook.
No rain-drops fell, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn
Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale;
The withering herbage dies; among the palms
The shrivelled leaves send to the summer gale
An autumn rustle; no sweet songster's lay

Is warbled from the branches; scarce is heard
The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around
And trusts in God, and lays his silver head
Upon the flowerless bank; serene he sleeps,
Nor wakes till dawning; then with hands enclasped
And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays
To Him who manna on the desert showered,
To Him who from the rock made fountains gush:
Entranced the man of God remains: till roused
By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart,
He sees the ravens fearless by his side
Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food.

BARZILLAI THE GILEADITE.

LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.

Let me be buried by the grave of my father, and of my mother.-2 SAMUEL xix. 37.

SON of Jesse!-let me go,

Why should princely honours stay me?—

Where the streams of Gilead flow,

Where the light first met mine eye,

Thither would I turn and die ;

Where my parents' ashes lie,

King of Israel!-bid them lay me.

Bury me near my sire revered,

Whose feet in righteous paths so firmly trod,
Who early taught my soul with awe
To heed the Prophets and the Law,
And to my infant heart appeared

Majestic as a GOD:—

Oh! when his sacred dust

The cerements of the tomb shall burst,
Might I be worthy at his feet to rise
To yonder blissful skies,

Where angel hosts resplendent shine,

JEHOVAH!-Lord of hosts, the glory shall be thine.

BARZILLAI THE GILEA DITE.

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Cold age upon my breast Hath shed a frost like death;

The wine-cup hath no zest, The rose no fragrant breath; Music from my ear hath fled,

Yet still the sweet tone lingereth there, The blessing that my mother shed

Upon my evening prayer.

Dim is my wasted eye

To all that beauty brings,

The brow of grace, the form of symmetry

Are half-forgotten things;—

Yet one bright hue is vivid still,

A mother's holy smile, that soothed my sharpest ill.

Memory, with traitor-tread,

Methinks doth steal away

Treasures that the mind hath laid

Up for a wintry day.

Images of sacred power,

Cherished deep in passion's hour,

Faintly now my bosom stir:

Good and evil, like a dream,

Half obscured, and shadowy seem,

Yet with a changeless love my soul remembereth her,

Yea-it remembereth her :

Close by her blessed side make ye my sepulchre.

SOLOMON'S PRAYER.

WILLIAM HODSON.

But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Behold, the heaven and heaven of heavens cannot contain thee; how much less this house that I have builded?-1 KINGS viii. 27.

"SHALT Thou reside

In houses hands have fashioned? No; beyond
Creation's ample circuit, where the car
Of day ne'er shed his all-enlivening beam,
Thy power pervades and fills the endless void
Of chaos and of night. Yet deign to accept
This Temple, sacred to thy holy name,

And Thou, who dwell'st on high, receive our prayers.

"Forgive our past backslidings. May we grieve
No more that Holy Spirit, which has worked
Unnumbered miracles for Israel's sons.

Protect thy chosen race from murderous snares
Of proud deceitful men, who hunt for blood,
As roams the famished lion for his prey.
Arise, Oh King of kings, and disappoint
Their malice, who unmindful of their God,

SOLOMON'S PRAYER.

Thy awful majesty, Thy power defy,

And bow the knee to Dagon; who amid

Their nightly orgies, chaunt in mad'ning choirs
His might divine, and give to sculptur'd stones
Thy glory and Thy name. Turn from these walls
Their sacrilegious hands, whose impious rage

Burns to defile these hallowed instruments,
These vessels to Thy service consecrate.

Oh let no blood to idols offer'd stain

This holy altar, nor within these roofs,
To other gods than Thee, let incense smoke.
Descend, celestial spirits! Ye who wait
Around the throne of God! descend, and guard
This heaven-devoted shrine.

"Come, holy Love!

Meek angel! daughter mild of Innocence

And Truth! leave, leave thy bright enthron'd abode
On high, and with Religion, sainted maid!

Propitious guide amid life's darksome vale

Our wand'ring steps. Oh send Thy cherub, Hope,
To chase from every contrite heart, the fiend
Despair; and let Thy mercy's gentlest ray,
Refreshing as the silver dew of heav'n
Upon the drooping flow'rs, descend to soothe
The weeping penitent. Breathe thro' our souls
Thy heav'nly ardour; teach us to implore
His tender mercies, whose paternal love
Forgave our disobedience.

In duty firm, obsequious to His will,

His laws obey, and to his name alone

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