Or like pale ghosts that darkling roam, Hovering around their ancient home, But find no refuge there.

Ye blessed Angels! if of you

There be, who love the ways to view
Of Kings and Kingdoms here;
(And sure, 'tis worth an Angel's gaze,
To see, throughout that dreary maze,
God teaching love and fear :)

Oh say, in all the bleak expanse,
Is there a spot to win your glance,
So bright, so dark as this?

A hopeless faith, a homeless race,
Yet seeking the most holy place,

And owning the true bliss!

Salted with fire they seem, to show
How spirits lost in endless woe
May undecaying live.

Oh sickening thought! yet hold it fast
Long as this glittering world shall last,

Or sin at heart survive.

a St. Mark ix. 49.

And hark! amid the flashing fire,

Mingling with tones of fear and ire,
Soft Mercy's undersong-

"Tis Abraham's God who speaks so loud, His people's cries have pierc'd the cloud, He sees, He sees their wrong";

He is come down to break their chain;
Though never more on Sion's fane
His visible ensign wave;

"Tis Sion, wheresoe'er they dwell,
Who, with His own true Israel,

Shall own Him strong to save.

He shall redeem them one by one,
Where'er the world-encircling sun
Shall see them meekly kneel:
All that He asks on Israel's part,
Is only, that the captive heart

Its woe and burthen feel.

Nor slight the warning sound:

"Put off thy shoes from off thy feet

"The place where man his God shall meet,

"Be sure, is holy ground."

PALM SUNDAY.

And He answered and said unto them, I tell you, that if these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out. St. Luke xix. 40.

YE whose hearts are beating high

With the pulse of Poesy,

Heirs of more than royal race,

Fram'd by Heaven's peculiar grace,

God's own work to do on earth,

(If the word be not too bold,) Giving virtue a new birth,

And a life that ne'er grows

old

Sovereign masters of all hearts!
Know ye, who hath set your parts?

He who gave you breath to sing,

By whose strength ye sweep the string, He hath chosen you, to lead

His Hosannas here below ;

Mount, and claim your glorious meed; Linger not with sin and woe.

But if

ye should hold your peace, Deem not that the song would ceaseAngels round His glory-throne,

Stars, His guiding hand that own,
Flowers, that grow beneath our feet,

Stones in earth's dark womb that rest,

High and low in choir shall meet,

Ere His Name shall be unblest.

Lord, by every minstrel tongue
Be thy praise so duly sung,
That thine angels' harps may ne'er

Fail to find fit echoing here:

We the while, of meaner birth,
Who in that divinest spell

Dare not hope to join on earth,

Give us grace to listen well.

But should thankless silence seal
Lips, that might half Heaven reveal,
Should bards in idol-hymns profane
The sacred soul-enthralling strain,
(As in this bad world below

Noblest things find vilest using,)
Then, thy power and mercy show,
In vile things noble breath infusing;

Then waken into sound divine

The very pavement of thy shrine,

Till we, like Heaven's star-sprinkled floor,
Faintly give back what we adore.
Childlike though the voices be,
And untunable the parts,
Thou wilt own the minstrelsy,

If it flow from childlike hearts.