Our faded crown, despis'd and flung aside,

Shall on some brother's brow immortal bloom, No partial hand the blessing may misguide;

No flattering fancy change our Monarch's doom:

His righteous doom, that meek true-hearted Love
The everlasting birthright should receive,

The softest dews drop on her from above",

The richest green her mountain garland weave:

Her brethren, mightiest, wisest, eldest born,
Bow to her sway, and move at her behest:
Isaac's fond blessing may not fall on scorn,

Nor Balaam's curse on Love, which God hath blest.

u Genesis xxvii. 27, 28.

THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT.

When a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace. But when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, he taketh from him all his armour wherein he trusted, and divideth his spoil. St. Luke xi. 21, 22.

SEE Lucifer like lightning fall

Dash'd from his throne of pride;
While, answering Thy victorious call,
The Saints his spoils divide,

This world of thine, by him usurp'd too long,

Now opening all her stores to heal thy servants' wrong.

So when the first-born of thy foes

Dead in the darkness lay,

When thy redeem'd at midnight rose

And cast their bonds

away,

The orphan'd realm threw wide her gates, and told

Into freed Israel's lap her jewels and her gold.

And when their wondrous march was o'er,

And they had won their homes,
Where Abraham fed his flock of yore,

Among their fathers' tombs ;

A land that drinks the rain of heaven at will, Whose waters kiss the feet of many a vine-clad hill;

Oft as they watch'd, at thoughtful eve,

A gale from bowers of balm

Sweep o'er the billowy corn, and heave

The tresses of the palm,

Just as the lingering Sun had touch'd with gold, Far o'er the cedar shade, some tower of giants old;

It was a fearful joy, I ween,

To trace the Heathen's toil,

The limpid wells, the orchards green

Left ready for the spoil,

The household' stores untouch'd, the roses bright Wreath'd o'er the cottage walls in garlands of delight.

And now another Canaan yields

To thine all-conquering ark ;

Fly from the " old poetic" fields*,

Ye Paynim shadows dark!

Immortal Greece, dear land of glorious lays,

Lo! here the "unknown God" of thy unconscious praise!

The olive wreath, the ivied wand,
"The sword in myrtles drest,"
Each legend of the shadowy strand

Now wakes a vision blest:

As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven,

So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were given.

And these are ours: Thy partial grace

The tempting treasure lends :

These relics of a guilty race

Are forfeit to thy friends:

What seem'd an idol hymn, now breathes of Thee, Tun'd by Faith's ear to some celestial melody.

* Where each old poetic mountain

Inspiration breathed around. Gray.

H

There's not a strain to Memory dear,

Nor flower in classic grove,

There's not a sweet note warbled here,

But minds us of thy Love.

O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes, There is no light but thine: with Thee all beauty glows.

FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

Joseph made haste, for his bowels did yearn upon his brother; and he sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber, and wept there. Gen. xliii. 30.

There stood no man with them, while Joseph made himself known unto his brethren.

Gen. xlv. 1.

WHEN Nature tries her finest touch,

Mark

Weaving her vernal wreath,

ye, how close she veils her round,

Not to be trac'd by sight or sound,
Nor soil'd by ruder breath?

y See Burns's Works, i. 293. Dr. Currie's edition.