EVENING THOUGHTS. ANON. TWAS eve. The lengthening shadows of the oak And weeping birch swept far adown the vale; And nought upon the hush and stillness broke, Save the light whispering of the spring-tide gale At distance dying; and the measured stroke Of wood-men at their toil; the feeble wail The sun had set; but his expiring beams The light clouds mingled, brighten'd with such Of glory, as the seraph-shapes surround, There are emotions, in that grateful hour Of twilight and serenity, which steal Upon the heart with more than wonted power, Making more pure and tender all we feel,Softening its very core, as doth the shower The thirsty glebe of summer. We reveal More, in such hours of stillness, unto those We love, than years of passion could disclose. The heavens look down on us with eyes of love, And earth itself looks heavenly; the sleep Of nature is around us, but above Are beings that eternal vigils keep. To sweet to dwell on such, and deem they strove Tis sweet to mark the sky's unruffled blue Stars of the brightest beam illume the blaze Tis thus in solitude; but sweeter far, By those we love, in that all-softening hour, Of foliage, wreathed and trembling, as the car ANON. 'TWAS eve. The lengthening shadows of the nak And weeping birch swept far adown the vale; And nought upon the hush and stillness broke Save the light whispering of the spring-tide gue At distance dying; and the measured strake Of wood-men at their toil; the feeble wail Of some lone stock-dove, soothing, as it sank On the lull'd ear, its melody that drank. The sun had set; but his expiring beams Yet linger'd in the west, and shed around Beauty and softness o'er the wood and streams, With coming night's first tinge of shade en brown'd. The light clouds mingled, brighten'd with such Of glory, as the seraph-shapes surround, ad o'er their couch of sorrow seem to bend here are emotions, in that grateful hour The thirsty glebe of summer. We reveal Of nature is around us, but above Are beings that eternal vigils keep. "Tis sweet to dwell on such, and deem they strove With sorrow once, and fled from crowds to weep In loneliness, as we perchance have done; And sigh to win the glory they have won! 'Tis sweet to mark the sky's unruffled blue Fast deepening into darkness, as the rays Of lingering eve die fleetly, and a few Stars of the brightest beam illume the blaze The veil, that shadows it in vain; we gaze 'Tis thus in solitude; but sweeter far, By those we love, in that all-softening hour, To watch with mutual eyes each coming star, And the faint moon-rays streaming through our bower Of foliage, wreathed and trembling, as the car Of night rolls duskier onward, and each flower And shrub that droops above us, on the sense Seems dropping fragrance more and more intense. HYMN. HEMAN S. GREAT GOD! at whose "creative word, ' At whose behest, from gloomy night To whom the poet swells the song, Say, all ye learned, all ye wise, And ye who wander o'er the sheaf-crown'd fields, SACRED HARMONY. And, where the blossoms fall in showers, If, where the waves are bounding dark If, when the night clouds roll away, 207 I hear it in the breeze that wails Around the abbey's mouldering walls; I hear it in the softest gales That ever sigh'd through marble halls. Its voice is ever in my ear Its hand is often on my brow,- CONSCIENCE. ANON. A SPIRIT Sits with me by day- It whispers where the wild winds sigh- If to the forest's depths I fly, It blackens in the blackest shade. It lies with me on banks of flowers; With me beside the stream it sits; To whom the poet swells the song, And cherub's loftier notes belong: To thee he glory, honour, praise; Great GOD! who canst depress or raise. Say, all ye learned, all ye wise, What towering pillars prop the skies! What massy chain suspends the earth? 'Tis His high power who gave it birth. 'Tis He who sends the grateful shower; 'Tis He who paints the glowing flower. Let the loud anthem raise the strain, While echo murmurs it again. And ye who wander o'er the sheaf-crown'd fields Praise Him for all the plenty harvest yields; Let harp and voice their swelling notes combine. To praise all nature's GOD, the Architect divine CONSCIENCE ANON. A SPIRIT sits with me by day- It whispers where the wild winds sigh- It blackens in the blackest shade. It lies with me on banks of flowers; And, where the blossoms fall in showers, If, where the waves are bounding dark If, when the night clouds roll away, I hear it in the breeze that wails That ever sigh'd through marble halls. Its voice is ever in my ear Its hand is often on my brow,- THE BRIDAL WREATH. W. B. COLLYER, D.D. OH! ask me not the wreath to twine! 'Tis not for fingers such as mine, The Bridal Coronal to weave; Chill'd by the dark and dripping dew, Distill'd from cypress and from yew, On roses or on lilies laid, The brightest, loveliest, they would fade, And stains upon the fairest leave. P 410 Let them thy Bridal Chaplet twine, The buds of hope and flowers of joy; Whose happier lot hath let them know The bowers of Eden where they grow; From whom they shrink not at the touchThe pastime sweet, and meet for such, Would heart and fancy both employ. But ask not me the wreath to twine, In whom both grief and sickness join To render for the task unfit; The cloud hath blotted out my day, My dreams of bliss have fled away; My pleasures, scatter'd to the wind, Have left but loneliness behind, Where gladness promised once to sit. And yet for thee a wreath I'll twineSome flowers unfading still are mine ; The proffer'd garland thou must tie: 'Midst the abundance that she yields, I glean them not from nature's fields; Nor soar aloft on fancy's wings, To crop them from Parnassian springs; For both are doomed to fade and die Come, then, a chaplet I'll prepare, The flowers of Life's immortal Tree, Bind them with faith-the wreath is thine. HEMANS. On! thou Creator, Father, Friend, Most high, ineffable, supreme, And when the vivid lightnings dart, |