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For ever,” still those lips repeat,
Their closing evening prayer ; “For ever,” floats in music sweet
High ʼmidst the angels there!
Thine be the glory evermore ;
From Thee may man ne'er sever, But every Christian land adore Jehovah !—God !-for ever!
HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID.
WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved,
Out from the land of bondage came, Her father's God before her moved,
An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day along the astonished lands
The cloudy pillar glided slow; By night Arabia's crimsoned sands
Returned the fiery pillar's glow.
There rose the choral hymn of praise,
And trump and timbrel answered keen; And Zion's daughters poured their lays,
With priests and warriors' voice between. No portents now our foes amaze,
Forsaken Israel wanders lone;
And Thou hast left them to their own.
But present still, though now unseen!
When brightly shines the prosp'rous day, Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen,
To temper the deceitful ray.
In shade and storm, the frequent night,
A burning and a shining light.
Our harps we left by Babel's streams,
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; No censer round our altar beams,
And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. But Thou hast said, “The blood of goat,
The flesh of rams, I will not prize; A contrite hea an humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice.”
Sir WALTER Scott.
SUNSHINE AND SHOWER.
Two children stood at their father's gate,
Two girls with golden hair; And their eyes were bright, and their voices glad,
Because the morn was fair.
To the hawthorn copse to-day;
From off the scented May;
'Twill be sorrow to come away!”
As the children spoke, a little cloud
Passed slowly across the sky;
With a tear-drop in her eye.
'Tis far too fair to rain;
For other clouds, in vain.”
In merriment again.
But ere the morning hours had waned
The sky had changed its hue,
The whole great heaven of blue.
The wind began to blow,
And the children, in their nice warm room,
Went fretting to and fro; For they said, “When we have aught in store,
It always happens so!"
Now these two fair-haired sisters
Had a brother out at sea;
The gallant“ Victory;"
When they stood beside the gate,
He stood all desolate,
Prepared to meet their fate.
Beyond, they saw the cool green land
The land with her waving trees,
Like butterflies to the breeze:
With scorching stillness shone;
And they knelt down one by one, And prayed to God for a drop of rain
And a gale to waft them on.
And then that little cloud was sent,
That shower in mercy given! And as a bird before the breeze,
Their bark was landward driven. And some few mornings after,
When the children met once more,
They knew it was the hour
And God had sent the shower !
THE MARINER’S CHILD.
Oh, weep no more, sweet mother!
Oh, weep no more to-night! And only watch the sea, mother,
Beneath the morning light.
Then the bright blue sky is joyful,
And the bright blue sky is clear ; And I can see, sweet mother,
To kiss away your tear.
But now the wind goes wailing
O'er the dark and trackless deep; And I know your grief, sweet mother,
Though I only hear you weep.
My father's ship will come, mother,
In safety o'er the main;
He will be back again.
The vines were but in blossom
When he bade me watch them grow; And now the large leaves, mother,
Conceal their crimson glow.
He'll bring us shells and sea-weed,
And birds of shining wing; But what are these, dear mother
It is himself he'll bring.
I'll watch with thee, sweet mother,
But the stars fade from my sight : Come, come and sleep, dear motherOh, weep no more to-night!
L. E. LANDON. CRESCENTIUS.
I LOOKED upon his brow,- no sign
Of guilt or fear was there;
As even o'er despair
A spirit that could dare
He stood, the fetters on his hand,
He raised them haughtily; And had that grasp been on the brand,
It could not wave on high With freer pride than it waved now. Around he looked with changeless brow
On many a torture nighThe rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel, And, worst of all, his own red steel.
I saw him once before: he rode
Upon a coal-black steed; And tens of thousands thronged the road
And bade their warrior speed. His helm, his breast-plate were of gold, And graved with many a dent, that told
Of many a soldier's deed; The sun shone on his sparkling mail, And danced his snow-plume on the gale.
But now he stood, chained and alone,
The headsman by his side;
The sword that had defied
Came from that lip of