necessary for us. Ah! did I but know him! But who has seen him? Who has spoken with him? None of us poor men. Yet there may be men too, that know something of him: O, could I but speak with such! Therefore," said he, "as soon as ever I heard you speak of this great Being, I believed it directly with all my heart because I had so long desired to hear it."

Antisthenes wondered at mankind, that in buying an earthen dish, they were careful to sound it lest it had a crack; yet so careless in choosing friends as to take them flawed with vice.

POETRY.

Written for the Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge. FUNERAL REFLECTIONS:

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

"I heard a voice from heaven, saying, Write, blessed are the dead!"

Come! gather to your burial-place, ye gay!

Ye of the sparkling eye, and frolie brow

I bid ye thither. She who makes her bed

This day 'neath the damp turf and rootless flowers
Was one of you.-Time had not laid his hand
On tress or brow, stamping their loveliness
With dark decay, till death had nought to do
Save that slight office which the passing blast
Doth for the flickering taper.-No. Her cheek
Shamed the young rose-bud;-in her eye was light,
By glad hope kindled ;-in her footsteps grace,
Song on her lips, affections in her breast
Like soft doves nesting.-Yet from all she turned,
All she forsook, unclasping her fond hand
From friendship's ardent pressure, with a smile
As if she were a gainer.-To lie down
In this cold pit she cometh:-dust to dust,
Ashes to ashes, till the glorious morn
Of resurrection.-Do ye wondering ask
Where is her blessedness?-Go home, ye gay!
Go to your secret chambers, and kneel down
And ask of God.-Urge your request as one
Who on the slight raft 'mid the ocean foam
Pleadeth for life.-Prevent the rising dawn,
And through the night-watch pray.—

Then should ye find

That faith whose fruit is love.-That hope whose breast
Is radiant with the motto ". Death is gain,"
Ye will not longer marvel that the friend
So beautiful,-so lov'd-so lur'd by all
The pageantry of earth, could meekly see
A blessedness in death.-

HARTFORD, July 3, 1831.

Written for the Monthly Repository and Library of Entertaining Knowledge. THE BEAUTIES OF NIGHT-THE GLORIES OF MORN-AND THE SPLENDOR OF NOON.

Three Poems by three Friends.*

NIGHT- BY J. B. D.

"Tis night, and all nature is hush'd in the gloom
Of darkness and silence around;

The dew-drop refreshes the rose's perfume,
And the grass that environs the Champion's tomb,
And the flowers that grow on the ground.

The stars now bespangle the vault of the sky,
The heavens appear in a glow:

In silence majestic they twinkle on high,
And draw admiration from every eye,

While night spreads her mantle below.

The moon in the East now her crescent displays
And adds to the grandeur of night;
The stream in the meadow meand'ring plays,
The nightingale joins in melodious lays,

And all nature is charm'd with the sight.

The cataract's roar now distinctly we hear
Loud sound through the silence serene:
Like thunder far distant it falls on the ear,
While the whip-poor-will's notes in the bushes, appear
To heighten and gladden the scene.

The fresh breeze of evening now pleasantly blows
To call off the day's sultry heat;

The cock in the barn aloft, merrily crows,
While men on their couches serenely repose

The ensuing day's labour to meet.

But soon in the eastern horizon behold

The darkness beginning to fly,

The morn ushers in, beauties new to unfold,
And Aurora's fair sun decks the mountains with gold,
And the stars disappear in the sky.

J. B. Dusingberry, S. G. Arnold, and Rev. G. Coles

MORNING.-BY S. G. A.

Now, in the east the crescent morn appears,
And dappled, shoots around the glowing day;
Or spreads along the vaulted arch, and clears
The dark dim shadows from its face away.

No longer curtain'd by the veil of night

She gently spreads her humid wings on high;
And sends abroad her streams of golden light,
And dissipates the darkness of the sky.

The noisy lark now wakes the rural swain ;-
He brushes from his eye the dew of sleep;
And rises to his daily cares again,

The same succession of his toils to keep.

Now fade the spangled heavens from my sight,
Star after star forsakes the arch on high,
Or melts away, or mingles with the light,
Or shines but dimly from the vaulted sky.

The herds no more in sluggish slumbers rest,
But from their grassy couch are soon away;
To shake the drops from off the dew-drench'd nest,
And in the stream their morning thirst allay.,

The shepherd follows to his fleecy care

The milk-maid rises to her morning toil;
The woodman's strokes re-echo through the air,
The jocund ploughman breaks the stubborn soil.

The sun's first beams now touch the humid earth,
And from her flowery mantle kiss the dew;
Nature all smiling, bursting into birth,

Far richer glows, and brightens on the view.

Waked by the beams of renovated morn,
Full many a warbler's softest notes I hear;
And sweet reverb'rings of the full-toned horn,
To call the labourer to his morning cheer.

NOON.-BY G. C.

Inscribed to J. B. D. and S. G. A. one of whom had sung the Beau ties of Night, and the other the Glories of Morn, and gave the author for his task the subject of Noon.

To you my friends who sing in lofty strains,
The beauties of the star-bespangled night,

Or glories of the morning, o'er the plains,
And on the mountain-tops-a lovely sight.

Come, listen to my strains, though less sublime;
The grandeur of my subject, makes amends:
And if I fail in my attempt this time,

I'll try again, so long as you're my

friends.

MORN has its charms, I grant, and EVENING too,
But not like glorious mid-day all around,
One has its chill, the other has its dew,

Danger in this, and death in that is found.

The sprightly damsel, tripping o'er the lawn
Soils her best robes, or wets her tender feet,
If she should rise at morning's early dawn,

And run across the path her friend to greet.

The aged matron stumbles at a stone,

"Falls in the ditch," or wanders from the way, If careless, she should venture out alone,

When evening shades obscure the light of day.

Not so, when NOONTIDE GLORY shines around,

And mid-day splendor all his charms displays;
Darkness, and danger now, no more are found,
Lost in Apollo's bright meridian blaze.

See how he mounts his dazzling throne on high,
And downward darts a bright benignant ray ;-
The "tears" of morn "are wip'd from ev'ry eye,”
The evening "shadows" frightened "flee away."
Light, cheering light, full blazing from the sky
Resplendent shines on all the world below;
Ten thousand beauties meet the wond'ring eye,
Such as the trembling twilight cannot shov.
The genial warmth of Sol's meridian blaze
Dries up the noxious vapors of the earth;
Ten thousand voices shout Jehovah's praise,
And nature brings forth millions at a birth.

Thus in the day of glorious gospel light,

The Jewish types and shadows flee away;
And error's dark, and long continued night,
No more its sceptre o'er the world doth sway.

nus in the new creation of the soul,

Where light divine diffuses life around;

Where sin, and death did reign, without control,
What quick'ning power is felt, what joys abound!

And in that world of bliss to which wo rise,
Where shines the light of an eternal day,

No night shall come:-but from our weeping eyes,
Danger, and Death, and Darkness flee away.

Original Music.-Communicated for the Monthly Repository.
THE SAINTS' SWEET HOME.

Words by Mrs. J. Stanley.-Music by Rev. G. Coles.

The popular tune called "Sweet Home," perhaps can never be rivalled, but as it is sung in the theatre, and in the streets of the city, it was thought that something else might be brought into the social circle, the prayer meeting, and the house of God, with good effect.

'Mid scenes of confusion and creature complaints, How sweet to my