O Thou! that in its wildest hour
Didst rule the tempest's mood,
Send thy meek spirit forth in power,
Soft on our souls to brood!

Thou that didst bow the billow's pride
Thy mandate to fulfil !

Oh, speak to passion's raging tide,
Speak, and say, " Peace, be still!"

EPITAPH

OVER THE GRAVE OF TWO BROTHERS, A CHILD AND A YOUTH.

THOU, that canst gaze upon thine own fair boy, And hear his prayer's low murmur at thy knee, And o'er his slumber bend in breathless joy,

Come to this tomb !-it hath a voice for thee! Pray! Thou art blest-ask strength for sorrow's hour:

Love, deep as thine, lays here its broken flower.

Thou that art gathering from the smile of youth
Thy thousand hopes, rejoicing to behold
All the heart's depths before thee bright with
truth,

All the mind's treasures silently unfold,

Look on this tomb !-for thee, too, speaks the grave, Where God hath seal'd the fount of hope he gave.

MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION.

EARTH! guard what here we lay in holy trust,
That which hath left our home a darken'd place,
Wanting the form, the smile, now veil'd with dust,
The light departed with our loveliest face.

Yet from thy bonds our sorrow's hope is free-
We have but lent the beautiful to thee.

But thou, O Heaven! keep, keep what thou hast taken,

And with our treasure keep our hearts on high; The spirit meek, and yet by pain unshaken,

The faith, the love, the lofty constancy

Guide us where these are with our sister flownThey were of Thee, and thou hast claim'd thine own!

THE SOUND OF THE SEA.

THOU art sounding on, thou mighty sea!

For ever and the same;

The ancient rocks yet ring to thee—
Those thunders naught can tame.

Oh! many a glorious voice is gone
From the rich bowers of earth,
And hush'd is many a lovely one
Of mournfulness or mirth.

O Theu that in its wildest hour
Didst rule the tempest's mood,
Send thy meek spirit forth in power,
Soft on our souls to brood!

Thou that didst bow the billow's pri
Thy mandate to fulfil !

Oh. speak to passion's raging tide,
Speak, and say, “ Peace, be still! ̈`

66

EPITAPH

OVER THE GRAVE OF TWO BROTHERS, A CHILD AN

Thor, that canst gaze upon thine own fo And hear his prayer's low murmur a' And o'er his slumber bend in breathles Come to this tomb !-it hath a voic Pray! Thou art blest-ask strengt hour:

Love, deep as thine, lays here its br

Thou that art gathering from the
Thy thousand hopes, rejoicing t

All the heart's depths before

The Dorian flute that sigh'd of yore

Along the wave, is still ;

The harp of Judah peals no more

On Zion's awful hill.

And Memnon's lyre hath lost the chord
That breathed the mystic tone;

And the songs at Rome's high triumphs pour'd,
Are with her eagles flown.

And mute the Moorish horn that rang
O'er stream and mountain free;

And the hymn the leagued Crusaders sang
Hath died in Galilee.

But thou art swelling on, thou deep!
Through many an olden clime,
Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep
Until the close of time.

Thou liftest up thy solemn voice
To every wind and sky,

And all our earth's green shores rejoice
In that one harmony.

It fills the noontide's calm profound,
The sunset's heaven of gold;

And the still midnight hears the sound,
Even as first it roll'd.

Let there be silence, deep and strange,

Where sceptred cities rose !