And slumber settled on the deep,
And silence on the blast,
As when the righteous falls asleep,
When death's fierce throes are past.
Thou that didst rule the angry hour,
And tame the tempest's mood,
Oh! send thy spirit forth in power,
O'er our dark souls to brood!

Thou that didst bow the billow's pride,
Thy mandates to fulfil -

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

MRS. HEMANS.

17. THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.

HERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet

THER

As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet:
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart!

Yet, it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill;
Oh! no-it was something more exquisite still.
'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best; Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should

cease,

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace!

T. MOORE.

18. THE COMMON LOT.

NCE in the flight of ages past,

ONCE

There lived a man; -and WHO WAS HE?
-Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,
That man resembled thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown,
His name has perish'd from the earth;
This truth survives alone:

That joy and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast:
His bliss and woe,: —a smile, a tear!
-Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirits' rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd, but his pangs are o'er;

Enjoy'd,
Had friends,
And foes,

but his delights are fled;

his friends are now no more;
his foes are dead.

He loved,

but whom he loved, the grave

Hath lost in its unconscious womb:
O she was fair,—but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

He saw whatever thou hast seen ;
Encounter'd all that troubles thee:
He was—whatever thou hast been;
He is what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,
Erewhile his portion, life and light,

To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shades and glory threw,

Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,

Their ruins, since the world began,

Of HIM afford no other trace

Than this,-THERE LIVED A MAN!

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

19. FATHER WILLIAM.

“γου are old, Father William," the young man

cried,

"The few locks which are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man; Now tell me the reason, I pray?"

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remember'd that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray?

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remember'd that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.”

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away:

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death; Now tell me the reason, I pray

?"

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied, "Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember'd my God;
And He hath not forgotten my age!"

20. EARLY PIETY.

BY cool Siloam the

How sweet the lily grows!

How sweet the breath beneath the hill

Of Sharon's dewy rose !

SOUTHEY.

Lo! such the child whose early feet
The paths of peace have trod;

Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God!

By cool Siloam's shady rill
The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill

Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour

Of man's maturer age

Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,
And stormy passion's rage!

O Thou, whose infant feet were found
Within Thy Father's shrine!

Whose years, with changeless virtue crown'd,
Were all alike Divine;

Dependent on Thy bounteous breath,
We seek Thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age, and death,
To keep us still Thine own!

BISHOP HEBER

DID

21. CHARITY.

A PARAPHRASE ON 1 COR. xiii.

ID sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue, Than ever man pronounced, or angel sung; Had I all knowledge, human and divine, That thought can reach, or science can define;