MONT BLANC REVISITED.

MOUNT beloved! mine eyes again
Behold the twilight's sanguine strain
Along thy peaks expire;

O Mount beloved! thy frontier waste
I seek with a religious haste

And reverent desire.

They greet me midst thy shadows cold,

Such thoughts as holy men of old

Amidst the desert found

Such gladness as in Him they felt

Who with them through the darkness dwelt, And compass'd all around.

Oh, happy! if His will were so,
To give me manna here for snow,
And by the torrent-side

To lead me as He leads His flocks

Of wild deer, through the lonely rocks,
In peace, unterrified.

Since, from the things that trustful rest, — The partridge, on her purple nest,

The marmot in his den,

God wins a worship more resign'd
A purer praise than He can find
Upon the lips of men, -

Alas for man who hath no sense
Of gratefulness or confidence,

But still rejects and raves;

That all God's love can hardly win
One soul from taking pride in sin,
And pleasure over graves.

Yet let me not, like him who trod
In wrath, of old, the Mount of God,
Forget the thousands left,

Lest, haply, when I seek His face,
The whirlwind of the cave replace
The glory of the cleft.

And teach me, God, a milder thought,
Lest I, of all Thy blood has bought,
Least honorable be;

And this that moves me to condemn

Be rather want of love for them

Than jealousy for Thee.

ARKER than night, life's shadows fall around us,

And, like benighted men, we miss our

mark;

God hides Himself, and grace hath scarcely

found us,

Ere Death finds out his victims in the dark!

Onward we go, for still we hear them singing,
come!
Come, weary souls! for Jesus bids you
And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing,
The music of the Gospel leads us home.

Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing,
The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea,
And laden souls, by thousands meekly stealing,
Kind Shepherd! turn their weary steps to

Thee.

Cheer up, my soul! faith's moonbeams softly

glisten

Upon the breast of life's most troubled sea; And it will cheer thy drooping heart to listen To those brave songs which angels mean for thee.

Angels! sing on, your faithful watches keeping, Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above; While we toil on, and soothe ourselves with weeping,

Till life's long night shall break in endless

love.

THE SHADOW OF A GREAT ROCK IN A WEARY LAND.

HE rocky path still climbs the glowing steep

Of Olivet;

Though rains of two millenniums wear it deep, Men tread it yet.

Still to the gardens o'er the brook it leads,
Quiet and low;

Before his sheep the shepherd on it treads,
His voice they know.

The wild fig throws broad shadows o'er it still, As once o'er Thee;

Peasants go home at evening up that hill

To Bethany.

And as when gazing Thou didst weep o'er them

From height to height,

The white roofs of discrowned Jerusalem
Burst on our sight.