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Morgenandacht im Freien. (KREUTZER.)

O LORD, thy day is here:

I stand alone upon the fell,

and, save one distant sabbath bell, 'tis silence far and near.

alone I bend the knee.

o joyful awe, mysterious dream! alone no more, for myriads seem to kneel and pray with me.

o joyful awe, mysterious dream!
the blue sky far and near,

so solemn, beautiful, and bright,
it seems half opened to my sight:
o Lord, thy day is here.

Gebet.

FORSAKE me not: o Lord of all creation,

I turn me to thy holy habitation,

and trustfully to Thee commit my lot: forsake me not.

forsake me not: Thou knowest all my sorrows; from Thee my heart its light and comfort borrows: at every season and in every spot,

forsake me not.

forsake me not: support me, Lord and Father, when round my path the shades of evening gather; when the stern archer aims his fatal shot,

forsake me not.

From HOHLFELDT.

The Poet.

WHOм once, Melpomene,

with placid eye thou sawest born, him not the Isthmian toil,

a boxer, shall renown; nor steed unwearied carry forth

to victory in Achaean car. nor, as the chief who quell'd the swelling menaces of kings, shall war's triumphal hour

exhibit to the Capitol,

with Delian leaves adorn'd;

but streams that skirt rich Tivoli and bowering woods shall form

to greatness in Aeolian song. the sons of queenly Rome me with the lovely poet-quire approve to rank; and now

the tooth of envy gnaws me less. o thou that temperest

the golden shell's melodious din, Pierian maid, o thou

that, if it be thy pleasure, canst even on the voiceless fish

bestow the music of the swan, all this is of thy gift,

that by the finger of the crowds

who pass I am design'd

the minstrel of the Roman lyre; that I am breathing still

and pleasing, if I please, is thine.

From HOR. Od. IV. 3.

Horace's Choice.

MAECENAS, scion of old royal ancestors,
o my safeguard alike and my sweet ornament,
with the car to amass dust of Olympia

some supremely delights, and, by the glowing wheels

shunn'd exactly, the goal, and the renowning palm. lords of landed domains up to the gods are lift, this one, if with acclaim Rome's fickle citizens vow to bear him aloft through the three offices,

that one, if in his own barn he has harvested all that's swept from the large Libyan threshing-floors. one who loves with the hoe family fields to till not with Attalus' hoard e'er can you turn aside,

in a Cyprian ship timidly voyaging,

through the perils to rush of the Myrtoan sea. while the trader beholds billows Icarian with the storm-wind at war, frighted he cries for ease

and his own country-town; soon fitting out again his rent navy, to bear scantness unteachable. mark who does not despise cups of old Massic wine, nor from day's solid hours to cull a part for joy,

sometimes stretching his limbs 'neath a green arbute-tree, sometimes at the well-head of a soft hallowed stream. sweet to many the camp and the loud minglement of the clarion and trump, and, what the mothers hate,

wild wars. lingering late under the chilly sky, of his delicate bride careless, the hunter stays, whether chance it a doe by his stanch hounds be view'd, or a Marsian boar burst the tight-meshèd nets.

me the green ivy-wreath, prize of the scholar's brow, blends with godhead on high: me the cool forest shade and light choirs of the Nymphs with Satyr companies from the people remove, if nor the musical

flutes Euterpe restrain, nor Polyhymnia scorn the Lesbian lute, leaving it unattuned. but amongst lyric bards grant thou a place to me, with my high-soaring head then shall I strike the stars. From HOR. Od. I. I.

Farewell.

THE happy weeks are past and gone:
farewell to social glee!

and, o young-eyed, young-hearted one,
a sad farewell to thee!

farewell! but 'twere a bitter lot
to know that I were all forgot
by one whose natural light hath pow'r
to brighten sorrow's darkest hour.
I would be with thee when thy heart
holds converse with itself apart ;
I would be with thee in thy pray'r,
thy gentlest sympathies would share,
such sympathies as angels feel
with human woe and human weal,
whene'er they bend their beaming eyes
on man's unquiet destinies.

once more farewell! yet do not deem

the thought of thee can fly,
as flits, ere morn, a lovely dream
from memory's failing eye.
oft as I bend the lowly knee,

one earnest pray'r shall rise for thee.
bright be thy path on earth, and blest
with forecast of a brighter rest!
high hope be thine, and stedfast faith,
that, loving life, can smile on death!
and oh! where'er thy footsteps stray,
in all the trials of the way

still be thy guide his Providence,
his shielding arm thy strong defence,

thy trust his blessing from above

whose home is Heaven, whose name is Love!

1827.

In Memoriam.

O JANET, sweetest Janet, named from mine, and at the Christian font her holy child,

where art thou now? that face so archly mild, that fair young forehead, in whose every line sat purity, that fairy frame of thine,

those clear soft eyes, those lips that gaily smiled or tenderly, as mirth or love beguiled,

for angels now they weave their artless spell. not by thine own pure life that bliss is won, not by thy death of anguish : thou art gone with thy true Saviour evermore to dwell. o rapt in fire to Heaven, farewell, farewell, good daughter, sister, friend, and, all in one, good Christian, more beloved than words can tell. January, 1863.

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