Star of the Dawning.

NOW, brighter than the host that all night

long,

In fiery armour, far up in the sky

Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning song,

Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh, Star of the dawning! Cheerful is thine eye; And yet in the broad day it must grow dim. Thou seem'st to look on me, as asking why My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim; Thou bid'st me turn to GOD, and seek my rest in Him.

Canst thou grow sad, thou say'st, as earth
grows bright?

And sigh, when little birds begin discourse
In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light
Pours on their nests, from out the day's fresh
source?

With creatures innocent thou must perforce
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure.
And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure,
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to
endure.

I feel its calm, But there's a sombrous hue,
Edging that eastern cloud, of deep, dull red;
Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy dew;
And all the woods and hill-tops stand outspread
With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfort
shed.

Still save the bird that scarcely lifts its songThe vast world seems the tomb of all the deadThe silent city emptied of its throng,

And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong.

But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth

Will quicken soon; and hard hot toil and strife, With headlong purpose, shake this sleeping earth

With discord strange, and all that man calls life. With thousand scatter'd beauties nature's rife; And airs and woods and streams breathe harmonies :

Man weds not these, but taketh art to wife; Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties:He, feverish, blinded, lives, and, feverish, sated, dies.

It is because man useth so amiss

Her dearest blessings, nature seemeth sad; Else why should she in such fresh hour as this Not lift the veil, in revelation glad,

From her fair face ?-It is that man is mad! Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine When nature grieves; nor deem this heart is bad.

Thou look'st toward earth; but yet the heavens are thine;

While I to earth am bound:-When will the heavens be mine?

If man would but his finer nature learn,
And not in life fantastic lose the sense
Of simpler things; could nature's features stern
Teach him be thoughtful, then, with soul
intense

I should not yearn for GOD to take me hence,
But bear my lot, albeit in spirit bow'd,
Remembering humbly why it is, and whence:
But when I see cold man of reason proud,
My solitude is sad-I'm lonely in the crowd.

But not for this alone, the silent tear

Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the morn, Nor for this solemn hour: fresh life is near ;But all my joys!—they died when newly born. Thousands will wake to joy; while I, forlorn, And like the stricken deer, with sickly eye Shall see them pass. Breathe calm-my spirit's torn;

Ye holy thoughts, lift up my soul on high!Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-off world bring nigh.

And when I grieve, O, rather let it be

That I—whom nature taught to sit with her On her proud mountains, by her rolling seaWho, when the winds are up, with mighty stir Of woods and waters-feel the quickening spur To my strong spirit ;-who, as my own child, Do love the flower, and in the ragged bur A beauty see-that I this mother mild Should leave, and go with care, and passions fierce and wild!

How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft Shot 'thwart the earth! In crown of living fire

Up comes the day! As if they conscious quaff'd

The sunny flood, hill, forest, city spire

Laugh in the wakening light.-Go, vain desire!
The dusky lights are gone; go thou thy way;
And pining discontent, like them, expire!
Be call'd my chamber, PEACE, when ends the
day;

And let me with the dawn, like PILGRIM, sing

and pray.

H. DANA.

WE

Search after God.

HERE shall I find my God? O where, O where,

no;

Shall I direct my steps to find him there?
Shall I make search in swelling bags of coin?
Ah! for God and Mammon cannot join.
Do beds of down contain this heavenly stranger?
No, no, he's rather cradled in some manger:
Dwells he in wisdom? is he gone that road?
No, no, man's wisdom's foolishness with God:
Or hath some new plantation yet unknown,
Made him their king, adorned him with their
crown?

No, no; the kingdoms of the earth think scorn
To adorn his brows with any crown but thorn.

Where shall I go to trace, where go to wind him? My Lord is gone; and O! I cannot find him: I'll ransack the dark dungeons; I'll inquire Into the furnace, after the seventh fire:

I'll seek in Daniel's den, and in Paul's prison;
I'll search his grave, and see if he be risen:
I'll go to the house of mourning; and I'll call
At every alms-abused hospital:

I'll go and ask the widow that's opprest;
The heavy-laden that inquireth rest.

I'll search the corners of all broken hearts;
The wounded conscience, and the soul that smarts;
The contrite spirit fill'd with filial fear-
Ay, there he is; and nowhere else but there :
Spare not to scourge thy pleasure, O my God,
So I may find thy presence with thy rod.
FRANCIS QUARLES.

Self-purifying, Unpolluted Sea. GREAT Ocean! strongest of creation's sons,

Unconquerable, unreposed, untired,

That rolled the wild, profound, eternal bass,
In nature's anthem, and made music, such
As pleased the ear of God! original,
Unmarred, unfaded work of Deity,
And unburlesqued by mortal's puny skill;
From age to age enduring and unchanged,
Majestical, inimitable, vast;