Oh! how bright

Were the realms of light,

Bursting at once upon the sight!

Even so,

I long to go,

These parting hours how sad and slow!"

His voice grew faint, and fixed was his eye,
As if gazing on visions of ecstasy;

The hue of his cheeks and lips decayed,
Around his mouth a sweet smile played,
They looked-he was dead!

His spirit had fled

Painless and swift as his own desire;
The soul undrest,

From her mortal vest,

Had stepped in her car of heavenly fire,
And proved how bright

Were the realms of light,

Bursting at once upon the sight.

THE DOVE OF NOAH.

WHITHER, oh! whither, Dove?
On lonely pinion through the trackless air
Through sunlit skies above,

Dost thou in joyous flight alone repair?

Where is the summer strand

That waits thy coming, with its leafy bowers,
Where is the fragrant land

Of golden sunshine and of smiling flowers?

Where is the happy grove,

The long loved home, the nestlings of thy breastSpeed on thy flight, thou dove!

Haste on the journey to the promised rest.

Onward, yet onward roam;

Spread thy snow plumage to the warming sky;
Soon may the voice of home

Greet the long wanderer with a welcome cry.

But vain, oh! vain that thought;
Is it where ruin's blighting footsteps fall,

Where death and doom were wrought,

That thou canst seek thy home, thy mate, thine all?

Is it where soundless waves

Dash o'er the glories of a world gone by?

Is it where ocean laves

Man's pride-his pomp-and all his misery?

How, 'midst these marks of wo,

Bird of the peaceful bosom, canst thou flee?
Fearest thou no dangerous foe,

Can none bring aught of terror here to thee?

"My message fears no ill;

Behold, the peace-branch gives assurance strong,
With joy my breast to fill,

Of safety-rest; then who can do me wrong?

"The tempest hath gone down,

The sin-brought ruin hath fulfilled its hour.
Darkness and wo are flown;

And ocean's fury hath restored her power.

"And hear, yet hear my voice,

Peace hath been purchased; lo! the waves decrease: Look forth-believe-rejoice :

Hear my last whispers; welcome! welcome PEACE!"

Had I thy wings thou dove!

Glad one! with peaceful happy promise blest;

Soon would I flee above,

And like thee seek to be at home-at rest.

TO THE FLOWER FORGET-ME-NOT.

"I muse on the works of thy hands."-PSALM CXLIII. 5.

THOU Sweet little flower with the bright blue eye,

That peepest from the bank so modestly,

Thou art come from a source invisible,

And thou hast some important words to tell.

Thou art come like the "still small voice" of Him

Who whispers his truth in the evening dim;
Who shines in the stars in the azure sky,

And gems the dark world with piety.

Thou art come as a warning to wandering souls,
Who are careless of time, as it swiftly rolls,
And forgetful of God, who upholds their lot,
But who whispers in thee-Forget Me not.

Thou art come as a gift from a Friend sincere,
Whose dwelling is fixed in the heavenly sphere,
But whose Spirit is with us in every spot,

And the voice of whose works is-Forget Me not.

Thou art come to repeat an assurance of love
From that changeless Friend in the mansions above:
To the soul that loves Christ in sincerity

His goodness declares-I will not forget thee.

TRUTH.

UPON this wonderful and glorious ALL

I look, and see, there's nought destroyed, or lost,

Though all things change. The rain-drops gently fall,
But die not where they fall. Some part doth post

Swiftly away on wings of air, to accost
The summer clouds, and ask to sail the deep
With them, as vapoury travellers, or frost.
Some part anon into the ground doth creep,

And maketh the sweet herbs and flowers to grow,
Or oozeth softly through the dark, deep earth,
Teaching the streamlet under ground to flow,
Till forth it breaks with a glad sunshine birth-
Ripples a dancing brook-then flows a river-
Then mingles with the sea, the air, circling for ever.
Even so I looked on the vast realm of truth,
And saw it filled with spirit, life, and power;
Nought TRUE did ever die. Immortal youth
Filled with balmy odours; from the hour
It first dropped gently from its upper shower
On high, swiftly it flew away, or sank.

A while amid the darkness that doth lower
Below, it seemed to struggle. But earth drank
The drop. From heart to wakening heart it sped-
From sire to son-from age to age it ran;

It swelled the stream of truth. It is not dead,
But flowing, filleth every want of man.

It NEVER dieth-nor can ever die,

Circling from God to God, through all eternity!

Yea, Truth, immortal as its primal source,
Once uttered, once set free, shall never rest.
O Father! hath it such undying force
When unrevealed, and left without attest

Of miracle from Thee, and unconfessed

By man; and shall not thine own wORD go forth;
In all its fulness, through these times unblest,

Till it shall reach all corners of the earth?

If one small trembling drop is ne'er destroyed,
But runneth, a bright messenger from Thee,
Shall thy own living streams "return back void,"
And not fulfil their saving ministry?

Oh, no! Even now I see them spreading wide, With life and beauty, on the pure, deep, swelling tide!

PRAYER.

THERE is an eye that never sleeps,
Beneath the wing of night;
There is an ear that never shuts,

When sink the beams of light.

There is an arm that never tires,
When human strength gives way;
There is a love that never fails,
When earthly loves decay.

That eye is fixed on seraph throngs;
That ear is filled with angels' songs;
That arm upholds the world on high;
That love is thrown beyond the sky.

But there's a power which man can wield
When mortal aid is vain ;-

That eye, that arm, that love to reach,
That listening ear to gain.

That power is prayer, which soars on high,
And feeds on bliss beyond the sky!

THE DEITY.

BENEATH thy all-directing nod,

Both world and worms are equal, God!
Thy hand the comets' orbits drew,
And lightest yonder glow-worm too;
Thou didst the dome of heaven build up,
And form'dst yon snow-drop's silver cup.

O sacred Sorrow, by whom hearts are tried,
Sent not to punish mortals, but to guide;
If thou art mine, (and who shall proudly dare
To tell his Maker he has had his share?)
Still let me feel for what thy pangs are sent,
And be my guide, and not my punishment.