The lightning of intellect flashed from his eye,
In his arm slept the force of the thunder,
But the bolt passed the suppliant harmlessly by,
And left the freed captive to wonder.*

Above, near the path of the pilgrim, he sleeps,
With a rudely-built tumulus o'er him;

And the bright-bosomed Thames, in its majesty, sweeps,
By the mound where his followers bore him.

The Missionaries' Farewell.-ANONYMOUS.

LAND where the bones of our fathers are sleeping,
Land where our dear ones and fond ones are weeping,
Land where the light of Jehovah is shining,
We leave thee lamenting, but not with repining.

Land of our fathers, in grief we forsake thee,
Land of our friends, may Jehovah protect thee,
Land of the church, may the light shine around thee,
Nor darkness, nor trouble, nor sorrow confound thee.

God is thy God; thou shalt walk in His brightness;
Gird thee with joy, let thy robes be of whiteness:
God is thy God! let thy hills shout for gladness;
But ah! we must leave thee-we leave thee in sadness.

Dark is our path o'er the dark rolling ocean:
Dark are our hearts; but the fire of devotion
Kindles within ;-and a far distant nation
Shall learn from our lips the glad song of salvation.

Hail to the land of our toils and our sorrows!
Land of our rest!--when a few more to-morrows
Pass o'er our heads, we will seek our cold pillows,
And rest in our graves, far away o'er the billows.

*This highly intellectual savage, appropriately styled "king of the woods," was no less distinguished for his acts of humanity than heroism He fell in the bloody charge at Moravian town, during the war of 1812-15

Mozart's Requiem.-Rurus DAWES.

THE tongue of the vigilant clock tolled one,
In a deep and hollow tone;

The shrouded moon looked out upon

A cold, dank region, more cheerless and dun,
By her lurid light that shone.

Mozart now rose from a restless bed,
And his heart was sick with care;

Though long had he wooingly sought to wed
Sweet Sleep, 'twas in vain, for the coy maid fled,
Though he followed her every where.

He knelt to the God of his worship then,
And breathed a fervent prayer;
'Twas balm to his soul, and he rose again
With a strengthened spirit, but started when
He marked a stranger there.

He was tall, the stranger who gazed on him,
Wrapped high in a sable shroud;

His cheek was pale, and his eye was dim,
And the melodist trembled in every limb,
The while his heart beat loud.

"Mozart, there is one whose errand I bear, Who cannot be known to thee;

He grieves for a friend, and would have thee prepare A requiem, blending a mournful air

With the sweetest melody."

"I'll furnish the requiem then," he cried,
"When this moon has waned away!"
The stranger bowed, yet no word replied,
But fled like the shade on a mountain's side,
When the sunlight hides its ray.

Mozart grew pale when the vision fled,
And his heart beat high with fear;

He knew 'twas a messenger sent from the dead,
To warn him, that soon he must make his bed
In the dark, chill sepulchre.

He knew that the days of his life were told,

And his breast grew faint within;

The blood through his bosom crept slowly and cold, And his lamp of life could barely hold

The flame that was flickering.

Yet he went to his task with a cheerful zeal,
While his days and nights were one;

He spoke not, he moved not, but only to kneel
With the holy prayer-" O God, I feel

'Tis best thy will be done!"

He gazed on his loved one, who cherished him well,
And weepingly hung o'er him:

"This music will chime with my funeral knell,
And my spirit shall float, at the passing bell,
On the notes of this requiem!"

The cold moon waned: on that cheerless day,
The stranger appeared once more;
Mozart had finished his requiem lay,
But e'er the last notes had died away,
His spirit had gone before.

"I will be glad in the Lord." Psalm civ. 34.ANONYMOUS.

WHEN morning's first and hallowed ray
Breaks with its trembling light,

To chase the pearly dews away,

Bright tear-drops of the night,

My heart, O Lord, forgets to rove,
But rises gladly free,

On wings of everlasting love,

And finds its home in THEE.

When evening's silent shades descend,

And nature sinks to rest,

Still to my Father and my Friend

My wishes are addressed.

Though tears may dim my hours of joy.,
And bid my pleasures flee,

THOU reign'st where grief cannot annoy;
I will be glad in THEE.

And e'en when midnight's solemn gloom,
Above, around, is spread,
Sweet dreams of everlasting bloom
Are hovering o'er my head.

I dream of that fair land, O Lord,
Where all thy saints shall be;
I wake to lean upon thy word,
And still delight in THEE.

To the Memory of a Brother.-ANONYMOUS

BEHOLD the glorious morn! and where art thou,
To feel its first rich breath on thy sweet brow,
Child of our hope and love?

And stand, with the spring flowers about thee waking
And catch the early music that is breaking
From valley and fresh grove?

Were these to thee a weariness-the birds,
And the bright waters, and the earnest words
Of strong affection shed-

A mother's love, whose holy influence fell,
In its deep truth and its unchanging spell,

Like light, upon thy head?

Young brother!" had the sound no joy for thee, That in the dust this hour thy form should be, And mute thy blessed voice?

O, there be yearnings for thee, gentlest one,

Gone with thy grace and thy sweet laughter's tone.

Meet were thy footsteps for the world of flowers,
And thy lost beauty for the coming hours

Of the crowned summer's reign;

And thou within the silent grave art laid,
And melody of bird and breeze is made
Henceforth to thee in vain.

And there are dancing o'er the joyous earth
Light hearted children in their fearless mirth;
And they remember not

The clasping of thy gentle hand, thou child,
The spirit beautiful and undefiled,
Now parted from their lot.

But I will speak of thee at eventide,

When, in their watchfulness, the pure stars glide
Above thy narrow bed,

And when, alas! shall come the morning's gleam
Bringing all beauty unto leaf and stream,
Yet reaching not the dead.

I will remember, and the dream shall be
Forever more a welcome thing to me,
Child of my bosom's love;

And I will deem thou'rt standing even now,
With the hair parted on thy sinless brow,
In a bright world above.

A Home everywhere.-S. GRAHAM.

HEAVE, mighty ocean, heave,

And blow, thou boisterous wind;
Onward we swiftly glide, and leave
Our home and friends behind.

Away, away we steer,

Upon the ocean's breast;

And dim the distant heights appear,

Like clouds along the west.

There is a loneliness

Upon the mighty deep;

And hurried thoughts upon us press,
As onwardly we sweep.

Our home-O, heavens-that word!
A name without a thing!
We are e'en as a lonely bird,
Whose home is on the wing.