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From eternity, enduring

To eternity, the Lord,
Still his people's bliss insuring,
Keeps his covenanted word;

Yea, with truth and righteousness,
Children's children he will bless.

As in heaven his throne and dwelling,
King on earth he holds his sway;
Angels, ye in strength excelling,
Bless the Lord, his voice cbey;

All his works beneath the pole,
Bless the Lord, with thee, my soul.

ICE-BLINK AND AURORA BOREALIS.

"TIS sunset: to the firmament serene
The Atlantic wave reflects a gorgeous scene:
Broad in the cloudless west, a belt of gold
Girds the blue hemisphere; above unroll'd
The keen clear air grows palpable to sight,
Embodied in a flush of crimson light,

Through which the evening star, with milder gleam,
Descends to meet her image in the stream.

Far in the east, what spectacle unknown

Allures the eye to gaze on it alone?

-Amidst black rocks that lift on either hand
Their countless peaks, and mark receding land;
Amidst a tortuous labyrinth of seas,
That shine around the arctic Cyclades ;
Amidst a coast of dreariest continent,
In many a shapeless promontory rent;

-O'er rocks, seas, islands, promontories spread,
The Ice-Blink rears its undulated head,
On which the sun, beyond th' horizon shrined,
Hath left his richest garniture behind;
Piled on a hundred arches, ridge by ridge,
O'er fix'd and fluid strides the Alpine bridge,
Whose blocks of sapphire seem to mortal eye
Hewn from cerulean quarries of the sky;
With glacier-battlements, that crowd the spheres,
The slow creation of six thousand years,
Amidst immensity it towers sublime,
-Winter's eternal palace, built by Time:

All human structures by his touch are borne

Down to the dust;-mountains themselves are worn
With his light footsteps; here forever grows,
Amid the region of unmelting snows,

A monument; where every flake that falls
Gives adamantine firmness to the walls.
The sun beholds no mirror in his race,
That shews a brighter image of his face;
The stars, in their nocturnal vigils, rest
Like signal fires on its illumined crest;
The gliding moon around the ramparts wheels,
And all its magic lights and shades reveals;
Beneath, the tide with idle fury raves

To undermine it through a thousand caves;
Rent from its roof, though thundering fragments oft
Plunge to the gulph, immoveable aloft,
From age to age, in air, o'er sea, on land,
Its turrets heighten and its piers expand.

Midnight hath told his hour; the moon, yet young, Hangs in the argent west her bow unstrung; Larger and fairer, as her lustre fades,

Sparkle the stars amidst the deepening shades ;
Jewels more rich than night's regalia gem
The distant Ice-Blink's spangled diadem;
Like a new morn from orient darkness, there
Phosphoric splendours kindle in mid air,

As though from heaven's self-opening portals came
Legions of spirits in an orb of flame,

-Flame, that from every point an arrow sends,
Far as the concave firmament extends:

Spun with the tissue of a million lines,
Glistening like gossamer the welkin shines:
The constellations in their pride look pale
-Through the quick trembling brilliance of that veil :
Then suddenly converged, the meteors rush
O'er the wide south; one deep vermillion blush
O'erspreads Orion glaring on the flood,
And rabid Sirius foams through fire and blood;
Again the circuit of the pole they range,
Motion and figure every moment change,
Through all the colours of the rainbow run,
Or blaze like wrecks of a dissolving sun;
Wide ether burns with glory, conflict, flight,
And the glad ocean dances in the light.

PSALM XLVI.

GOD is our refuge and defence,

In trouble or unfailing aid;

Secure in his omnipotence,

What foe can make our soul afraid?

Yea, though the earth's foundations rock,
And mountains down the gulf be hurl'd,
His people smile amid the shock,

They look beyond this transient world.

There is a river pure and bright,

Whose streams make glad the heavenly plains; Where, in eternity of light,

The city of our God remains.

Built by the word of his command,
With his unclouded presence bless'd,
Firm as his throne the bulwarks stand;
There is our home, our hope, our rest.

Thither let fervent faith aspire;

Our treasure and our hearts be there; O for a seraph's wing of fire!

No, on the mightier wings of prayer,

We reach at once that last retreat,

And, ranged among the ransom'd throng, Fall with the elders at his feet,

Whose name alone inspires their song.

Ah, soon, how soon! our spirits droop;
Unwant the air of heaven to breathe:
Yet God in very deed will stoop,

And dwell Himself with men beneath.

Come to thy living temples, then,

As in the ancient times appear;

Let earth be paradise again,

And man, O God, thine image here.

RELIGION.

THROUGH shades and solitudes profound,
The fainting traveller wends his way;
Bewildering meteors glare around,

And tempt his wandering feet astray.

Welcome, thrice welcome to his eye,
The sudden moon's inspiring light,
When forth she sallies through the sky,
The guardian angel of the night.

Thus, mortals blind and weak below,
Pursue the phantom bliss in vain;
The world's a wilderness of wo,
And life's a pilgrimage of pain!

Till mild Religion from above
Descends, a sweet engaging form,
The messerger of heavenly love,
The bow of promise 'mid the storm.

Ambition, pride, revenge, depart,
And folly flies her chastening rod;
She makes the humble, contrite heart
A temple of the living God.

Beyond the narrow vale of time,
Where bright celestial ages roll,
To scenes eternal, scenes sublime,
She points the way and leads the soul.

At her approach, the grave appears
The gate of paradise restored;
Her voice the watching cherub hears,
And drops his double flaming sword.

Baptized with her renewing fire,

May we the crown of glory gain;
Rise when the hosts of heaven expire,
And reign with God, forever reign!

MRS BARBAULD.

MRS BARBAULD has adorned the circle of English literature by her writings, hardly less than she has that of private life by her sincere piety and her many domestic virtues. Her poetry is pleasing in its character and excellent in its influence. It is full of good sense and plain benevolence of feeling, without being destitute of fancy. Some of her pieces display a delightful humour, and some are truly pathetic.

WASHING DAY.

THE Muses are turned gossips; they have lost
The buskined step, and clear high-sounding phrase,
Language of gods. Come then, domestic Muse,
In slipshod measure loosely prattling on

Of farm or orchard, pleasant curds and cream,
Or drowning flies, or shoe lost in the mire
By little whimpering boy, with rueful face;
Come, Muse, and sing the dreaded Washing-Day.
Ye who bencath the yoke of wedlock bend,
With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day
Which week, smooth sliding after week, brings on
Too soon;-for to that day nor peace belongs
Nor comfort;-ere the first gray streak of dawn,
The red-armed washers come and chase repose.
Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth,
E'er visited that day: the very cat,

From the wet kitchen scared and reeking hearth,
Visits the parlour, an unwonted guest.
The silent breakfast-meal is soon despatched;
Uninterrupted, save by an ious looks

Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower.
From that last evil, O preserve us, heavens!
For should the skies pour down, adieu to all
Remains of quiet: then expect to hear
Of sad disasters,-dirt and gravel stains
Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once

Snapped short,-and linen-horse by dog thrown down, And all the petty miseries of life.

Saints have been calm while stretched upon the rack, And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals;

But never yet did housewife notable

Greet with a smile a rainy washing-day.

-But grant the welkin fair, require not thou
Who call'st thyself perchance the master there,
Or study swept, or nicely dusted coat,
Or usual 'tendance;-ask not, indiscreet,

Thy stockings mended, though the yawning rents
Gape wide as Erebus; nor hope to find

Some snug recess impervious: shouldst thou try
The 'customed garden walks, thinc eye shall rue
The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs,
Myrtle or rose, all crushed beneath the weight
Of coarse checked apron,—with impatient hand
Twitched off when showers impend: or crossing lines
Shall mar thy musings, as the wet cold sheet
Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend
Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim
On such a day the hospitable rites!
Looks, blank at best, and stinted courtesy,
Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes
With dinner of roast chickens, savoury pie,
Or tart or pudding:-pudding he nor tart
That day shall eat; nor, though the husband try,
Mending what can't be helped, to kindle mirth

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