(Original.)

ISAIAH XXVI. 9.

A. R. C.

On! with my soul have I desired thee,

Desired thee in the night!

I've watch'd for thy bright smile more earnestly Than for the morning light!

Yea! with my spirit will I early seek

Thy face whose light is joy;

Ere yet the day-star on mine eyelids break,
Thou shalt my thought employ.

Sumless and precious are Thy thoughts to me;

Thy hand is 'neath my head;

And oh, how peaceful rests my soul on Thee,

Thou sufferer in my stead!

To Thee, to the remembrance of thy name

My soul goes forth in love!

That love from Thy renewing Spirit came,
And soars to fix above.

When I remember Thee upon my bed,

In watches of the night,

I feel Thy cloudless eye bend o'er my head, And all within grows bright!

Oh, my Beloved! let me never say—
"I sought, but found Him not!”
Turn thou until the shadows flee away,
To bless my earthly lot!

DAYLIGHT is closing-but the west
Still with the pomp of sunset glows,

And crimson cloud on mountain's breast,

And tower, and spire, its radiance throws;

While one by one in eastern skies

"The stars which usher evening rise."

How deep, how holy is the calm!

Each sound seems hush'd by magic spell,

As if sweet peace her honied balm

Blent with each dewdrop as it fell :

Would that the cares which man pursue

A

pause like this of nature knew!

Yet in this deep tranquillity,

When e'en the thistle's down is still,
Trembles yon towering aspen-tree,

Like one whose by-gone deeds of ill
At hush of night before him sweep,
To scare his dreams and "murder sleep!"

Far off in Highland wilds, 'tis said

(But truth now laughs at fancy's lore) That of this tree the cross was made

Which erst the Lord of Glory bore; And of that deed its leaves confess, E'er since, a troubled consciousness.

We boast of clearer light;-but say,
Hath science in her lofty pride,
For every legend swept away,

Some better, holier truth supplied?
What hath she to the wanderer given
To help him on his road to Heaven?

Say, who hath gazed upon this tree

With that strange legend in his mind, But inward turn'd his eye to see

If answering feeling he could find— A trembling for that guilt which gave His Saviour to the cross and grave?

And who such glance did inward bend,
But scorn'd the apathy and pride,

Which makes him slight that more than friend
For Him who bled, for Him who died;
Nor pray'd his callous heart might prove
What 'tis to tremble, weep, and love?

STANZAS.

SAMUEL M. WARING.

PEACE, peace! swelling trump that repeatest
The praises to victory given!

Let the harp with the chords that are sweetest
Sound softly-the banner of heaven!
Oh, bring forth the cross-bearing banner!
The banner! the banner of heaven!

Never blood of the vanquish'd imbrued it—
Those drops from the Victor did flow;
And the tears that alone have bedew'd it
Were shed o'er the wounds of a foe:
There is victory dwells in the banner
Of the leader that bled for his foe.

Yon standard inwoven with flowers

From the groves where sages have trod,
And from Paradise too-how it towers!
'Tis all, save the banner of God.
Oh, give us the banner!-the banner!
Bring forth the true banner of God!