Thy life! how cold it might have been,
If days had grown to years!

How dark, how deeply stained with sin,
With weariness and tears!

How happy thus to sink to rest,
So early numbered with the blest!

"Tis well, then, that the smile should lie
Upon thy marble cheek:

It tells to our inquiring eye

What words could never speak

A revelation sweetly given

Of all that man can learn of heaven.

Looking unto Jesus.-CHRISTIAN EXAMINER.

THOU, who didst stoop below, To drain the cup of wo, Wearing the form of frail mortality,

Thy blessed labors done,

Thy crown of victory won,

Hast passed from earth-passed to thy home on high.

Man may no longer trace,

In thy celestial face,

The image of the bright, the viewless One;
Nor may thy servants hear,

Save with faith's raptured ear,

Thy voice of tenderness, God's holy Son!

Our eyes behold thee not,

Yet hast thou not forgot

Those who have placed their hope, their trust in thee; Before thy Father's face

Thou hast prepared a place,

That where thou art, there they may also be.

It

was no path of flowers,

Through this dark world of ours,

Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread;

And shall we, in dismay,

Shrink from the narrow way,

When clouds and darkness are around it spread?

O thou, who art our life,

Be with us through the strife!

Was not thy head by earth's fierce tempests bowed!
Raise thou our eyes above,

To see a Father's love

Beam, like the bow of promise, through the cloud.

Even through the awful gloom,
Which hovers o'er the tomb,

That light of love our guiding star shall be;
Our spirits shall not dread

The shadowy way to tread,

Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to thee.

Scene from Hadad.-HILLHOUSE.

The garden of ABSALOM's house on Mount Zion, near the palace, over looking the city. TAMAR sitting by a fountain.

Tamar. How aromatic evening grows! The flowers

And spicy shrubs exhale like onycha;

Spikenard and henna emulate in sweets.

Blest hour! which He, who fashioned it so fair,

So softly glowing, so contemplative,

Hath set, and sanctified to look on man.
And, lo! the smoke of evening sacrifice
Ascends from out the tabernacle. Heaven
Accept the expiation, and forgive

This day's offences!-Ha! the wonted strain,
Precursor of his coming!-Whence can this-
It seems to flow from some unearthly hand-

Enter HADAD.

Hadad. Does beauteous Tamar view, in this clear fount, Herself, or heaven?

Tam. Nay, Hadad, tell me whence

Those sad, mysterious sounds.

Had. What sounds, dear princess?

Tam. Surely, thou know'st; and now I almost think

Some spiritual creature waits on thee.

Had. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends

Up from the city to these quiet shades;

A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing

With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy,
And voices from the hills.

Tam.

The sounds I mean

Floated like mournful music round my head,
From unseen fingers.

Had. When?

Tam. Now, as thou camest.

Had. 'Tis but thy fancy, wrought
To ecstasy; or else thy grandsire's harp
Resounding from his tower at eventide.
I've lingered to enjoy its solemn tones,
Till the broad moon, that rose o'er Olivet,
Stood listening in the zenith; yea, have deemed
Viols and heavenly voices answered him.
Tam. But these-

Had. Were we in Syria, I might say

The naiad of the fount, or some sweet nymph,
The goddess of these shades, rejoiced in thee,
And gave thee salutations; but I fear

Judah would call me infidel to Moses.

Tam. How like my fancy! When these strains precede Thy steps, as eft they do, I love to think

Some gentle being, who delights in us,

Is hovering near, and warns me of thy coming;
But they are dirge-like.

Had. Youthful fantasy,

Attuned to sadness, makes them seem so, lady.
So evening's charming voices, welcomed ever,
As signs of rest and peace-the watchman's call,
The closing gates, the Levite's mellow trump
Announcing the returning moon, the pipe

Of swains, the bleat, the bark, the housing-bell,
Send melancholy to a drooping soul.

Tam. But how delicious are the pensive dreams
That steal upon the fancy at their call!

Had. Delicious to behold the world at rest.

Meek Labor wipes his brow, and intermits

The curse, to clasp the younglings of his cot;

Herdsmen and shepherds fold their flocks-and, hark!
What merry strains they send from Olivet!

The jar of life is still; the city speaks

In gentle murmurs; vorces chime with lutes
Waked in the streets and gardens; loving pairs
Eye the red west in one another's arms;

And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields
A glimpse of happiness, which He, who formed
Earth and the stars, had power to make eternal.

Tam. Ah, Hadad, meanest thou to reproach the Friend Who gave so much, because he gave not all?

Had. Perfect benevolence, methinks, had willed
Unceasing happiness, and peace, and joy;
Filled the whole universe of human hearts

With pleasure, like a flowing spring of life.

Tam. Our Prophet teaches so, till man rebelled.
Had. Mighty rebellion! Had he 'leagured heaven
With beings powerful, numberless, and dreadful,
Strong as the enginery that rocks the world
When all its pillars tremble; mixed the fires
Of onset with annihilating bolts

Defensive volleyed from the throne; this, this
Had been rebellion worthy of the name,
Worthy of punishment. But what did man?
Tasted an apple! and the fragile scene,
Eden, and innocence, and human bliss,
The nectar-flowing streams, life-giving fruits,
Celestial shades, and amaranthine flowers,
Vanish; and sorrow, toil, and pain, and death,
Cleave to him by an everlasting curse.

Tam. Ah! talk not thus.

Had. Is this benevolence?—

Nay, loveliest, these things sometimes trouble me;
For I was tutored in a brighter faith.

Our Syrians deem each lucid fount, and stream,
Forest, and mountain, glade, and bosky dell,
Peopled with kind divinities, the friends

Of man, a spiritual race, allied

To him by many sympathies, who seek

His happiness, inspire him with gay thoughts,

Cool with their waves, and fan him with their airs.

O'er them, the Spirit of the Universe,

Or Soul of Nature, circumfuses all

With mild, benevolent, and sun-like radiance;
Pervading, warming, vivifying earth,

As spirit does the body, till green herbs,

And beauteous flowers, and branchy cedars, rise;
And shooting stellar influence through her caves,
Whence minerals and gems imbibe their lustre.
Tam. Dreams, Hadad, empty dreams.
Had. These deities

They invocate with cheerful, gentle rites,
Hang garlands on their altars, heap their shrines

With Nature's bounties, fruits, and fragrant flowers.
Not like yon gory mount that ever reeks-

Tam. Cast not reproach upon the holy altar.

Had. Nay, sweet.-Having enjoyed all pleasures here That Nature prompts, but chiefly blissful love,

At death, the happy Syrian maiden deems

Her immaterial ties into the fields,

Or circumambient clouds, or crystal brooks,

And dwells, a Deity, with those she worshipped,
Till time, or fate, return her in its course
To quaff, once more, the cup of human joy.
Tam. But thou believ'st not this.

Had. I almost wish

Thou didst; for I have feared, my gentle Tamar,
Thy spirit is too tender for a law

Announced in terrors, coupled with the threats
Of an inflexible and dreadful Being,

Whose word annihilates, whose awful voice
Thunders the doom of nations, who can check
The sun in heaven, and shake the loosened stars,
Like wind-tossed fruit, to earth, whose fiery step
The earthquake follows, whose tempestuous breath
Divides the sea, whose anger never dies,
Never remits, but everlasting burns,

Burns unextinguished in the deeps of hell.
Jealous, implacable-

Tam. Peace! impious! peace!

Had. Ha! says not Moses so?

The Lord is jealous

Tam. Jealous of our faith,

Our love, our true obedience, justly his;
And a poor recompense for all his favors.
Implacable he is not; contrite man
Ne'er found him so.

Had. But others have,

If oracles be true.

Tam. Little we know

Of them; and nothing of their dire offence.

Had. I meant not to displease, love; but my soul Sometimes revolts, because I think thy nature

Shudders at him and yonder bloody rites.

How dreadful! when the world awakes to light,
And life, and gladness, and the jocund tide
Bounds in the veins of every happy creature,
Morning is ushered by a murdered victim,