James Wallis Eastburn TO PNEUMA. TEMPESTS their furious course may sweep Swiftly o'er the troubled deepDarkness may lend her gloomy aid, And wrap the groaning world in shade; But man can show a darker hour, And bend beneath a stronger power; There is a tempest of the SOUL, A gloom where wilder billows roll! The howling wilderness may spread Its pathless deserts, parched and dread, Where not a blade of herbage blooms, Nor yields the breeze its soft perfumes; Where silence, death, and horror reign, Unchecked, across the wide domain ;— There is a desert of the MIND More hopeless, dreary, undefined! There Sorrow, moody Discontent, And gnawing Care, are wildly blent; Where naught but dreariness is found; The wildest ills that darken life The tempest, in its blackest form, Its high wave mingling with the cloud, To Passion's dark and boundless sea. There sleeps no calm, there smiles no rest, In bosoms lashed by hidden woes; THE RESTORATION OF ISKAEL.. [OUNTAINS of Israel! rear on high MOU Your summits, crowned with verdure new. And spread your branches to the sky, Where Ocean's waves incessant toil. See where the scattered tribes return! Their slavery is burst at length, And purer flames to Jesus burn, And Zion girds on her new strength New cities bloom along the plain, Pours its sweet anthems to the skies. The fruitful fields again are blest, And yellow harvests smile around; Sweet scenes of heavenly joy and rest, Where peace and innocence are found. The bloody sacrifice no more Shall smoke upon the altars high,— But ardent hearts, from hill to shore, Send grateful incense to the sky! The jubilee of man is near, When earth, as heaven, shall own His reign; He comes to wipe the mourner's tear, And cleanse the heart from sin and pain. Praise Him, ye tribes of Israel, praise from woe: The King that ransomed you Nations, the hymn of triumph raise, And bid the song of rapture flow! Robert C. Sands. WEEHAWKEN. 'VE o'er our path is stealing fast; EVE Yon quivering splendours are the last The sun will fling, to tremble o'er The waves that kiss the opposing shore; His latest glories fringe the height 'The mountain's mirrored outline fades River and mountain! though to song Yet, should the stranger ask what lore O'er yon rough heights and moss-clad sod, yon When the great strife for Freedom rose, And here, when Freedom's strife was won, Her son-the second of the band, Scenes of his love and of his fame- THE GREEN ISLE OF LOVERS. THEY say that, afar in the land of the West, Where the bright golden sun sinks in glory to rest, There verdure fades never; immortal in bloom, |