"What feelest thou?" "What the young Chrys

alis

Feels, when she bursts her coil, in freedom's bliss!
And as the light of morning greets her eyes,

The breath of morning wafts her through the skies!" “And hast thou taught us truth?

reply! ..."

The soul

"Believe this smile; the soul shall never die!

.?

"What waitest thou, that thou from earth may'st

flee?"

"A breath, as waits the ship, impatient for the

66

sea!"

...

Whence shall it come?

"Yet one word more

"From heaven!"

!

. . .

'No; leave my soul alone, in peace to soar!

Dr. Chatfield.

MUSINGS IN THE TEMPLE OF NATURE.

MAN can build nothing worthy of his Maker,-
From royal Solomon's stupendous fane,
Down to the humble chapel of the Quaker,

All, all are vain.

The wondrous world which He himself created
Is the fit temple of creation's Lord;
There may His worship best be celebrated,

And praises poured.

Its altar, earth; its roof, the sky untainted;

Sun, moon, and stars, are lamps that give it light;

And clouds, by the celestial Artist painted,

Its pictures bright.

Its choir, all vocal things, whose glad devotion

In one united hymn is heavenward sped;

The thunder-peal, the winds, the deep-mouthed ocean, Its organ dread!

The face of Nature its God-written Bible,
Which all mankind may study and explore,

While none can wrest, interpolate, or libel

Its living lore.

Hence learn we that our Maker, whose affection
Knows no distinction, suffers no recall,
Sheds His impartial favor and protection

Alike on all.

Thus by Divine example do we gather,
That every race should love alike all others;
Christian, Jew, Pagan, children of one Father,
All, all are brothers!

Conscience, Heaven's silent oracle, the assessor
Of right and wrong in every human breast,
Sternly condemns the impenitent transgressor

To live unblest.

The pious and the virtuous, though assaulted
By fortune's frown, or man's unjust decrees,
Still in their bosoms find a pure, exalted,

Unfailing peace!

Hence do we learn that hardened vice is hateful,
Since Heaven pursues it with avenging rod;
While goodness, self-rewarded, must be grateful
To man and God.

O! Thou most visible, yet unseen Teacher,
Whose finger writes its lessons on our sphere,
O! Thou most audible, but unheard Preacher,

Whose sermons clear

Are seen and read in all that Thou performest,
Wilt Thou look down and bless, if, when I kneel,
Apart from man-built fanes, I feel the warmest
And purest zeal?

If in the temple Thine own hands have fashioned,
'Neath the bright sky, by lonely stream or wood,
I pour to Thee, with thrilling heart impassioned,
My gratitude?

If in Thy present miracles terrestrial

Mine eyes behold, wherever I have kneeled,

New proofs of the futurity celestial

To man revealed?

If, fearing Thee, I love the whole creation,
Keeping my bosom undefiled by guilt,
Wilt Thou receive and bless mine adoration?

Thou wilt, Thou wilt!

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.

REPOSE IN FAITH.

the clear design

BEHOLD the storm-beat wanderer in repose! He lists the sounds at which the Heavens unclose! Gleam, through expanding bars, the angel-wings, And floats the music borne from seraph-strings! Holy the oldest creed which Nature gives, Proclaiming God where'er Creation lives; But there the doubt will come !· Attests the Maker and suggests the Shrine; But in that visible harmonious plan, What present shows the future world to man? What lore detects, beneath our crumbling clay, A soul exiled, and journeying back to-day; What knowledge, in the bones of charnel urns, The ethereal spark, the undying thought, discerns? How from the universal war,

the prey

Of life on life, can Love explore the way?

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