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From marriage of the western earth
With nations of the morn!
Then fold the Tent—then on again ;
One spot of ashen black,
The traveller's, recent track ;
At noon and eve a home,
Across the ocean foam.
HERE is a calm the poor in spirit know,
the east a lark was springing,
“Oh, that I were wise and strong! I am nothing but a song."
Stood the poet still and listened,
Rapt into the ringing skies ; Dewy dawns of Eden glistened
In a dying maiden's eyes;
Still the lark above them winging,
Rev. WADE ROBINSON.
RUNE thou thy words, the thoughts
That o'er thee swell and throng; They will condense within thy soul,
And change to purpose strong.
But he who lets his feelings run
In soft luxurious flow,
And faints at every woe.
Faith's meanest deed more favour bears,
Where hearts and wills are weigh’d, Than brightest transports, choicest prayers,
Which bloom their hour and fade.