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NIGHT SHOWETH KNOWLEDGE.

And then they likewise shall

Their ruin have;
For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires,

Though seeming mute,
The fallacy of our desires,
And all the pride of life, confute.

For they have watch'd since first

The world had birth;
And found sin in itself accurst,
And nothing permanent on earth.

WILLIAM HABINGDON.

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COW withered, perished seems the form

Of yon obscure, unsightly root !

Yet from the blight of wintry storm It hides secure the precious fruit.

The careless eye can find no grace,

No beauty in the scaly folds; Nor see within the dark embrace

What latent loveliness it holds.

Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,

The lily wraps her silver vest, Till vernal suns and vernal gales

Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.

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Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap,

The undelighting, slighted thing; There in the cold earth buried deep,

In silence let it wait the spring.

Oh! many a stormy night shall close

In gloom, upon the barren earth, While still, in undisturbed repose,

Uninjured lies the future birth.

And Ignorance, with sceptic eye,

Hope's patient smile shall wondering view; Or mock her fond credulity,

As her soft tears the spot bedew.

Sweet smile of Hope ! delicious tear !

The sun, the shower indeed shall come;
The promised verdant shoot appear,

And Nature bid her blossoms bloom.

And thou, O virgin Queen of Spring !

Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed,
Bursting thy green sheath's silken string,

Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed ;

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Unfold thy robes of purest white,

Unsullied from their darksome grave; And thy soft petals' silvery light,

In the mild breeze unfettered wave.

So Faith shall seek the lowly dust,

Where humble Sorrow loves to lie, And bid her thus her hopes intrust,

And watch with patient, cheerful eye;

And bear the long, cold wintry night,

And bear her own degraded doom, And wait till Heaven's reviving light

Eternal Spring !-shall burst the gloom.

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H

AD this effulgence disappeared

With flying haste, I might have sent,

Among the speechless clouds, a look Of blank astonishment; But 'tis endued with power to stay, And sanctify one closing day, That frail Mortality may seeWhat is ?ah no, but what can be ! Time was when field and watery cove With modulated echoes rang, While choirs of fervent angels sang Their vespers in the grove ;

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