And therefore from that haughty summit's crown,
To dim desertion is by thee cast down;
Behold! thy child submissively hath bow'd—
Shine on him through the cloud!

Let the now darken'd earth and curtain'd heaven
Back to his vision with thy face be given!
Bear him on high once more,

But in thy strength to soar,

And wrapt and still'd by that o'ershadowing might, Forth on the empyreal blaze to look with chasten'd sight.

Or if it be, that like the ark's lone dove,
My thoughts go forth, and find no resting-place,
No sheltering home of sympathy and love,
In the responsive bosoms of my race,
And back return, a darkness and a weight,
Till my unanswer'd heart grows desolate—
Yet, yet sustain me, Holiest !—I am vow'd
To solemn service high;

And shall the spirit, for thy tasks endow'd,
Sink on the threshold of the sanctuary.
Fainting beneath the burden of the day,
Because no human tone,

Unto the altar-stone,

Of that pure spousal fane inviolate,
Where it should make eternal truth its mate,
May cheer the sacred solitary way?

Oh! be the whisper of thy voice within

Enough to strengthen! Be the hope to win

A more deep-seeing homage for thy name,
Far, far beyond the burning dream of fame!
Make me thine only !-Let me add but one
To those refulgent steps all undefiled,

Which glorious minds have piled

Through bright self-offering, earnest, childlike, lone, For mounting to thy throne!

And let my soul, upborne

On wings of inner morn,

Find, in illumined secresy, the sense
Of that bless'd work, its own high recompense.

The dimness melts away
That on your glory lay,

O ye majestic watchers of the skies!

Through the dissolving veil,
Which made each aspect pale,

Your gladd'ning fires once more I recognise;
And once again a shower

Of hope, and joy, and power,

Streams on my soul from your immortal eyes. And, if that splendour to my sober'd sight Come tremulous, with more of pensive lightSomething, though beautiful, yet deeply fraught, With more that pierces through each fold of thought

Than I was wont to trace

On Heaven's unshadow'd faceBe it e'en so!-be mine, though set apart Unto a radiant ministry, yet still

A lowly, fearful, self-distrusting heart;

Bow'd before thee, O Mightiest ! whose bless'd will All the pure stars rejoicingly fulfil.*

THE TRAVELLER'S EVENING SONG.

FATHER, guide me! Day declines.
Hollow winds are in the pines;
Darkly waves each giant bough
O'er the sky's last crimson glow;
Hush'd is now the convent's bell,
Which erewhile with breezy swell
From the purple mountains bore
Greeting to the sunset-shore.
Now the sailor's vesper-hymn
Dies away.

Father in the forest dim,
Be my stay!

In the low and shivering thrill
Of the leaves that late hung still;
In the dull and muffled tone
Of the sea-wave's distant moan;
In the deep tints of the sky
There are signs of tempests nigh.
Ominous, with sullen sound,
Falls the closing dusk around.

* Written after hearing the introductory Lecture on Astronomy delivered in Trinity College, Dublin, by Sir William Hamilton, royal astronomer of Ireland, on the 8th November 1832.

Father! through the storm and shade
O'er the wild,

Oh! be Thou the lone one's aid-
Save thy child!

Many a swift and sounding plume Homewards, through the boding gloom, hath flitted fast,

O'er my way

Since the farewell sunbeam pass'd
From the chestnut's ruddy bark,
And the pools, now lone and dark,
Where the wakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, homeward, all things haste-
God of might!

Shield the homeless 'midst the waste,
Be his light!

In his distant cradle nest,
Now my babe is laid to rest;
Beautiful his slumber seems
With a glow of heavenly dreams,
Beautiful, o'er that bright sleep,
Hang soft eyes of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray
For the loved and far away.-
Father, guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer!

Back, through thine all-guiding power,
Lead me there!

Darker, wilder, grows the night,
Not a star sends quivering light

Through the

massy arch of shade
By the stern old forest made.

Thou! to whose unslumbering eyes
All my pathway open lies,

By thy Son, who knew distress

In the lonely wilderness,

Where no roof to that bless'd head
Shelter gave-

Father! through the time of dread,
Save-oh, save!

BURIAL OF AN EMIGRANT'S CHILD IN THE FORESTS.

SCENE. The banks of a solitary river in an American forest. A tent under pine-trees in the foreground. AGNES sitting before the tent, with a child in her arms apparently sleeping.

Agnes. Surely 'tis all a dream-a fever-dream! The desolation and the agony—

The strange red sunrise—and the gloomy woods, So terrible with their dark giant boughs,

And the broad lonely river! all a dream!

And my boy's voice will wake me, with its clear,
Wild singing tones, as they were wont to come,
Through the wreath'd sweetbrier at my lattice-panes
In happy, happy England! Speak to me!

Speak to thy mother, bright one! she hath watch'd
All the dread night beside thee, till her brain
Is darken'd by swift waves of fantasies,