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GOD bids the sun ascend the skies,
And heaven and earth rejoice;
He speaks, the rushing whirlwind flies,
Obedient to His voice.

Through the dull eve, the blithsome morn,
He leads the changing seasons on ;
And still those smiling seasons tell,
That He who rules them, rules them well.

Thus over life's wide darkling plain,
Unheeding as we roam,

Thro' many a path of joy and pain
He leads His children home.

And though sometimes in prospect view'd,
The winding way seem dark and rude;
Ah! who the backward scene hath scann'd,
Nor bless'd his Father's guiding hand!

On hearing the Church Bells, while long confined by Illness.

AGAIN these solemn sounds-again
That awful call I hear,
For me, alas! it sounds in vain
When sabbath morns appear.

In social bands while others move,
Devoted hearts to bring;
And in His courts with holy love
Their MAKER's praise to sing ;*

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I hear the call, I see them go,
In slow procession by;

Th' awak'ning sound, the solemn show,
That meet my ear and eye,

Speak to my soul of sabbaths past
Oft wasted unimprov'd ;

Of time, for me how short to last,
Of friends from earth remov'd.

While here my moveless useless frame
So long remains confin'd,
O may devotion's holy flame
Light up my darken'd mind.

Might heavenly grace abroad be shed
To melt my frozen heart,

The powerful voice that wakes the dead
Would vital warmth impart.

Tho' exil'd from Thy dwelling place
Where happier friends adore,
Would'st Thou reveal Thy gracious face,
My soul would droop no more.

Could I before Thy blessed cross
A contrite spirit bend,
All earthly joys contemn as dross,
And claim a Heavenly Friend;

Tho' in thy earthly temple here.

No more my vows I pay, The sorrows of a soul sincere Thou wilt not cast away.

Thou canst refresh my fainting soul
With cordials from above,
My trembling guilty doubts contro!,
And tell me-
e-GOD is love.

That depth of love th' angelic host
Attempt in vain to scan;
Pour'd out to ransom creatures lost,
The helpless race of man.

O can that boon, profusely pour'd
The captive souls to free,
So long desired, so oft implor'd,
Be vainly sought by me!

O let thy sanctifying Dove
With healing wings descend,
Teach me to pray, teach me to love,
And all my sorrows end!

So shall a gleam of heavenly light
Dispel this mournful gloom,
And cheer, with rays serenely bright,
My passage to the tomb.

On Parting from a Gentleman at the Door of one of the Protestant Churches, at Paris, immediately after Dirine Service.

By J. H. G. a native of America.

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STRANGER! I know thee not by name,
And yet my heart is knit to thine,
Our heavenly FATHER is the same,
And thy REDEEMER, too, is mine.

Stranger! I read it in thine eye,
And in thy accents meek and mild,
And in thy words of charity,

That God has chosen thee His child.

The moment was a fleeting one

In which we felt the Christian tie,
But while these
eyes behold the sun,
Sacred shall be its memory!

Perchance, beyond this world of care,

GOD may permit our souls to meet,
And in the realms of bliss to share

Remembrance of an hour so sweet.

Meanwhile, His guardian care attend

Thy pilgrimage, where'er it be ;
The blessings of His grace descend
Into thy bosom constantly.

THE SEASONS.-By an American Lady.

I LOVE the rising grace, the varied charms,

Which on the Earth's enamell'd bosom play, When Nature bursts from April's humid arms, And springs impatient to the Ides of May.

I love the rip'ning beam, the fervid glow,

Which crowns with full maturity the year; When busy Summer shows his swarthy brow,

And severs from the root the bending ear.

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I love the rich profusion Autumn yields,
When, in his party-colour'd robes array'd
He treads triumphant o'er the lighten'd fields,
And twines their rifled honours round his head.

I love the bright effulgence Winter wears,
When o'er the plains his fleecy showers descend,
And the soft germs which shiv'ring Nature bears,
From the rude blasts and piercing cold defend.
I love but ah! such matchless beauties rise,
So thick the forms of varied goodness throng,
That sweet confusion dims
my wond'ring eyes,
And swelling transports overpower my song.
For still the impress of a Hand Divine

Marks each mutation of this earthly ball,
Through all its scenes parental bounties shine-
FATHER of light and life! I love them all.

FROM THE SONG OF DAVID.
Christopher Smart.

HE

sung of GOD, the mighty source
Of all things, the stupendous force
On which all things depend:
From whose right arm, beneath whose
All period, power, and enterprize,
Commence, and reign, and end.

eyes,

The world, the clustering spheres he made,
The glorious light, the soothing shade,

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