As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought; entraced in prayer,
I worshipped the invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought,

Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy :
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused
Into the mighty vision passing—then,

As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn!

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! O struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars,

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink: Companion of the Morning-star at dawn.

Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn

:

Co-herald wake, O wake, and utter praise!
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,

For ever shattered, and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ?

And who commanded (and the silence came),
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain-
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge;
Motionless torrents! Silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen, full-moon?

Clothe you with rainbows?

flowers

Who bade the sun
Who, with living

Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome
voice!

Yepine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds; Ye signs and wonders of the element !

Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure

serene

Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast-
Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain! thou
That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base

Slow travelling, with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,

To rise before me.-Rise, O ever rise,

Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
Thou kingly Spirit, throned among the hills,
Thou dread Ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
S. T. COLERIDGE.

Heaven Watches o'er their Sleeping Bust.

WHEN he, who, from the scourge of wrong,
Aroused the Hebrew tribes to fly,

Saw the fair region, promised long,
And bowed him on the hills to die;

God made his grave, to man unknown,
Where Moab's rocks a vale infold,

And laid the aged seer alone

To slumber while the world

grows old.

Thus still, whene'er the good and just
Close the dim eye on life and pain,
Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust
Till the pure spirit comes again.

Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
His servant's humble ashes lie,

Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
To call its inmate to the sky.

W. C. BRYANT.

Happiness! where is thy Seat?

APPINESS! thou lovely name,

HA

Where's thy seat? O tell me where!
Learning, pleasure, wealth, and fame,
All cry out, "It is not here."

Not the wisdom of the wise,
Can inform me where it lies;
Not the grandeur of the great
Can the bliss I seek create.

Object of my first desire,

Jesus! crucified for me,

All to happiness aspire,
Only to be found in Thee!
Thee to praise and Thee to know,
Constitute our bliss below;

Thee to see, and Thee to love,

Constitute our bliss above.

Lord! it is not life to live,
If thy presence Thou deny.
Lord! if Thou thy presence give,
'Tis no longer death to die.
Source and Giver of repose,
Singly from thy smile it flows;
Peace and happiness are Thine,
Mine they are, if thou art mine.

Whilst I feel Thy love to me,
Every object teems with joy:
Here, O may I walk with Thee,
Then into Thy presence die!
Let me but Thyself possess,
Total sum of happiness!

Real bliss I then shall prove,

Heaven below, and heaven above.

TOPLADY.

Having Nothing, yet hath All.

HOW

OW happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the worldly care
Of public fame, or private breath;