Spiritual Light.

HE moon is up! How calm and slow

THE

She wheels above the hill!

The weary winds forget to blow,

And all the world lies still.

The way-worn travellers, with delight,
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.

It glistens where the hurrying stream
Its little ripple leaves;

It falls

upon the forest shade, And sparkles on the leaves.

So once, on Judah's evening hills,
The heavenly lustre spread,
The Gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.

And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendour throws:
Bright in the opening hours of life,
But brighter at the close.

The waning moon, in time, shall fail
To walk the midnight skies;

But God hath warmed this bright light

With fire that never dies.

WILLIAM PEABODY.

She led Me First to God.

"SHE led me first to God;

Her words and prayers were my young spirit's dew. For, when she used to leave

The fireside, every eve,

I knew it was for prayer that she withdrew. "That dew, that bless'd my youth,

Her holy love, her truth,

Her spirit of devotion, and the tears
That she could not suppress,—

Hath never ceased to bless

My soul, nor will it, through eternal years. "How often has the thought

Of my mourn'd mother brought Peace to my troubled spirit, and new power The tempter to repel !

Mother, thou knowest well

That thou hast blessed me since thy mortal hour!"

JOHN PIERPOINT.

Sound the Timbrel, Harp, and Lute.
SOUND the timbrel, harp, and lute,

Let not voice or string be mute;
Strike the doubly-sounding chord,
Music echoing to the word;
Bid th' seraphic sound ascend,

Till the vaulted roof it rend;

Strike till, sounding through the skies,
To the gate of heaven it rise!

Hymns to the Almighty raise,

To whom all power and good belong :
Hallelujah be our praise;

Hallelujah be our song!

Hosannah in the highest sing,
Laud the name of Sion's King;
Let the loud, triumphant strain
Glory to our God proclaim;
Let the organ peal inspire
Hallelujahs through the choir,
Praise Him who gave creation birth!
Praise Him all living things on earth!
Hymns to the Almighty raise,
To whom all power and good belong;
Hallelujah be our praise!
Hallelujah be our song!

ΑΝΟΝ.

'Tis Infamy to Die, and not be Missed. WOULDST thou from sorrow find a sweet

relief?

Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold? Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief, Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold? 'Tis when the rose is wrapped in many a fold Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled, Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair, Breathes freely its perfume throughout the ambient air.

Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night

When death is waiting for thy numbered hours To take their swift and everlasting flight; Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite,

And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed; Do something-do it soon-with all thy might; An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, And God himself, inactive, were no longer blessed. Some high or humble enterprise of good Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind, Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food, And kindle in thy heart a flame refined. Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind

To this thy purpose-to begin, pursue,

With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind. Strength to complete, and with delight review, And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.

No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit
To light on man as from the passing air;
The lamp of genius, though by nature lit,
If not protected, pruned, and fed with care,
Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare :
And learning is a plant that spreads and towers
Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare,

That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers

Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers.

Has immortality of name been given
To them that idly worship hills and groves,
And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven?
Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves,
To measure worlds, and follow where each
moves ?

Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease, By wanderings wild that Nature's pilgrim loves? Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace, By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece ?

Beware, lest thou from sloth, that would appear
But lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim
Thy want of worth; a charge thou couldst not
hear

From other lips without a blush of shame,
Or pride indignant; then be thine to blame,
And make thyself of worth; and thus enlist
The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame;
'Tis infamy to die and not be missed,

Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist.

Rouse to some work of high and holy love, And thou an angel's happiness shalt know,Shalt bless the earth while in the world above; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow: The seed, that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers. CARLOS WILCOX.