Not smoother, gave the deep its azure dye, Till a new heaven was arch'd and glass'd below; And then the clouds, that, gay in sunset, fly, Cast on it such a stain, it kindled so,

As in the cheek of youth the living roses grow. I, too, have seen thee on thy surging path,

When the night-tempest met thee: thou didst dash

Thy white arms high in heaven, as if in wrath,
Threatening the angry sky; thy waves did lash
The labouring vessel, and with deadening crash
Rush madly forth to scourge its groaning sides;
Onward thy billows came, to meet and clash
In a wild warfare, till the lifted tides
Mingled their yesty tops, where the dark storm-
cloud rides.

In thee, first light, the bounding ocean smiles,
When the quick winds uprear it in a swell,
That rolls, in glittering green, around the isles,
Where ever-springing fruits and blossoms
dwell;

O! with a joy no gifted tongue can tell, I hurry o'er the waters, when the sail

Swells tensely, and the light keel glances well Over the curling billow, and the gale

Comes off the spicy groves to tell its winning tale.

The soul is thine: of old thou wert the power
Who gave the poet life; and I in thee
Feel my heart gladden at the holy hour
When thou art sinking in the silent sea;

Or when I climb the height, and wander free In thy meridian glory, for the air

Sparkles and burns in thy intensity,

I feel thy light within me, and I share

In the full glow of soul thy spirit kindles there. JAMES G. PERCIVAL.

The Joy of Social Worship.

THERE is a joy, which angels well may prize: To see, and hear, and aid God's worship, when Unnumbered tongues, a host of Christian

men,

Youths, matrons, maidens, join. Their sounds

arise,

"Like many waters; " now glad symphonies

Of thanks and glory to our God; and then, Seal of the social prayer, the loud Amen, Faith's common pledge, contrition's mingled cries. Thus, when the Church of Christ was hale and young,

She called on God, one spirit and one voice;Thus from corruption cleansed, with health new strung,

Her sons she nurtured. Oh! be theirs, by choice,

What duty bids, to worship, heart and tongue;

At once to pray, at once in God rejoice!

BISHOP MANT.

The Breath of Heaven must Swell

WEAK

the Sail.

and irresolute is man;

The purpose of to-day,

Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends away.

The bow well-bent, and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;

But passion rudely snaps the string,
And it revives again.

Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part;

Virtue engages his assent,
But pleasure wins his heart.

'Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his art we view;
And while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.

Bound on a voyage of awful length,
And dangers little known,

A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail,
To reach the distant coast;

The breath of heaven must swell the sail

Or all the toil is lost.

WILLIAM COWPER.

Thou Giver of all Earthly Good.

THOU

HOU Giver of all earthly good—
Thou wonder-working Power,
Whose spirit smiles in every star,

And breathes in every flower:
How gratefully we speak thy name-
How gladly own thy sway!
How thrillingly thy presence feel,
When mid thy works we stray!

We may forget thee for a time,
In scenes with tumult rife,
Where worldly cares or pleasures claim

Too large a share of life;

But not in Nature's sweet domain,

Where everything we see,

From loftiest mount to lowliest flower,
Is eloquent of thee.

Where waves lift up their tuneful voice,

And solemn anthems chime;

Where winds through echoing forests peal Their melodies sublime;

Where e'en insensate objects breathe

Devotion's grateful lays—

Man can not choose but join the choir
That hymns his Maker's praise.

Beneath the city's gilded domes,
In temples decked with care,
Where Art and Splendor vie to make
Thine earthly mansions fair,

Our forms may lowly bend, our lips
May breathe a formal lay,

The whilst our wayward hearts refuse
These holy rites to pay.

But in that grander temple, reared
By thine Almighty hand,

Where glorious beauty bids the mind's
Diviner powers expand,

Our thoughts, like grateful vassals, give
An homage glad and free;

Our souls in adoration bow,

And mutely reverence Thee.

EMELINE S. SMITH.

The Winged Worshippers.

GAY, guiltless pair,

What seek ye from the fields of heaven?

Ye have no need of prayer,

Ye have no sins to be forgiven.

Why perch ye here,

Where mortals to their Maker bend?

Can your pure spirits fear

The God ye never could offend?

Ye never knew

The crimes for which we come to weep:

Penance is not for you,

Blessed wanderers of the upper deep.