The Blessing of Early Rising.

SOFT slumbers now mine eyes forsake, My powers are all renewed;

May my freed spirit too awake,

With heavenly strength endued.

Thou silent murderer, Sloth, no more
My mind imprisoned keep;
Nor let me waste another hour
With thee, thou felon Sleep.

Think, O my soul, could dying men
One lavished hour retrieve,

Though spent in tears, and passed in pain,
What treasures would they give!
But seas of pearls, and mines of gold,
Were offered then in vain ;

Their pearl of countless price is sold,
And where's the promised gain?
Lord, when thy day of dread account,
For squandered hours shall come,
Oh! let not this increase th' amount,
And swell the former sum.

Teach me in health each good to prize,
I dying shall esteem;
And every pleasure to despise,

I then shall worthless deem.

For all thy wondrous mercies past
My grateful voice I'll raise,
While thus I quit my bed of rest,
Creation's Lord to praise.

HANNAH MORE.

The Summer Shower.

"TWAS so-I saw thy birth: that drowsy lake From her faint bosom breath'd thee, the

disease

Of her sick waters and infectious ease;

But now, at even,

Too gross

for heaven,

Thou fall'st in tears, and weep'st for thy mistake.

Ah! it is so with me! oft have I pressed
Heaven with a lazy breath, but fruitless this
Pierc'd not; love only can with quick access
Unlock the way,

When all else stray

The smoke and exhalations of the breast.

Yet, if as thou doest melt, and with thy train
Of drops make soft the earth, my eyes could weep
O'er my hard heart, that's bound up and asleep;
Perhaps at last

(Some such showers past,)

My God would give a sunshine after rain.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

I

The Spirit of Truth.

DREAMED that I saw, on the fair brow of
heaven,

The star-jewelled veil of a midsummer even;
I looked, and, as quick as a meteor's birth,
A beautiful Spirit descended to earth.

eye

Her brow wore a halo of light, and her
Was bright as the stars, and as blue as the sky;
Her low, silvery voice trembled soft as a spell,
To the innermost chords of the heart, as it fell.
One hand held a banner inscribed with "ACCORD,"
The other, the glorious word of the Lord:
Then, softly, the beautiful vision did glide
To the palace a rich man had reared in his pride.
Through curtains of crimson the sun's mellow
beam

Fell, soft as the tremulous light of a dream,

On all that was gorgeous in nature and art— On all that could gladden the eye or the heart.

The rich man was clad in fine purple and gold, The wealth in his coffers might never be told; The brows of the servants that waited around Grew bright when he smiled, and grew pale when he frowned.

Then did that proud nobleman tremble and start, As the bright Spirit whispered these words to his heart:

"If thou wouldst have wealth when life's journey is o'er,

Sell all that thou hast, and divide with the poor." She stood in the cell, where the death-breathing air

Was rife with the groans of the prisoner's despair, As sadly he looked, through the long lapse of time, To days when his soul was unstained by a crime.

She pointed away to his Father above-
She soothed him in accents of pity and love,
And said, as she severed the links of his chain,
"Thy sins are forgiven, transgress not again."

She came in her strength, and the gallows that stood

For ages, all reeking and blackened with blood, Like a lightning-scared fiend, pointing up to the sky,

Fell prostrate to earth, at the glance of her eye.

She spoke old earth heard, and her pulses were still:

"God's holy commandment forbiddeth to kill.” That spirit of beauty, that spirit of might, Went forth, till the earth was illumined with her light.

The strong one relenting, was fain to restore The spoil he had wrenched from the hand of the poor:

Injustice, oppression, and wrong, fled away,
Before the pure light of millennial day.

The turbulent billows of faction grew calm ;
The lion laid down in the fold with the lamb;
The ploughshare was forged from the sabre and
sword,

And the mighty bowed down to the sway of the

Lord.

The heathen with joy cast his idols away,

And knelt 'neath his own vine and fig tree to

pray.

By every kindred, and nation, and tongue, Glad anthems of praise to Jehovah were sung. SARAH T. BOLTON.

Then why, my Soul, dost thou
Complain?

GOD, whose thunder shakes the sky;
Whose eye this atom globe surveys;

To Thee, my only rock, I fly,

Thy mercy in thy justice praise;

The mystic mazes of thy will,
The shadows of celestial light,
Are past the power of human skill-
But what the Eternal acts is right.

O teach me in the trying hour,

When anguish swells the dewy tear,
To still my sorrows, own thy power,
Thy goodness love, thy justice fear.

If in this bosom aught but Thee
Encroaching sought a boundless sway,
Omniscience could the danger see,
And Mercy took the cause away.