And writ my victory with my enemy's blood. When of my enemies I must vengeance take; Be celebrated to posterity: Then shall the Prince of light descend, And rescue mortals from the infernal fiend ; Break through his strongest forts, and all his hosts subdue." This said, she shut the adamantine volume close, And wished she might the crowding years transpose; So much she longed to have the scene display, Has numbered out the days, and the set I looked, and to assist was none; My angelic guards stood trembling by, In vain, too, from my Father did I look Amazed I was to see, How all deserted me. I took my fury for my sole support, And with my single arm the conquest won. Loud acclamations filled all heaven's court: The hymning guards above, Strained to an higher pitch of joy and love, The great Jehovah praised, and his victorious Son. ISAIAH 63.-JOHN NORRIS. What is that, Mother? WHAT is that, Mother?—The lark, my child! The morn has but just look'd out, and smiled, When he starts from his humble grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. What is that, Mother ?-The dove, my son!- In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. What is that, Mother?-The eagle, boy!— What is that, Mother?-The swan, my love! LIVE SO, MY LOVE, THAT WHEN DEATH SHALL COME, SWAN-LIKE AND SWEET, IT MAY WAFT THEE HOME. GEORGE W. Doane. |