My God! silent to Thee;

Pure, warm, silent to Thee.

So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion,
Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee!

II.

As still, to the Star of its Worship, though clouded,
The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee;
My God! trembling to Thee;

True, fond, trembling to Thee!—

So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded,
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee!

BUT WHO SHALL SEE.

AIR-Stevenson.

I.

BUT who shall see the glorious day,
When, throned on Zion's brow,
The Lord shall rend that veil away
Which hides the nations now?*
When earth no more beneath the fear
Of His rebuke shall lie;

When pain shall cease, and every tear
Be wiped from every eye!

II.

Then, Judah! thou no more shalt mourn
Beneath the heathen's chain;

Thy days of splendour shall return,

And all be new again.

The Fount of Life shall then be quaffed,

In peace, by all who come,

And every wind that blows shall waft
Some long-lost exile home!

ALMIGHTY GOD.

CHORUS OF PRIESTS.

AIR-Mozart.

I.

ALMIGHTY God! when round thy shrine
The palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine,

(Emblem of life's eternal ray,

And love that "fadeth not away") :

"And he will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over

all people, and the veil that is spread over all nations."-Isaiah xxv. 7.

When round thy cherubs, smiling calm
Without their flames,+ we wreathe the palm,
O God! we feel the emblem true,-
Thy mercy is eternal too!

Those cherubs, with their smiling eyes,
That crown of palm which never dies,
Are but the types of Thee, above,—
Eternal Life and Peace and Love!

O FAIR-O PUREST!

SAINT AUGUSTINE TO HIS SISTER.

AIR-Moore.

I.

O FAIR! O purest! be thou the dove
That flies alone to some sunny grove;
And lives unseen, and bathes her wing,
All vestal white, in the limpid spring.
There, if the hovering hawk be near,
That limpid spring in its mirror clear
Reflects him, ere he can reach his prey,
And warns the timorous bird away.
Oh! be like this dove;

O fair! O purest ! be like this dove.

II.

The sacred pages of God's own Book
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook,
In whose holy mirror, night and day,

Thou wilt study heaven's reflected ray :

* "And he carved all the walls of the house round about with carved figures of cherubims and palm-trees and open flowers."-1 Kings vi. 29.

"When the passover of the tabernacles was revealed to the great lawgiver in the Mount, then the cherubic images which appeared in that structure were no longer surrounded by flames; for the tabernacle was a type of the dispensation of mercy by which Jehovah confirmed his gracious covenant to redeem mankind."-Observations on the Palm, W. Tighe

In St. Augustine's treatise upon the advantages of a solitary life, addressed to his sister, there is the following fanciful passage, from which the reader will perceive the thought of this song was taken :-"Te, soror, nunquam volo esse securam, sed timere semperque tuam fragilitatem habere suspectam, ad instar pavidæ columbæ frequentare vivos aquarum et quasi in specule accipitris cernere supervolantis effigiem et cavere. Rivi aquarum sententiæ sunt scripturarum, quæ de limpidissimo sapientiæ fonte profluentes," &c. &c.-De Vit. Eremit. ad Sororem.

And should the foes of virtue dare
With gloomy wing to seek thee there,
Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie
Between heaven and thee, and trembling fly!
Oh! be like the dove;

O fair! O purest! be like the dove.

YOUNG Love lived once in an humble shed,
Where roses breathing

And woodbines wreathing

Around the lattice their tendrils spread,
As wild and sweet as the life he led.
His garden flourished,

For young Hope nourished

The infant buds with beams and showers; But lips, though blooming, must still be fed, And not even Love can live on flowers.

Alas! that Poverty's evil eye

Should e'er come hither,

Such sweets to wither!

The flowers laid down their heads to die,
And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh.

She came one morning,

Ere Love had warning,

And raised the latch, where the young god lay; "Oh ho!" said Love-"is it you? good-by;' So he oped the window, and flew away!

To sigh, yet feel no pain,

To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by;

To kneel at many a shrine,

Yet lay the heart on none;

To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.

To keep one sacred flame,

Through life unchilled, unmoved,
To love in wintry age the same
As first in youth we loved;
To feel that we adore

To such refined excess

That though the heart would break with more,

We could not live with less;

This is love, faithful love,

Such as saints might feel above.

SPIRIT of Joy, thy altar lies

In youthful hearts that hope like mine;
And 'tis the light of laughing eyes
That leads us to thy fairy shrine.
There if we find the sigh, the tear,

They are not those to sorrow known;
But breathe so soft, and drops so clear,
That bliss may claim them for her own.
Then give me, give me, while I weep,
The sanguine hope that brightens woe
And teaches even our tears to keep

The tinge of pleasure as they flow. The child who sees the dew of night Upon the spangled hedge at morn Attempts to catch the drops of light,

But wounds his finger with the thorn. Thus oft the brightest joys we seek

Are lost, when touched, and turned to pain

The flush they kindle leaves the cheek,

The tears they waken long remain.

But give me, give me, &c., &c.

WHEN Leila touched the lute,
Not then alone 'twas felt,
But when the sounds were mute,
In memory still they dwelt ;
Sweet lute! in nightly slumbers
Still we heard thy morning numbers.

Ah how could she who stole

Such breath from simple wire

Be led, in pride of soul,

To string with gold her lyre?