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Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered men;
Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then.

But calm, low voices, words of grace,
Now slowly fall upon the ear;
A quiet look is in each face,

Subdued and holy fear :

Each motion's gentle; all is kindly done-
Come, listen, how from crime this isle was won.

The religious Cottage.-D. HUNTINGTON.

SEEST thou yon lonely cottage in the grove,
With little garden neatly planned before,
Its roof deep shaded by the elms above,

Moss-grown, and decked with velvet verdure o'er?
Go lift the willing latch-the scene explore-
Sweet peace, and love, and joy, thou there shalt find;
For there Religion dwells; whose sacred lore
Leaves the proud wisdom of the world behind,
And pours a heavenly ray on every humble mind.

When the bright morning gilds the eastern skies,
Up springs the peasant from his calm repose;
Forth to his honest toil he cheerful hies,

And tastes the sweets of nature as he goes-
But first, of Sharon's fairest, sweetest rose,
He breathes the fragrance, and pours forth the praise;
Looks to the source whence every blessing flows,
Ponders the page which heavenly truth conveys,
And to its Author's hand commits his future ways.

Nor yet in solitude his prayers ascend;

His faithful partner and their blooming train,
The precious word, with reverent minds, attend,
The heaven-directed path of life to gain.
Their voices mingle in the grateful strain-
The lay of love and joy together sing,

To Him whose bounty clothes the smiling plain,
Who spreads the beauties of the blooming spring,
And tunes the warbling throats that make the valleys ring

The two Homes.-ANONYMOUS.

SEEST thou my home? 'Tis where yon woods are waving, In their dark richness, to the sunny air;

Where yon blue stream, a thousand flower-banks laving, Leads down the hill a vein of light-'tis there.

'Mid these green haunts how many a spring lies gleaming, Fringed with the violet, colored by the skies!

My boyhood's haunts, through days of summer, dreaming,
Under young leaves that shook with melodies.

My home-the spirit of its love is breathing
In every wind that plays across my track;

From its white walls, the very tendrils, wreathing,
Seem, with soft links, to draw the wanderer back.

There am I loved! There prayed for! There my mother
Sits by the hearth with meekly thoughtful eye!
There my young sisters watch to greet their brother-
Soon their glad footsteps down the path would fly!
There, in sweet strains of kindred music blending,
All the home voices meet at day's decline;
One are those tones, as from one heart ascending.-
There laughs my home-Sad stranger, where is thine?

Ask thou of mine? In solemn peace 'tis lying,
Far o'er the deserts and the tombs away;

"Tis where I, too, am loved with love undying,

And fond hearts wait my step. But where are they?

Ask where the earth's departed have their dwelling,
Ask of the clouds, the stars, the trackless air;

I know it not, yet trust the whisper telling

My lonely heart, that love unchanged is there.

And what is home? and where but with the living?
Happy thou art, and so canst gaze on thine :
My spirit feels, but in its weary roving,

That with the dead-where'er they be-is mine.

Go to thy home, rejoicing son and brother;
Bear in fresh gladness to the household scene:
For me, too, watch the sister and the mother,

I will believe-but dark seas roll between.

O, glorious is the rising sun,
Pavilioned in his blushing glow,
When fairy winds have just begun
To wake the flowers below;

Or shrined amid the western gold,
While evening's balmy odors rise,
And fancy can almost behold
The elysium of the skies.

Yet far surpassing the bright dawn
Of purple sunset is thy power;
For death's dim veil is half withdrawn
At thy presiding hour.

Affection seeks, in thy calm sphere,
The soul beyond life's stormy sea;
And minds too pure to sorrow here,
Fair planet, dwell with thee.

The bright stars shine around the throne,
The lonely ocean greets thy ray;
Air, sea, and earth,-all seem to own
Thy spiritual sway.

My native Land—My native Place.—ANONYMOUS.

My thoughts are in my native land,
My heart is in my native place,
Where willows bend to breezes bland,
And kiss the river's rippling face;

Where sunny shrubs disperse their scent,
And raise their blossoms high to heaven,
As if in calm acknowledgment

For brilliant hues and virtues given.

My thoughts are with my youthful days,
Where sin and grief were but a name;
When every field had golden ways,

And pleasure with the day-light came.

I bent the rushes to my feet,

And sought the water's silent flow,
I moved along the thin ice fleet,
Nor thought upon the death below.

I culled the violet in the dell,

Whose wild-rose gave a chequered shade,
And listened to each village bell,

So sweet by answering echo made.

In God's own house, on God's own day,
In neat attire, I bent the knee;
Pure sense of duty made me pray-
Joy made me join the melody.

Thus Memory, from her treasured urn,
Shakes o'er the mind her spring like rain:
Thus scenes turn up and palely burn,
Like night-lights in the ocean's train.

And still my soul shall these command,
While sorrow writes upon my face;
My thoughts are on my native land,
My heart is in my native place.

"Awake, Psaltery and Harp; I myself will awake early " Psalms.-ANONYMOUS.

WAKE, when the mists of the blue mountains sleeping.
Like crowns of glory, in the distance lie ;-

When breathing from the south, o'er young buds sweeping,
The gale bears music through the sunny sky;-
While lake and meadow, upland, grove and stream,
Rise like the glory of an Eden dream.

Wake while unfettered thoughts, like treasures springing,
Bid the heart leap within its prison-cell ;-

As birds and brooks through the pure air are flinging
The mellow chant of their beguiling spell;—
When earliest winds their anthems have begun,
And, incense-laden, their sweet journeys run.

Then, Psaltery, and Harp, a tone awaken,
Whereto the echoing bosom shall reply,
As earth's rich scenes, by shadowy night forsaken,
Unfold their beauty to the filling eye;-
When, like the restless breeze, or wild-bird's lay,
Pure thoughts, on dove-like pinions, float away.

Wake then, too, man, when, from refreshing slumber, And thy luxurious couch, thou dost arise,

Thanks for life's golden gifts-a countless numberCalm dreams, and soaring hopes, and summer skies; Wake!-let thy heart's fine chords be touched in praise, For the free spirit of undying Grace!

Isaiah xxxv.-BRAINARD.

A ROSE shall bloom in the lonely place,
A wild shall echo with sounds of joy,
For heaven's own gladness its bounds shall grace,
And forms angelic their songs employ.

And Lebanon's cedars shall rustle their boughs,
And fan their leaves in the scented air;
And Carmel and Sharon shall pay their vows,
And shout, for the glory of God is there.

O say to the fearful, Be strong of heart;
He comes in vengeance, but not for thee;
For thee He comes, his might to impart

To the trembling hand and the feeble knee.

The blind shall see, the deaf shall hear,

The dumb shall raise their notes for Him,
The lame shall leap like the unharmed deer,
And the thirsty shall drink of the holy stream.

And the parched ground shall become a pool,
And the thirsty land a dew-washed mead;
And where the wildest beasts held rule,

The harmless of His fold shall feed.

There is a way, and a holy way,

Where the unclean foot shall never tread,

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