Now stretch your eye off shore, o'er waters made To cleanse the air and bear the world's great trade, To rise, and wet the mountains near the sun, Then back into themselves in rivers run, Fulfilling mighty uses far and wide, Through earth, in air, or here, as ocean-tide.

Ho! how the giant heaves himself, and strains And flings to break his strong and viewless chains; Foams in his wrath; and at his prison doors, Hark! hear him! how he beats and tugs and roars, As if he would break forth again and sweep Each living thing within his lowest deep. Type of the Infinite! I look away Over thy billows, and I cannot stay My thought upon a resting-place, or make A shore beyond my vision, where they break; But on my spirit stretches, till it's pain To think; then rests, and then puts forth again. Thou hold'st me by a spell; and on thy beach I feel all soul; and thoughts unmeasured reach Far back beyond all date. And, O! how old Thou art to me. For countless years thou hast

roll'd.

Before an ear did hear thee, thou didst mourn,
Prophet of sorrows, o'er a race unborn;
Waiting, thou mighty minister of death,
Lonely thy work, ere man had drawn his breath.

From "Factitious Life."

At last thou didst it well! The dread command
Came. and thou swept'st to death the breathing land;
And then once more, unto the silent heaven
Thy lone and melancholy voice was given.

And though the land is throng'd again, O Sea!
Strange sadness touches all that goes with thee.
The small bird's plaining note, the wild, sharp call,
Share thy own spirit: it is sadness all!
How dark and stern upon thy waves looks down
Yonder tall cliff-he with the iron crown.
And see! those sable pines along the steep,
Are come to join thy requiem, gloomy deep!
Like stoled monks they stand and chant the dirge
Over the dead, with thy low beating surge.

DAYBREAK.

"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising: the name of the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang."-The Pilgrim's Progress.

Now, brighter than the host that all night long, In fiery armour, far up in the sky

Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's

song,

Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh, Star of the dawning! Cheerful is thine eye; And yet in the broad day it must grow dim. Thou seem'st to look on me, as asking why My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim; Thou bid'st me turn to Gon, and seek my rest in Him.

Canst thou grow sad, thou say'st, as earth grows bright?

And sigh, when little birds begin discourse
In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light
Pours on their nests, from out the day's fresh
source?

With creatures innocent thou must perforce
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure.
And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure,
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to
endure.

I feel its calm. But there's a sombrous hue,
Edging that eastern cloud, of deep, dull red;
Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy dew;
And all the woods and hill-tops stand outspread
With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfor

shed.

Still-save the bird that scarcely lifts its songThe vast world seems the tomb of all the deadThe silent city emptied of its throng,

And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong.

But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth Will quicken soon; and hard, hot toil and strife, With headlong purpose, shake this sleeping earth With discord strange, and all that man calls life. With thousand scatter'd beauties nature's rife;