But there was one o'er whose bright face
Unmark'd the livid lightnings flash'd;
And on whose stirless, prostrate form,
Unfelt the sea-spray dash'd;

For mid the tempest fierce and wild,
He slumber'd like a wearied child.

Oh! who could look upon that face,
And feel the sting of coward fear?
Though hell's fierce demons raged around,
Yet heaven itself was here;

For who that glorious brow could see,
Nor own a present Deity?

With hurried fear they press around
The lowly Saviour's humble bed,
As if his very touch had power
To shield their souls from dread;
While cradled on the raging deep,
He lay in calm and tranquil sleep.

Vainly they struggled with their fears,
But wilder still the tempest woke,
Till from their full and o'erfraught hearts
The voice of terror broke:

"Behold! we sink beneath the wave,
We perish, Lord! but thou canst save.”

Slowly he rose; and mild rebuke
Shone in his soft and heaven-lit eye:
"Oh ye of little faith," he cried,
"Is not your master nigh?

Is not your hope of succour just?
Why know ye not in whom ye trust?"

He turn'd away, and conscious power
Dilated his majestic form,

As o'er the boiling sea he bent,
The ruler of the storm;

Earth to its centre felt the thrill,

As low he murmur'd, "Peace! Be still!"

Hark to the burst of meeting waves,
The roaring of the angry sea!
A moment more, and all is hush'd
In deep tranquillity;

While not a breeze is near to break
The mirror'd surface of the lake.

Then on the stricken hearts of all
Fell anxious doubt and holy awe,
As timidly they gazed on him

Whose will was nature's law:

"What man is this," they cry, "whose word E'en by the raging sea is heard ?"

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE MORAVIAN BURIAL-GROUND AT

BETHLEHEM.

WHEN in the shadow of the tomb

This heart shall rest,

Oh! lay me where spring flow'rets bloom

On earth's bright breast.

Oh! ne'er in vaulted chambers lay

My lifeless form;

Seek not of such mean, worthless prey

To cheat the worm.

In this sweet city of the dead

I fain would sleep,

Where flowers may deck my narrow bed,

And night dews weep.

But raise not the sepulchral stone

To mark the spot;

Enough, if by thy heart alone

"Tis ne'er forgot.

HENRY PICKERING.

THE LAST DAYS OF AUTUMN

HARK to the sounding gale! how through the soul It vibrates, and in thunder seems to roll

Along the mountains! Loud the forest moans, And, naked to the blast, the o'ermastering spirit

owns.

Rustling, the leaves are rudely hurried by,

Or in dark eddies whirl'd; while from on high
The ruffian Winds, as if in giant mirth,

Unseat the mountain pine, and headlong dash to earth!

With crest of foam, the uplifted flood no more
Flows placidly along the sylvan shore;

But, vex'd to madness, heaves its turbid wave, Threatening to leap the banks it whilom loved lave:

And in the angry heavens, where, wheeling low,
The sun exhibits yet a fitful glow,

The clouds, obedient to the stormy power,
Or shatter'd fly along, or still more darkly lower.

Amazement seizes all! within the vale

Shrinking, the mute herd snuff the shivering gale; The while, with tossing head and streaming mane, The horse affrighted bounds, or wildly skims the plain.

Whither, with charms to Fancy yet so dear,
Whither has fled the lovely infant year?

Where, too, the groves in greener pomp array'd? The deep and solemn gloom of the inspiring shade?

The verdant heaven that once the woods o'erAnd underneath a pensive twilight shed, [spread,

Is shrivell'd all: dead the vine-mantled bowers, And wither'd in their bloom the beautiful young

flowers!

Mute, too, the voice of Joy! no tuneful bird
Amid the leafless forest now is heard;

Nor more may ploughboy's laugh the bosom cheer, Nor in the velvet glade Love's whisper charm the

ear.

But lo, the ruthless storm its force hath spent ; And see! where sinking 'neath yon cloudy tent, The sun withdraws his last cold, feeble ray, Abandoning to Night his short and dubious sway.

A heavier gloom pervades the chilly air!
Now in their northern caves the Winds prepare
The nitrous frost to sheet with dazzling white,
The long-deserted fields at the return of light:

Or with keen icy breath they may glass o'er
The restless wave, and on the lucid floor
Let fall the feathery shower, and far and wide
Involve in snowy robe the land and fetter'd tide!

Thus shut the varied scene! and thus, in turn,
Oh Autumn! thou within thine ample urn

Sweep'st all earth's glories.. Ah, for one brief hour, Spare the soft virgin's bloom and tender human flower!

JAMES G. PERCIVAL.

THE PATRIARCHAL AGE.

OH! for those early days, when patriarchs dwelt
In pastoral tents, that rose beneath the palm,
When life was pure, and every bosom felt
Unwarp'd affection's sweetest, holiest balm,

And like the silent scene around them, calm, Years stole along in one unruffled flow;

Their hearts aye warbled with devotion's psalm, And as they saw their buds around them blow, Their keenly glistening eye revealed the grateful glow.

They sat at evening, when their gather'd flocks Bleated and sported by the palm-crowned well, The sun was glittering on the pointed rocks,

And long and wide the deepening shadows fell; They sang their hymn, and in a choral swell They raised their simple voices to the Power Who smiled along the fair sky; they would dwell Fondly and deeply on his praise; that hour

Was to them, as to flowers that droop and fade, the shower.

He warm'd them in the sunbeams, and they gazed
In wonder on that kindling fount of light;
And as, hung on the glowing west, it blazed
In brighter glories, with a full delight

They pour'd their pealing anthem, and when night Lifted her silver forehead, and the moon

Roll'd through the blue serenity, in bright But softer radiance, they bless'd the boon

That gave those hours the charm without the fire of

noon.

Spring of the living world, the dawn of nature,
When man walk'd forth the lord of all below,
Erect and godlike in his giant stature,

Before the tainted gales of vice 'gan blow:
His conscience spotless as the new-fallen snow,
Pure as the crystal spouting from the spring,
He aim'd no murderous dagger, drew no bow,
But at the soaring of the eagle's wing,

The gaunt wolf's stealthy step, the lion's ravening spring.