Why murmur at the common lot? We part! - I speak not of the pain,But when shall I each lovely spot And each loved face behold again?

It must be months,

It may

-it may

be years, - but no!—I will not fill

Foud hearts with gloom, fond eyes with

tears,

"Curious to shape uncertain ill." Though humble,-few and far, yet,

still

Those hearts and eyes are ever dear;

Theirs is the love no time can chill, The truth no chance or change can sear!

All I have seen, and all I see,

Only endears them more and more; Friends cool, hopes fade, and hours flee, Affection lives when all is o'er! Farewell, my more than native shore! I do not seek or hope to find,

Roam where I will, what I deplore To leave with them and thee behind!

TO THE MOCKING-BIRD WINGED mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!

Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe?
Thine ever ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe.
Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe,
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school,
To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Arch-mocker and mad Abbot of Misrule!
For such thou art by day—but all night
long

Thou pourest a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain,

As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song Like to the melancholy Jacques complain, Musing on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong, And sighing for thy motley coat again.

I love to think on mercies past,
And future good implore;
And all my cares and sorrows cast
On Him whom I adore.

I love, by faith, to take a view
Of brighter scenes in heaven;
The prospect doth my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.

Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,
May its departing ray
Be calm as this impressive hour,
And lead to endless day.

PHOEBE INSDALE BROWN

HYMN FOR THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH

WHERE ancient forests round us spread, Where bends the cataract's ocean-fall, On the lone mountain's silent head,

There are thy temples, God of all!

Beneath the dark-blue, midnight arch, Whence myriad suns pour down their

rays,

Where planets trace their ceaseless march, Father! we worship as we gaze.

The tombs thine altars are; for there, When earthly loves and hopes have fled,

To thee ascends the spirit's prayer,

Thou God of the immortal dead.

All space is holy; for all space

Is filled by thee; but human thought Burns clearer in some chosen place, Where thy own words of love are taught.

Here be they taught; and may we know That faith thy servants knew of old; Which onward bears through weal and

woe,

Till Death the gates of heaven unfold!

Nor we alone; may those whose brow
Shows yet no trace of human cares,
Hereafter stand where we do now,
And raise to thee still holier prayers!
ANDREWS NORTON

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP

ROCKED in the cradle of the deep
I lay me down in peace to sleep;
Secure I rest upon the wave,

For thou, O Lord! hast power to save.
I know thou wilt not slight my call,
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall;
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

When in the dead of night I lie
And gaze upon the trackless sky,
The star-bespangled heavenly scroll,
The boundless waters as they roll,
I feel thy wondrous power to save
From perils of the stormy wave:
Rocked in the cradle of the deep,
I calmly rest and soundly sleep.

And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine,
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death.
In ocean cave, still safe with Theo
The germ of immortality!
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

EMMA HART Willard

THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE

I SAID to Sorrow's awful storm,
That beat against my breast,

Rage onthou may'st destroy this form,
And lay it low at rest;

But still the spirit that now brooks
Thy tempest, raging high,
Undaunted on its fury looks
With steadfast eye.

I said to Penury's meagre train,
Come on your threats I brave;
My last poor life-drop you may drain,
And crush me to the grave;

Yet still the spirit that endures
Shall mock your force the while,
And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours
With bitter smile.

I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, Pass on- I heed you not;