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The beasts of the forest exult o'er their prey,
Grim Slaughter mows onward his merciless way,
Gaunt Famine, and livid Disease, at his side,
O'er monarchs and nations triumphantly ride.
And now from their slumber the tempests awaken :
They rage, and the stars from their orbits are shaken;
The sun gathers blackness, the moon turns to blood,
The heavens pass away; and the isles from the flood,
And the mountains from earth, at the tumult retreat:
The prince and the peasant—the abject, the great
The youthful, the aged—the fearful, the brave-
The strong man, the feeble—the freeman, the slave,
To caverns and dens for a hiding place run;
But who the keen eye of Jehovah can shun?
From his face to conceal them, despairing they call
To the rocks and the mountains upon them to fall :
In vain; for the day of decision at last
Has dawned, and the season of mercy is past :
He cometh from heaven, with the sword and the rod,
Who shall tread in his fury the wine press of God.
His angel the fowls is inviting aloud
To the carnage of steeds and their riders to crowd,
Whose fesh shall be mangled, whose blood shall be

spilled,
That the vultures and ravens may eat and be filled,
He cometh ! he cometh! how glorious the sight!
His horse as the snow newly fallen is white;
On his head are the crowns that betoken bis power,
From his eyes Aash red lightnings his foes to devour.
In blood has the vesture been dipped that he wears,
And a name on his thigh and his vesture he bears;
The Sovereign of sovereigns, that loftiest of names,
And Lord of all lords, its possessor proclaims.

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And white are the horses, as snow without stain,
Of the thousands of thousands who ride in his train ;
And white and unspotted the robes he has given
To be worn on this day by the armies of heaven.
The bow in his hand, lo! unerring he bends,
With the sword from his mouth every spirit he rends,
By his rod are down-smitten all they that oppose,
And from conquering to conquer resistless he goes.
The beast, the false prophet, and Satan, and death,
He thrusts to the pit that is yawning beneath;
Where tortures unceasing their vitals shall rend,
And the smoke of their torinent for ever ascend.
But see, where his presence the darkness illumes,
How lovely the aspect creation assumes !
New heavens, a new earth, a new ocean arise
That fill every heart with a welcome surprise.
A city majestic and spacious appears,
Which sin cannot enter, where dried are all tears;
With beauty resplendent, from dangers secure;
Where fruits as perennial, and waters as pure
As He who erects it, the blessed await:
With shoutings of triumph they enter the gate,
With God, their Redeemer, for ever to reign,
And it closes on all but the Lamb and his train.

ADAM AND EVE'S MORNING HYMN.

[MILTON.)
These are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair! thyself how wondrous then ?
Unspeakable, who sittest above these Heavens

To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.
Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven,
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou sun of this great world, both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly’st
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies,
And ye five other wandering fires that move
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise, who out of darkness call’d up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
'Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author rise!
Whether to deck with clouds th' uncolour'd sky,

· wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
sing or falling still advance his praise.

praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,

Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs! warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls; ye birds
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade
Made vocal by my song, and taught bis praise.

Hail universal Lord! be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceald,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF

THE NINETIETH PSALM.

[BURNS.]
O THOU, the first, the greatest friend

Of all the human race !
Whose strong right hand has ever been

Their stay and dwelling place!
Before the mountains heav'd their heads

· Beneath thy forming hand,
Before this pond'rous globe itself

Arose at thy command;

That power which rais'd and still upholds

This universal frame,
From countless, unbeginning time,

Was ever still the same.
Those mighty periods of years

Which seem to us so vast,
Appear no more before thy sight

Than yesterday that's past.
Thou giv'st the word; thy creature, man,

Is to existence brought :
Again thou say’st, ' Ye sons of men,

Return ye into nought!
Thou layest them, with all their cares,

In everlasting sleep;
As with a flood thou tak'st them off

With overwhelming sweep.
They flourish like the morning flow'r,

In beauty's pride array’d;
But long ere night cut down it lies,

All wither'd and decay'd.

TEMPORALS AND SPIRITUALS.

(BERNARD BARTON.]

What is lovelier far than the spring can be

To the gloom of dark winter succeeding,
When the blossoms are blushing on flower and tree,

And the lambs in the meadows are feeding,
'hile the earth below and the heavens above,
:sound with the anthems of joy and love?

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