BENEVOLENCE.

"It is more blessed to give than to receive."

THERE is indeed one crowning joy,
A pleasure that can never cloy,
The bliss of doing good;

And to it a reward is given

Most precious in the sight of heaven,
The tear of gratitude.

To raise the fallen from the dust,
To right the poor by judgment just,
The broken heart to heal,

Pour on the soul a stream as bright
Of satisfying deep delight

As happy spirits feel:

Yes, high archangels wing their way
Far from the golden founts of day
To scenes of earthly sadness,
That they may comfort the distress'd
And feel in blessing, deeply blest,
In gladd'ning, full of gladness.

The choicest happiness there is,
Godhead's essential perfect bliss,
Is born of doing good;

He looks around, and sees the eye
Of all creation spangled by
The tear of gratitude!

All hail, my country's noble sons,
Ye generous and unselfish ones,
Who foreign shores have trod,
Smit with the love of doing good-
O, that my portion with you stood!
For ye are like your God.

And lives there one, who never felt
His heart with zeal or kindness melt,
Nor ever shed a tear

Of sympathy for others' wo?
If such a man exist below,

A fiend in flesh is here.

Brethren, unsatisfied with earth,

Who heave a sigh 'mid all your mirth,
And feel it empty joy,

Ye may-there only wants the will—
Your dearest hope of bliss fulfil,
Of bliss without alloy :

Most glad a thing it is and sweet,
To sit, and learn at Wisdom's feet,
And hear her dulcet voice;
First in her comforts to be glad,
And then to comfort other sad,
And teach them to rejoice:

How sweet it is to link again
Estranged affection's broken chain,
And soothe the tortured breast;
To be the favoured one that may
Recall to love hearts torn away,
And thus by both be blest.

Rich men and proud, who fain would find
Some new indulgence for the mind,

Some scheme to gladden self,
If ye will feed the famish'd poor,
Happiness shall ye buy, far more
Than with a world of pelf:

Ye cannot see the tearful eye,
Ye cannot hear the grateful sigh,

Nor feel yourselves beloved
By the pale children of distress
Whom ye have been the gods to bless-
With hearts unthrilled, unmoved.

And you, who love your fellow-men,
And feel a sacred transport when

Ye can that love fulfil

Go, rescue yonder tortured brute,
Its gratitude indeed is mute,

But, oh! it loves you still.

Children of science, who delight
To track out wisdom's beauty bright
In earth, or sea, or sky-

While nature's lovely face you scan,
Go, seek and save some erring man,
And set his hope on high.

But still reflect that all the good
Ye do, demands your gratitude;

For 't is a heavenly boon,

That should for its own sake be sought,
Though to itself is kindly brought

A blessing sweet and soon:

It is reward to imitate,
In comforting the desolate,

That gracious One who stood
A ransom for a ruined world,
And still, himself to ruin hurl'd,
Found evil for his good.

And what an argument for pray'r
Hath yearning mercy written there,
For if indeed "to give

Is blessed rather than the gift"-
Go thou, to Heaven the voice uplift,
And then thou must receive.

A CABINET OF FOSSILS.

COME, and behold with curious eye
These records of a world gone by,
These tell-tales of the youth of Time-
When changes, sudden, vast, sublime,
(From chaos, and fair order's birth,
To the last flood that drowned the earth),