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"Earth has not any thing to show more fair;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty."-WORDSWORTH.


Ir is the sabbath of the Lord, awake

Ye who in darkness slumber! 'tis a day Most beautiful; as if for Christ's dear sake

The sun pours forth a more resplendent ray, And Nature wears a robe most richly gay; The hinds now from their daily labour rest, The cattle undisturbed keep holiday:

All men, save Mammon's wretched slaves, are blest, And cheerful looks reveal their feelings unexprest.


The woods are sleeping in the sunlight now;
Thus in the "light of lights" confiding love
Reposes; smooth as crystal is the brow

Of the clear lake reflecting Heaven above.

Pure as the prayers that holiest saints approve, Stray children o'er the meads, collecting flowers, The best that may be into garlands wove, To crown each other's brows in greenwood bowers, Ere the church bells proclaim devotion's solemn hours.


Fresh as on Hermon hill the morning dew,

Acceptable as incense that arose

From Aaron's altar, is the homage true

Of hearts to God. Prayer can our numerous woes Remove, and soothe the bosom's fiercest throes! Is there a place on earth that angels greet? Where persecuted Truth may find repose?

It is where congregated neighbours meet

To worship God with holy zeal and in communion sweet.


And well the sunbright day doth harmonise.
With the pure gospel-light, that shines within
God's blessed church-most glorious are the skies;
Like souls that purified from mists of sin
To glow with truth's diffusive rays begin.
The sun to his meridian height ascends

As heavenward Christians strive their way to win There shines the Triune Sun, there beauty blends


Hues that are faintly seen on earth-the Sabbath never



All that night visions show to bards of heaven,
All they imagine from the lovely things
They see of things unseen, (to few are given
Vain gift to man sublime imaginings,)

Are but the colours bright that fancy flings
O'er life to beautify our days awhile

She hovers near with many-coloured wings; Hence, in the charms that win us without guile, When heighten'd by devotion's glow we see the seraph's



Yet these resemblances from earth are drawn ;
And shall we beings sprung from dust compare
With star-like sanctities, that ere the dawn

Of light burst on the world with lustre rare
Circled the glory-throne of the First Fair?
What are the songs of earth to heaven's rich tide

Of melody, interminable there?

What are analogous to powers that glide

Through glittering orbs succeeding orbs, in circuit wide?


The sun is sinking, the horizon round
Deepens into a radiance more intense.
Again the bells are heard, a cheerful sound,

Gladdening the heart of youthful innocence.

What is this love of harmony, and whence? Even in our childhood rapture-breathing strains

Of music to sublime our souls commence;

Effluent from beautiful realms where concord reigns, They come to promise bliss that God for man ordains.


Mysteriously with feelings deep accord
The tones of music, be they gay or sad.
When at the will of the creative Word
Light was, the morning stars in concert glad
Together sang, in luminous glory clad:
All was harmonious through the universe,

Till man ungrateful did what Heaven forbade.
Then Discord rush'd upon this earth, the curse
Of sin; and Passion came, of dissonant thoughts the


September 23, 1832.


P. 344, 1. 1.

What is this love of harmony, and whence?

"While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things."



Multaque nunc etiam existunt animalia terris,
Imbribus et calido solis concreta vapore.
Quo minus est mirum, si tum sunt plura coorta,
Et majora nova tellure, atque æthere adulto.

LUCRETIUS, lib. v. v. 795.

ERE as it is the world its course begun,

The earth o'erteem'd with children of the sun,

Goliah lizards of a former age,

When a hot temperature was all the rage;

What were the ladies of the temperate zone

Then? Warm as central fire-now cold as stone! And man, if man existed then I ween,

Had all the fiery particles of Kean,

Or Byron, when a boy, whose name would spread,
Like Talbot's, among "clods" or cockneys, dread.
But all is now comparatively cool;

Thank Heaven! we have no Camelfords at school.
Though heat-begotten monsters we encase
In our museums, perish'd have the race.
Whether they were herbivorous, or ate
Dirt like an Otomac, I cannot state.

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