A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

301

Thy golden aoDBbiDe comea

From the rooud ht>aven, and on their dwelli.Dgi lies.

And ligbta tbP.ir inner bomea;

For t.htm thou fill'IJt with air the UDbounded ski.ea,

And gi vest them the stores

Of ocean, and the bar vesta of ita abo rea.

Thy spirit is around,
Quickening the reatleas mass that a weeps along;
.And this eternal sound-
Voices and footf,.lls of the numberleas thron&-
Lilce the resounding ee&,
Or, like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee.

And when the hours of rest
Come, like a calm upon the mid~ brine,
Buahing ita billowy breast--
The quiet of that moment too ia thine;
It breathes of Him who keeps
Thr vast and helpleaa city while it sleeps.

FaoK Greenland's icy moouWD.s,

From India's coral slran~

Where Afaio'e auuny (ouDtaina

Boll down their ~oltlen sand:

From many an anment river,

From many a palmy plain,

Tbey call us to deliver

Their lAnd from Error's chain I

What though the spicy breezes

Blow eoCL on Ceylon's isle,

ibongb every prospect pleases,

And only man ill vile;

In vain with laviab kindne1111,

The gift~ of God are atrown,

The Beatben, in hia blinrln888,

Bows down to wood and stone I

BaT .&.NT.