POETRY & MUSIC.

THE HOUR OF DISTRESS.

O'tis not when the fairy breeze fans the green ocean,
That the safety and strength of the bark can be shown;
And 'tis not in Prosperity's hour, the devotion,

The fervor and truth of a friend can be known.

No! the bark must be prov'd when the tempest is howling, When dangers and mountain-waves close on her press; The friend when the sky of Adversity's scowling,

For the touchstone of Friendship's-the hour of distress. When Prosperity's day-star beams pure and unclouded, Then thousands will mingle their shouts round its throne. But Oh! let its light for one moment be shrouded,

And the smiles of the faithless-like shadows, are gone.
Then comes the true friend, who to guile is a stranger,
The heart of the lone one to soothe and caress;
While his smile, like the beacon-light, blazing in danger,
Sheds a beam o'er the gloom of the hour of distress.

O'tis sweet 'mid the horrors of bleak desolation,
While pleasure and hope seem eternally flown,
When the heart is first lit by the dear consolation,
That a haven of happiness yet may be won.

Grief fades like a night cloud; bliss mingles with sorrows,
When the first sunny rays through the darkness appear,
And the rainbow of hope beameth bright as it borrows.
All its splendor and light from a smile and a tear.

O'tis those whose life's path hath been clouded and cheerless,
Can feel that full burst of pure transport and bliss,
When the trusted and tried friend comes boldly and fearless,
To share, or relieve the dark hour of distress.

Past griefs may yet cease to be thought on, but never
Can time make the feeling of gratitude less;

May the blessing of God rest for ever and ever
On him who forsook not in hours of distress.

TIME.

I saw him hasting on his way,

And mark'd his light'ning flight;
Where'er he moved, there stern decay
Spread his destructive blight.

Rapid the gloomy phantom hied,
Envelop'd in the storm-

His eye shone out in sullen pride,
And fearful was his form,

I saw him grasp the Warrior's wreath,
Won in the gory fray-

The laurel withering sunk in death,
Its beauty fled away;

That wreath was stain'd with bloody dew,
Unhallow'd was its bloom-

It met the phantom's chilling view,
And bow'd beneath its gloom.

I saw him pass by Beauty's bower,
And listen to her lay-

Around the spot was many a flower
Blooming its summer day;
With icy heart the spectre came,
Her lovely form compressed-
She met his lurid eye of flame-
The tombstone tells the rest.

On Youth's warm brow his hand he press'd,
'Twas cold as mould'ring clay-
He laid his arm on Manhood's breast,
The life-pulse ceas'd to play.

His fell siroc* o'er Nature pass'd,
And low she droop'd her head-
Her blossoms wither'd in the blast,
And all her verdure fled.

But hark! a mighty Angel's voicet
Will publish Time's decease,
And Jesus raise the dust of saints,
Which long had slept in peace;
Then, cruel Time, the friends of God,
Rais'd high above thy power,
And sav'd by their Redeemer's blood,
Shall live, to die no more.

SPRING.-
-BY MARY HOWETT.
The spring-she is a blessed thing!
She is the mother of the flowers!
She is the mate of birds and bees,
The partner of their revelries,

Our star of hope through wintry hours.
The merry children when they see
Her coming, by the budding thorn,
They leap upon the cottage floor,
They shout beside the cottage door,

And run to meet her night and morn.
They are soonest with her in the woods,
Peeping the withered leaves among,
To find the earliest, fragrant thing,
That dares from the cold earth to spring,
Or catch the earliest wild bird's song,

* A desolating wind. † Rev. x. 5, 6.

The little brooks run on in light,
As if they had a chase of mirth;
The skies are blue, the air is warm:
Our very hearts have caught the charm
That sheds a beauty over earth.
The aged man is in the field,

The maiden 'mong her garden flowers,
The sons of sorrow and distress
Are wandering in forgetfulness,

Of wants that fret and care that lowers.
She comes with more than present good-
With joys to store for future years,
From which in striving crowds apart,
The bowed in spirit, bruised in heart,
May glean up hope with grateful tears.
Up-let us to the fields away.

And breathe the fresh and balmy air:
The bird is building in the tree,

The flower has opened to the bee,

And health, and love, and peace are there!

EVENING.

How calm and beautiful is Day's sweet close!
Its breeze is balm unto the wounded soul,-
That feels a kindred peace, a mild repose,
'Neath gentle Evening's reign.-The spells that stole
The mind from loftier aspiration, now
Are powerless and past. The weary, blest
With transient calm, own a reviving glow!
Meanwhile each finer impulse of the breast
Trembles with love and gratitude profound
To Him who gave alternate morn and night,
The Sun to wheel his life rekindling round,
And yon sweet orb to pour her sacred light.
These are the transports of thy votaries, EVEN!
These are thy charms, that win the soul to Heaven!

THE INFANT.

I saw an infant-health, and joy, and light,
Bloom'd on its cheek, and sparkled in its eye;
And its fond mother stood delighted by
To see its morn of being dawn so bright.
Again I saw it, when the withering blight
Of pale disease had fallen, moaning lie

On the sad mother's breast-stern death was nigh,
And Life's young wings were fluttering for their flight;
Last I beheld it stretch'd upon the bier,

Like a fair flower untimely snatch'd away,
Calm, and unconscious of its mother's tear,
Which on its placid cheek unheeded lay-
But on its lip the unearthly smile express'd,
"Oh! happy child; untried, and early bless'd."

LIFE'S BILLOWS

Toss'd upon life's raging billow,
Sweet it is, O Lord, to know;
Thou didst press a sailor's pillow,
And canst feel a sailor's wo.
Never slumbering, never sleeping,

Though the night be dark and drear,
Thou the faithful watch art keeping,
"All, all's well," thy constant cheer.

And though loud the wind is howling,
Fierce though flash the lightnings red;
Darkly, through the storm-cloud's scowling
O'er the sailor's anxious head;
Thou canst calm the raging ocean,
All its noise and tumult still,

Hush the tempest's wild commotion,
At the bidding of thy will.

Thus my heart the hope will cherish,
While to thee I lift mine eye;

Thou wilt save me ere I perish,
Thou wilt hear the sailor's cry.

And though mast and sail be riven,

Life's short voyage will soon be o'er;
Safely moor'd in heaven's wide haven,
Storm and tempest vex no more.