What then if these be drest in robes of power,
Triumphant WORDS, that thrill the heart of man,
Conquering for good beyond the flitting hour,
With stately march, and music in the van?

VENUS:

(6

A REPLY TO LONGFELLOW'S POEM ON MARS, IN
NIGHT."

THOU lover of the blaze of Mars,
Come out with me to-night,
For I have found among the stars
A name of nobler light:

Thy boast is of the unconquered Mind,
The strong, the stern, the still;
Mine of the happier Heart, resign'd
To Wisdom's holy will.

VOICES O
VOICES OF THE

They call my star by Beauty's name,
The gentle Queen of Love;

And look! how fair its tender flame
Is flickering above:

O star of peace, O torch of hope,
I hail thy precious ray,

A diamond on the ebon cope
To shine the dark away.

Within my heart there is no light
But cometh from above,

I give the first watch of the night
To the sweet planet, Love:

A BEAUTIFUL face, and a form of grace
Were a pleasant sight to see,

And gold, and gems, and diadems,

Right excellent they be:

But beauty and gold, tho' both be untold,
Are things of a worldly mart,

The wealth that I prize, above ingots or eyes,
a warm young heart!

Is a heart,

O face most fair, shall thy beauty compare
With affection's glowing light?

O riches and pride, how pale ye beside
Love's wealth, serene and bright!

I spurn thee away, as a cold thing of clay,
Tho' gilded and carved thou art,

For all that I prize, in its smiles and its sighs,
Is a heart, - a warm young heart!

A CONSECRATION.

October 29, 1847.

LIKE some fair Nun, the pious and the chaste, Shalford, thy new-born temple stands serene, Modestly deck'd in pure old English taste,

The village beauty of thy tranquil scene; And we to-day have made religious haste

To see thee wedded to thy heavenly Spouse. Kneeling in unison of praise and prayer To help the offering of thy maiden vows:

Hark! what a thrilling utterance is there, "Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates,"

As God's high-priest with apostolic care
TO HIM this tent of glory consecrates:

Good work! to be remembered for all time,
The seed of mercies endless and sublime!

'Come in, thou King of Glory," yea, come in,
Rest here awhile, great Conqueror for good!
Bless thou this font to cleanse from Adam's sin,
Spread thou this table with celestial food!
And, kindled by Thy grace to gratitude,
May thousands here eternal treasures win,

As, hither led, from time to time with joy They seek their Father: lo! before mine eyes Visions and promises of good arise,

The tender babe baptized, the stripling boy
Confirm'd for godliness, the maid and youth
Wedded in love, the man mature made wise,

The elder taught in righteousness and truth,
And each an heir of life before he dies!

THE THANKSGIVING HYMN AND CHANT.

FOR THE HARVEST HOME OF 1847.

O NATION, Christian nation,
Lift high the hymn of praise,
The God of our Salvation

Is love in all his ways;
He blesses us, and feedeth

Every creature of his hand,
To succor him that needeth,

And to gladden all the land!

Rejoice, ye happy people,

And peal the changing chime
From every belfried steeple

In symphony sublime:
Let cottage and let palace

Be thankful, and rejoice,
And woods, and hills, and valleys,
Re-echo the glad voice!

From glen, and plain, and city,
Let gracious incense rise,
The Lord of life in pity

Hath heard his creatures' cries;
And where in fierce oppressing
Stalk'd fever, fear, and dearth,
He pours a triple blessing

To fill and fatten earth!

Gaze round in deep emotion:
The rich and ripen'd grain
Is like a golden ocean

Becalmed upon the plain;
And we who late were weepers,

Lest judgment should destroy,
Now sing, because the reapers
Are come again with joy!

O praise the hand that giveth
- And giveth evermore
To every soul that liveth

Abundance flowing o'er!
For every soul He filleth

With manna from above,
And over all distilleth

The unction of His love.

Then gather, Christians, gather,
To praise with heart and voice
The good Almighty Father,

Who biddeth you rejoice:
For he hath turned the sadness
Of his children into mirth,
And we will sing with gladness
The harvest-home of earth!

O BLESS the God of harvest, praise him through the land,
Thank him for his precious gifts, his help, and liberal love:
Praise him for the fields that have rendered up their riches,
And, dressed in sunny stubbles, take their Sabbath after toil;
Praise him for the close-shorn plains, and uplands lying bare,
And meadows, where the sweet-breathed hay was stacked in early

summer;

Praise him for the wheat-sheaves, gathered safely into barn,
And scattering now their golden drops beneath the sounding flail;
Praise him for the barley mow, a little hill of sweetness;