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Then, then, in the tempest's jubilee,
There's music, and beauty, and grandeur for me!
There's music, sweet music, where insects play,
When they burst into life and the light of day,
And shake such sounds from their shining wings
As the wind makes in murmuring over harp-strings;
In the songs of the birds, in the rippling streams,
0, these are such sounds as we hear in our dreams !
There's music most blest in the house of prayer,
O the sweetest and loveliest of music is there!
While innocent voices together blend
And their mingled tones above ascend;
There is the holiest music given
From the heart's warm altar up to heaven!
FATHER, guide me! day declines,
Hollow winds are in the pines ;
Darkly waves each giant bough
O'er the sky's last crimson glow;
Hush'd is now the convent's bell,
Which erewhile with breezy swell
From the purple mountains bore
Greeting to the sun-set shore.
Now the sailor's vesper hymn
Father! in the forest dim
Be my stay!
In the low and shivering thrill
Of the leaves that late hung still ;
In the dull and muffled tone
Of the sea-wave's distant moan;
In the deep tints of the sky,
There are signs of tempest nigh.
Ominous, with sullen sound,
Falls the closing dusk around.
Father! through the storm and shade,
O'er the wild,
0! be thou the lone one's aid, -
Save thy child !
Many a swift and sounding plume
Homewards, through the boding gloom,
O'er my way hath fitted fast,
From the chesnut's ruddy bark;
And the pool's now low and dark,
Where the wakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, homeward, all things haste,
God of might!
Shield the homeless midst the waste,
Be his light!
In his distant cradle-nest,
Now my babe is laid to rest ;
Beautiful his slumber seems,
With a glow of heavenly dreams;
Beautiful o'er that bright sleep
Hang soft eyes of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray,
For the loved and far away.
Father! guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer!
Back, through thine all-guiding power
Lead me there!
Darker, wilder, grows the night,-
Not a star sends quivering light
Through the massy arch of shade,
By the stern old forest made.
Thou ! to whose unslunibering eyes
All my pathway open lies,-
By thy Son, who knew distress
In the lonely wilderness,
Where no roof to that blest head
Father! through the time of dread,
Save, 0, save!
The evening sky,—the evening sky,
How bright its glories are ;
Exciting thoughts of things that lie
Above yon radiant star!
The thoughts our spirits burn to know
Will never here be given ;
The fountain whence true pleasures flow
Is only found in heaven.
When we have slept that dreamless sleep
Which dearest hearts must sever,
O may we wake no more to weep,
But live in bliss for ever.
THE OAK IN THE CHERRY-TREE.
(With an Engraving.) The family of Mr. T. were, one evening, comfortably seated round the tea-table, when Caroline suddenly broke silence, and said to her sister Dorothy, I wish the Editor of the Youth's Instructer would furnish his readers with more original matter ; for, though many of the pieces, taken from other works, are very interesting, we have sometimes read them before, and may always meet with them elsewhere.
Dorothy.--I see no objection to their insertion on that account; because a great majority of his readers have not seen the original works from which those extracts taken; and to such readers they are as new and as useful as if they had never been published before.
Caroline.—Yes; but then a few of those who read the Youth's Instructer may, probably, have seen the original works; and, for them, these extracts must have lost their interest, in a great measure ; and, you know,"too, that I am always fond of what is original.
Dorothy.-Well; as you are so much in earnest about it, I hope you will be consistent, and prove the sincerity of your wishes by furnishing some contributions of your own. I have heard it said that sincere desire always endeavours to satisfy itself; and that what people earnestly wish for, they will make an effort to accomplish.
Caroline.—Then, I suppose, sister, you mean to show your consistency by not contributing ; as you have no wish