Babylon.

And the voice of his devotion

Fill'd my soul with strange emotion;
For its tones by turns were glad,

Sweetly solemn, wildly sad.

Paul and Silas, in their prison,
Sang of Christ the Lord arisen,
And an earthquake's arm of might
Broke their dungeon-gates at night.

But, alas! what holy angel

Brings the slave this glad evangel?
And what earthquake's arm of might
Breaks his dungeon-gates at night?

95

Babylon.

BARRY CORNWALL.-Music by Henry Phillips.

(Recitative.)

PAUSE in this desert! Here, men say, of old

Belshazzar reign'd, and drank from cups of gold;

Here, to his hideous idols, bow'd the slave,

And here-God struck him dead!

Where lies his grave?

"Tis lost!--His brazen gates? His soaring towers, From whose dark tops men watch'd the starry hours? All to the dust gone down! The desert bare

Scarce yields an echo when we question Where?
The lonely herdsman seeks in vain the spot;
And the black wandering Arab knows it not.
No brick, nor fragment now remains, to tell
Where Babylon, mighty city, rose-and fell!

(Air.)

O City, vast and old!

Where, where is thy grandeur fled?
The stream that round thee roll'd,

Still rolls in its ancient bed!

But where, oh, where art THOU gone?
O Babylon! O Babylon!

The giant, when he dies,

Still leaveth his bones behind,

To shrink in the winter skies,

And whiten beneath the wind!

But where, oh, where, &c.

Thou liv'st!-for thy name still glows,
A light in the desert skies;
As the fame of the hero grows

Thrice trebled because he dies!
O Babylon! O Babylon!

Look Round.

ANNA MARIA SARGEANT.

LOOK round! look round!

Within the precincts of thy native land;

See, there are many drooping ones who stand
In need of a kind word-a helping hand.
Look round! look round!

Look back! look back!

For surely it is wise for us to cast

At times a thoughtful glance upon the past-
Each bygone action has a moral vast:

Look back! look back!

The Poor.

Look in look in!

Thy heart requires a keen and earnest gaze,
For 'tis deceitful. Search its hidden ways-
Such scrutiny the labour well repays.
Look in look in!

Look on look on!

Yes, though thy future may be dim or dark,
A light may kindle from a tiny spark:
Then trust and fear not-press on toward the mark.
Look on look on!

Look up! look up!

A Father's loving eye o'erlooketh all;
Nay, more-He all upholds, however small,
Unknown to Him a sparrow cannot fall.
Look up! look up!

The Poor.

MRS JANE T. WORTHINGTON.

HAVE pity on them! for their life

Is full of grief and care;

You do not know one half the woe

The very poor must bear ;
You do not see the silent tears
By many a mother shed,
As childhood offers up the prayer,

"Give us our daily bread."

Their lot is made of misery

More hopeless day by day,

And through the long cold winter nights

Nor light nor fire have they;

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But little children, shivering, crouch
Around the cheerless hearth,

Their young hearts weary with the want
That drags the soul to earth.

Deal gently with these wretched ones,
Whatever wrought their woe;

The poor have much to tempt and test
That you can never know ;

Then judge them not, for hard indeed
Is their dark lot of care;

Let Heaven condemn, but human hearts
With human faults should bear.

Since first Thy Word.

T. MOORE.-Air, Nicholas Freeman.

INCE first Thy Word awaked my heart,

SING

Like new life dawning o'er me,
Where'er I turn mine eyes Thou art,
All light and love before me.
Naught else I feel, or hear, or see,-
All bonds of earth I sever,

Thee, O God, and only Thee,
I live for now and ever.

Like him whose fetters dropp'd away
When light shone o'er his prison,*
My spirit, touch'd by mercy's ray,
Hath from her chains arisen.
And shall a soul Thou bidd'st be free
Return to bondage?-never!
Thee, O God, and only Thee,

I live for now and ever.

* Acts xii. 7.

Types of Heaven.

99

Beautiful Dove.

CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D.—Music by Henry West.

'HERE was Hope in the ark at the dawn of the day,

ΤΗ

When o'er the wide waters the dove flew away;
But when, ere the night, she came wearily back
With the leaf she had pluck'd on her desolate track,
The children of Noah knelt down and adored,
And utter'd in anthems their praise to the Lord-
"O bird of glad tidings! O joy in our pain!
Beautiful dove! thou art welcome again!"

When peace has departed the care-stricken breast,
And the feet of the weary one languish for rest;
When the world is a wide-spreading ocean of grief,
How blest the return of the bird and the leaf!
Reliance on God is the dove to our ark,
And peace is the olive she plucks in the dark.
The deluge abates, there is sun after rain-
Beautiful dove! thou art welcome again!

Types of Heaven.

MISS SARAH E. MAYO.

HY love I the lily bell

WH

Swinging in the scented dell?

Why love I the woodnotes wild,

Where the sun hath faintly smiled?
Daisies, in their beds secure,

Gazing out so meek and pure?

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