Moral and Sacred Poetry

'Tis summer, 'tis summer, the wild birds are singing,
The woods and the glens with their sweet notes are ringing;

The skies are all glowing with crimson and gold,
And the trees their bright blossoms begin to unfold.
The cushat is breathing his murmurs of love
The stars are adorning the blue skies above,
While the moon in her beauty is shining on high,
And soothing the heart, while she pleases the eye.

'Tis summer, 'tis summer-and Winter no more
Is heard in the winds, or the ocean's wild roar;
But so calm are the waves over all the great deep,
That their murmurs might lull a young infant to sleep.
The streamlets are gliding all lovely and calm-
And the zephyrs come laden with fragrance and balm ;
Then, oh! let us bow to the merciful Power,

Who lives in the sunbeam, the tree, and the flower,
Who stills the wild tempest, and bids the vast sea
Unruffled and calm as a placid lake be

Let us bow to that God, who gave Summer its birth,
And who scatters his treasures all over the earth.

Through th' imperceptible meand'ring veins | The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars.These have been, and these shall be in their

Of leaf and flow'r? It sleeps; and th' icy touch

Of unprolific winter has impress'd
A cold stagnation on the intestine tide:
But let the months go round, a few short

months

And all shall be restor❜d, These naked shoots, Barren as lances, among which the wind Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, Shall put their graceful foliage on again,

day:

And all this uniform uncolour'd scene
Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load,
And flush into variety again:

From dearth to plenty, and from death to life
Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man
In heav'nly truth: evincing, as she makes
The grand transition, that there lives and
works

And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, A soul in all things, and that soul is God Shall boast new charms, and more than

they have lost.

Then each in its peculiar honours clad,
Shall publish even to the distant eye
Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich
In streaming gold; syringa, iv'ry pure;
The scentless and the scented rose; this red,
And of an humbler growth, the other tall*
And throwing up into the darkest gloom
Of neighb❜ring cypress, or more sable yew,
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf,
That the wind severs from the broken wave;
The lilac, various in array, now white
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now
set

With purple spikes pyramidal, as if
Studious of ornament, yet unresolv'd
Which hue she most approv'd, she chose

THE SEASONS MORALIZED,

DWIGHT.

BEHOLD the changes of the skies
And see the circling seasons rise;
Hence let the mournful truth refin'd,
Improve the beauty of the mind.
Winter late, with dreary reign,
Ruled the wide unjoyous plain;
Gloomy storms with solemn roar,
Shook the hoarse resounding shore;
Sorrow cast her sadness round,
Life and joy forsook the ground;
Death, with wild imperious sway,
Bade the expiring world decay.

Now, cast around thy raptur'd eyes,
And see the beauteous Spring arise;
See flowers invest the hills again,
And streams re-murmur o'er the plain.
Hark! Hark! the joy-inspiring grove
Echoes to the voice of Love.
Balmy gales the sound prolong,
Wafting round the woodland song.

Such the scenes our life displays,
Swiftly fleet our rapid days.
The hour that rolls for ever on,

Tells us our years must soon be gone;
Sudden death, with mournful gloom,
Sweeps us downward to the tomb :
Life, and health, and joy, decay,
Nature sinks, and dies away.

But the soul in gayest bloom, Disdains the bondage of the tomb ;

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