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I chose not her, my soul's elect,

From those who seek their Maker's shrine
In gems and garlands proudly deck'd,

As if themselves were things divine!
No-Heav'n but faintly warms the breast
That beats beneath a broider'd veil ;
And she who comes in glittering vest
To mourn her frailty, still is frail,69

Not so the faded form I prize,

And love, because its bloom is gone; The glory in those sainted eyes

Is all the grace her brow puts on. And ne'er was Beauty's dawn so bright, So touching as that form's decay, Which, like the altar's trembling light, In holy lustre wastes away!

The bird let loose.

Air-Beethoven.

The bird, let loose in eastern skies,70
When hastening fondly home,

Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her

way.

1

So grant me, God, from every care,
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to Thee!
No sin to cloud-no lure to stay
My Soul, as home she springs ;--
Thy Sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy Freedom in her wings!

Oh! Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear!

Air-Haydn.

"He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds." -Psalm cxlvii. 3.

Oh! Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear,

How dark this world would be,

If, when deceiv'd and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;

And he, who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.

But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of wo.

When Joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And e'en the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,

Is dimm'd and vanish'd too!

Oh! who would bear Life's stormy doom,
Did not Thy wing of love

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above?

Then Sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;
As Darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day!

Weep not for those.

Air-Avisen.

Weep not for those, whom the veil of the tomb,
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies.
Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd
it,

'Tis frozen in all the pure light of its course,

And but sleeps, till the sunshine of Heav'n has unchain'd it,

To water that Eden, where first was its source!

Weep not for those, whom the veil of the tomb,

In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies.

Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale,71 Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now!

Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale,

And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her brow;

Oh! then was her moment, dear Spirit, for flying From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown;

And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own! Weep not for her-in her spring-time she flew

To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd,

And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world.

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine.

Air-Stevenson.

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine;
My temple, LORD! that Arch of thine;
My censer's breath the mountain airs,
And silent thoughts my only prayers.72

My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
When murmuring homeward to their caves,
Or when the stillness of the sea,

E'en more than music, breathes of Thee!

I'll seek, by day, some glade unknown,
All light and silence, like thy Throne !
And the pale stars shall be, at night,
The only eyes that watch my rite.

Thy Heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look,
Shall be my pure and shining Book,
Where I shall read, in words of flame,
The glories of thy wondrous Name.

I'll read thy Anger in the rack

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track; Thy Mercy, in the azure hue

Of sunny brightness, breaking through!

There's nothing bright, above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,
But in its light my soul can see
Some feature of thy Deity!

There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy Love,
And meekly wait that moment, when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again!

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