Land where the light of Jehovah is shining: We leave thee lamenting, but not with repining. Land of our Fathers! in grief we forsake thee: Land of our Friends! may Jehovah protect thee; Land of the Church! may the light shine around thee, [thee. Nor darkness, nor trouble, nor sorrow confound God is thy God; thou shalt walk in His brightness! Gird thee with joy! let thy robes be of whiteness! God is thy God! let thy hills shout for gladness! But ah! we must leave thee-we leave thee in sadness. Dark is our path o'er the dark rolling ocean; Hail to the land of our toils and our sorrows! Jesus, we pray for thy Spirit to lead us, Jesus, we pray for thy power to succeed us; Then when thy grace from our toils shall release us, Thy love in the mansions of glory shall bless us. WHAT IS TIME. Marsden. I ASK'D an aged man, a man of cares, Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs; "Time is the warp of life," he said, O tell The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!" I ask'd the ancient, venerable dead, I ask'd a dying sinner, ere the stroke Of ruthless death life's "golden bowl had broke;" I ask'd him, What is time? "Time," he replied, "I've lost it, Ah, the treasure!" and he died! I ask'd the golden sun and silver spheres, Those bright chronometers of days and years; They answer'd, "Time is but a meteor's glare," And bade me for Eternity prepare. I ask'd the seasons, in their annual round I ask'd a spirit lost, but, O the shriek That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak! It cried, "A particle! a speck! a mite Of endless years, duration infinite!" Of things inanimate, my dial I I ask'd my Bible, and methinks it said, I ask'd old father Time himself at last; I ask'd the mighty Angel, who shall stand "By heaven's great King, I swear the mystery's o'er ! [more!" Time was," he cried,-" but Time shall be no THE EVENING STAR. STAR of the evening! how I love to mark Shines thy lone ray, thou herald of the night. Thou lovely star! I've sometimes gazed at thee Till I have almost wept, I knew not why; Tell me, my heart, what can that feeling be Which makes thee at those moments throb so high? It is a joy where sadness hath a part, A melancholy, worth whole days of mirth; The eye in tears, indeed, but with a heart Which bounds as if 'twould break the bonds of earth. Thou lovely star! methinks thy herald ray STANZAS. Anonymous. SUMMER may spread her choicest flowers, Winter may bid his tempests rise, And change the earth's fair robe of green ; And leafless bowers, and frowning skies Present a sad and dreary scene : Yet will the heart bright verdure wear If peace have fix'd its dwelling there. But summer's glow, or winter's gloom, |