That's borne across the distant sea,

Can their appeal be vain? O no! Thou didst but want some tongue to say, Grief's sons are here, and these are they.

THE TRANSLATION OF ENOCH.

Barton.

THOUGH proudly through the vaulted sky

Was borne Elisha's sire,

And dazzling unto mortal eye
His car and steeds of fire:

To me as glorious seems the change
Accorded to thy worth;

As instantaneous and as strange
Thy exit from this earth.

Something which makes a deeper thrill

These few brief words unfold,

Than all description's proudest skill

Could of that hour have told.

Fancy's keen eye may trace the course

Elijah held on high:

The car of flame, each fiery horse,
Her visions may supply ;-

But thy transition mocks each dream
Framed by her wildest power,

Nor can her mastery supreme
Conceive thy parting hour.

Were angels, with expanded wings,
As guides and guardians given?
Or did sweet sounds from seraphs' strings
Waft thee from earth to heaven?

"Twere vain to ask: we know but this

Thy path from grief and time

Unto eternity and bliss,

Mysterious and sublime!

With God thou walkedst, and was not;

And thought and fancy fail Further than this to paint thy lot,

Or tell thy wond'rous tale.

JESUS SEEN OF ANGELS.

Turner.

BEYOND the glittering, starry skies,

Far as the eternal hills,

There, in the boundless worlds of light,
Our dear Redeemer dwells.

Immortal Angels, bright and fair,
In countless armies shine;

At his right hand, with golden harps,
They offer songs divine.

Hail, Prince! they cry, for ever hail!

Whose unexampled love

Moved thee to quit these glorious robes

And royalties above.

Whilst, here, our gracious Lord vouchsafed

To suffer rude disdain,

They cast their honours at his feet,

And waited in his train.

In all his toils and conflicts here,

Their sov'reign they attend;
And pause-and wonder how at last
This scene of love will end!

When all the powers of hell combined
To fill his cup of Wo,

Their wond'ring eyes beheld his tears
In blood and anguish flow.

As on the torturing cross he hung,
And darkness veil'd the sky,
Amazed, they saw that awful sight,—
The Lord of Glory die!

Anon he bursts the gates of death,-
Subdues the tyrant's power,

They saw th' illustrious conqueror rise,
And hail'd the blissful hour!

They brought his chariot from above,

To bear him to his throne;

Clapp'd their triumphant wings, and cried,
The glorious work is done!"

My soul the joyful triumph feels,
And thinks the season long,
Ere she her gracious Saviour see,
And join the rapt'rous song.

THE ANGEL'S REPLY TO THE WOMEN

AT THE SEPULCHRE.

Doddridge.

YE humble souls, that fear the Lord,

Chase all your fears away;

And bow with pleasure down to see,

The place where Jesus lay.

Thus low the Lord of Life was brought-
Such wonders love can do!

Thus cold in death that bosom lay
Which throbb'd and bled for you.

A moment give a loose to grief,
Let grateful sorrows rise;
And wash the bloody stains away

With torrents from your eyes.

Then dry your tears, and tune your songs, The Saviour lives again;

Not all the bolts and bars of death

The conqueror could detain.