Dr. Chatfield.

MUSINGS IN THE TEMPLE OF NATURE.

MAN can build nothing worthy of his Maker,-
From royal Solomon's stupendous fane,
Down to the humble chapel of the Quaker,

All, all are vain.

The wondrous world which He himself created
Is the fit temple of creation's Lord;
There may His worship best be celebrated,

And praises poured.

Its altar, earth; its roof, the sky untainted;

Sun, moon, and stars, are lamps that give it light;

And clouds, by the celestial Artist painted,

Its pictures bright.

Its choir, all vocal things, whose glad devotion
In one united hymn is heavenward sped ;

The thunder-peal, the winds, the deep-mouthed ocean, Its organ dread!

The face of Nature its God-written Bible,
Which all mankind may study and explore,

While none can wrest, interpolate, or libel

Its living lore.

Hence learn we that our Maker, whose affection
Knows no distinction, suffers no recall,
Sheds His impartial favor and protection

Alike on all.

Thus by Divine example do we gather,
That every race should love alike all others;
Christian, Jew, Pagan, children of one Father,
All, all are brothers!

Conscience, Heaven's silent oracle, the assessor
Of right and wrong in every human breast,
Sternly condemns the impenitent transgressor
To live unblest.

The pious and the virtuous, though assaulted
By fortune's frown, or man's unjust decrees,
Still in their bosoms find a pure, exalted,

Unfailing peace!

Hence do we learn that hardened vice is hateful,
Since Heaven pursues it with avenging rod;
While goodness, self-rewarded, must be grateful
To man and God.

O! Thou most visible, yet unseen Teacher,
Whose finger writes its lessons on our sphere,
O! Thou most audible, but unheard Preacher,

Whose sermons clear

Are seen and read in all that Thou performest,
Wilt thou look down and bless, if, when I kneel,
Apart from man-built fanes, I feel the warmest
And purest zeal?

If in the temple Thine own hands have fashioned,
'Neath the bright sky, by lonely stream or wood,
I pour to Thee, with thrilling heart impassioned,
My gratitude?

If in Thy present miracles terrestrial

Mine eyes behold, wherever I have kneeled,

New proofs of the futurity celestial

To man revealed?

If, fearing Thee, I love the whole creation,
Keeping my bosom undefiled by guilt,
Wilt Thou receive and bless mine adoration?

Thou wilt, Thou wilt!

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.

REPOSE IN FAITH.

BEHOLD the storm-beat wanderer in repose!
He lists the sounds at which the Heavens unclose!
Gleam, through expanding bars, the angel-wings,
And floats the music borne from seraph-strings!
Holy the oldest creed which Nature gives,
Proclaiming God where'er Creation lives;
But there the doubt will come ! - the clear design
Attests the Maker and suggests the Shrine;
But in that visible harmonious plan,

What present shows the future world to man?
What lore detects, beneath our crumbling clay,
A soul exiled, and journeying back to-day;
What knowledge, in the bones of charnel urns,
The ethereal spark, the undying thought, discerns?
How from the universal war, the prey

Of life on life, can Love explore the way?

Search the material tribes of earth, sea, air,

And the fierce SELF that strives and slays is there.
What but that SELF do Man and Nature teach?
Where the charmed link that binds the all to each?
Where the sweet law — (doth Nature boast its birth?) —
"Good will to man, and charity to earth?"

Not in the world without, but that within,

Revealed, not instinct soul from sense can win!

And where the Natural halts, where cramped, confined,
The seen horizon bounds the baffled mind,

The Inspired begins the onward march is given;
Bridging all space, nor ending ev'n in Heaven!
There, veiled on earth, we mark divinely clear,
Duty and end—the There explains the Here!
We see the link that binds the future band,
Foeman with foeman gliding hand in hand;
And feel that Hate is but an hour's - the Son
Of earth, to perish when the earth is done-
But Love eternal; and we turn below,

To hail the brother where we loathed the foe:
There, in the soft and beautiful Belief,
Flows the true Lethé for the lips of Grief;
There, Penury, Hunger, Misery, cast their eyes,
How soon the bright Republic of the Skies!
There, Love, heart-broken, sees prepared the bower,
And hears the bridal step, and waits the nuptial hour!
There, smiles the mother, we have wept! there bloom
Again the buds asleep within the tomb ;
There, o'er bright gates inscribed, "No MORE TO PART,"
Soul springs to soul, and heart unites to heart!