THE ARGUMENT.

Description of a Sabbath morning in the country. The labourer at home.-The town mechanic's morning walk;-his meditation. The sound of bells.-Crowd proceeding to church.-Inter

val before the service begins.- English service. Scriptures read.-The organ, with the voices of the people.-The sound borne to the sick man's couch.-His wish.-The worship of God in the solitude of the woods.-The shepherd boy among the hills.-People seen on the heights returning from church.

Contrast of the present times with those immediately preceding the Revolution.-The persecution of the Covenanters.-A Sabbath conventicle.-Cameron.-Renwick.-Psalms.-Night conventicles during storms.-A funeral according to the rites of the Church of England.-A female character. The suicide. -Expostulation. The incurable of an hospital. A prison scene.-Debtors.-Divine service in the prison hall.-Persons under sentence of death.-Appeal on the indiscriminate severity of criminal law. Comparative mildness of the Jewish law The year of Jubilee-Description of the commencement of the Jubilee. The sound of the trumpets through the landThe bondman and his family returning from their servitude to take possession of their inheritance.-Emigrants in the wilds of America-Their Sabbath worship.-The whole inhabitants of Highland districts who have emigrated together, still regret their country.-Even the blind man regrets the objects with which he had been conversant.-An emigrant's contrast between the tropical climates and Scotland.-The boy who had been born on the voyage.-Description of a person on a desert island. His Sabbath.-His release.--Missionary ship. The Pacific Ocean.-Defence of missionaries.-Effects of the conversion of the primitive Christians.-Transition to the slave trade. The Sabbath in a slave ship.-Appeal to England on the subject of her encouragement to this horrible complication of crimes.-Transition to war.-Unfortunate issue of the late war-in France-in Switzerland.-Apostrophe to TELL-The attempt to resist too late.-The treacherous foes already in possession of the passes-Their devastating progress.-Desolation.-Address to Scotland.-Happiness of seclusion from the world.-Description of a Sabbath evening in Scotland.-Psalmody. An aged man.-Description of an industrious female reduced to poverty by old age and disease.-Disinterested virtuous conduct to be found chiefly in the lower walks of life. Test of charity in the opulent.-Recommendation to the rich to devote a portion of the Sabbath to the duty of visiting the

sick.-Invocation to health-to music.-The Beguin nuns.

Lazarus.-The resurrection.-Dawnings of faith-Its progress

Consummation.

How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze.
Sounds the most faint attract the ear-the hum
Of carly bee, the trickling of the dew,
The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Calmness seems throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-sunk glen;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard at intervals
The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.

With dove-like wings Peace o'er yon village broods: Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness. The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din Less fearful on this day, the limping hare Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large; And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls, His iron-arm'd hoofs gleam in the morning ray.

But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. On other days, the man of toil is doom'd To eat his joyless bread, lonely, the ground Both seat and board, screen'd from the winter's cold And summer's heat by neighbouring hedge or tree; But on this day, embosom'd in his home, He shares the frugal meal with those he loves; With those he loves he shares the heart-felt joy Of giving thanks to God-not thanks of form, A word and a grimace, but rev'rently, With cover'd face and upward earnest eye.

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day: The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe The morning air pure from the city's smoke, While wandering slowly up the river side, He meditates on Him whose power he marks In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom Around the roots; and while he thus surveys With elevated joy each rural charm, He hopes (yet fears presumption in the hope) To reach those realms where Sabbath never ends.

But now his steps a welcome sound recalls:
Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile,
Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe :
Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved ground;
The aged man, the bowed down, the blind
Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes
With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well-pleased;
These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach
The house of God-these, spite of all their ills,
A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise
They enter in; a placid stillness reigns,
Until the man of God, worthy the name,
Opens the book, and reverentially
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues.
The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes,
Then swells into a diapason full:

The people rising sing," with harp, with harp,
And voice of psalms ;" harmoniously attuned
The various voices blend; the long-drawn aisles,
At every close, the lingering strain prolong.
And now the tubes a soften'd stop controls;
In softer harmony the people join,
While liquid whispers from yon orphan band,
Recall the soul from adoration's trance,
And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears.
Again the organ-peal, loud, rolling, meets
The hallelujahs of the choir. Sublime
A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,
As if the whole were one, suspended high
In air, soaring heavenward: afar they float,
Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch:

Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close,
Yet thinks he hears it still: his heart is cheer'd;
He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise-
"Would I were now beneath that echoing roof!
No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow;
My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath-day
My steps should thither turn; or, wandering far
In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow,
There would I bless His name who led me forth
From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets-
Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow
Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye."

It is not only in the sacred fane

That homage should be paid to the Most High;
There is a temple, one not made with hands,
The vaulted firmament. Far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air;
When not the limberest leaf is seen to move,
Save where the linnet lights upon the spray;
Where not a floweret bends its little stalk,
Save when the bee alights upon the bloom-
There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath-noon;
Silence his praise: his disembodied thoughts,
Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend
Beyond the empyreal.

Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne,
The Sabbath service of the shepherd boy!
In some lone glen, where every sound is lull'd
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretch'd on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ;
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,
And wonders why he weeps: the volume closed,
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conn'd
With meikle care beneath the lowly roof,
Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth
Pines unrewarded by a thankless state.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen,
The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps,
Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands
Returning homeward from the house of prayer.
In peace they home resort. Oh blissful days!
When all men worship God as conscience wills.
Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew,
A virtuous race, to godliness devote.

What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared to soil
The record of their fame! What though the men
Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatise
The sister-cause, Religion and the Law,
With Superstition's name!-yet, yet their deeds,
Their constancy in torture and in death-
These on tradition's tongue still live, these shall
On history's honest page be pictured bright
To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse
Disdains the servile strain of fashion's quire,
May celebrate their unambitious names.
With them each day was holy, every hour
They stood prepared to die, a people doom'd
To death-old men, and youths, and simple maids.
With them each day was holy; but that morn
On which the angel said, "See where the Lord
Was laid," joyous arose-to die that day
Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways,
O'er hills, through woods, o'er dreary wastes, they
sought

The upland moors, where rivers, there but brooks,
Dispart to different seas. Fast by such brooks

A little glen is sometimes scoop'd, a plat

With greensward gay, and flowers that strangers seem
Amid the heathery wild, that all around
Fatigues the eye: in solitudes like these
Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foil'd
A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws;
There leaning on his spear (one of th' array
That in the times of old had scath'd the rose

On England's banner, and had powerless struck
Th' infatuate monarch and his wavering host,
Yet ranged itself to aid his son dethron'd),
The lyart veteran heard the word of God'
By Cameron thunder'd, or by Renwick pour'd
In gentle stream: then rose the song, the loud
Acclaim of praise; the wheeling plover ceas'd
Her plaint; the solitary place was glad,
And on the distant cairns, the watcher's ear*
Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note.
But years more gloomy follow'd, and no more
Th' assembled people dared, in face of day,
To worship God, or even at the dead

Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce,
And thunder-peals compell'd the men of blood
To couch within their dens; then dauntlessly
The scatter'd few would meet, in some deep dell
By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice,
Their faithful pastor's voice: he by the gleam
Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book,
And words of comfort spake: over their souls
His accents soothing came-as to her young
The heathfowl's plumes, when at the close of eve
She gathers in mournful her brood dispersed
By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads
Fondly her wings, close nestling 'neath her breast
They cherish'd cower amid the purple blooms.

But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale, The house of prayer itself, no place inspires Emotions more accordant with the day, Than does the field of graves, the land of rest. Oft at the close of evening-prayer, the toll, The funeral-toll, announces solemnly The service of the tomb; the homeward crowds Divide on either hand: the pomp draws near; The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing, "I am the resurrection and the life." Ah me! these youthful bearers robed in white, They tell a mournful tale; some blooming friend Is gone, dead in her prime of years-'twas she, The poor man's friend, who when she could not give, With angel-tongue pleaded to those who could, With angel-tongue and mild beseeching eye, That ne'er besought in vain, save when she pray'd For longer life, with heart resign'd to die Rejoiced to die, for happy visions blest Her voyage's last days,t and hovering round, Alighted on her soul, giving presage That heaven was nigh. Oh what a burst Of rapture from her lips! what tears of joy Her heavenward eyes suffused! Those eyes are closed; Yet all her loveliness is not yet flown: She smiled in death, and still her cold pale face Retains that smile; as when a waveless lake, In which the wintry stars all bright appear, Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice, Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged, Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast. Again that knell! The slow procession stops: The pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick-emboss'd With melancholy ornaments (the name, The record of her blossoming age) appears Unveil'd, and on it dust to dust is thrownThe final rite. Oh! hark that sullen sound! Upon the lower'd bier the shovell'd clay Falls fast, and fills the void. But who is he That stands aloof, with haggard wistful eye, As if he coveted the closing grave? And he does covet it-his wish is death:

*Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills, to give warn ing of the approach of the military.

Towards the end of Columbus's voyage to the new world, when he was already near, but not in sight of land, the drooping hopes of his mariners (for his own confidence seems to have remained unmoved) were revived by the appearance of birds at first hovering round the ship, and then lighting on the rigging.

The dread resolve is fix'd-his own right hand
Is sworn to do the deed: the day of rest
No peace, no comfort, brings his woe-worn spirit;
Self-curs'd, the hallow'd dome he dreads to enter;
He dares not pray; he dares not sigh a hope;
Annihilation is his only heaven.
Loathsome the converse of his friends! he shuns
The human face; in every careless eye
Suspicion of his purpose seems to lurk.

Deep piny shades he loves, where no sweet note
Is warbled, where the rook unceasing caws:
Or far in moors, remote from house or hut,
Where animated nature seems extinct,
Where even the hum of wandering bee ne'er breaks
The quiet slumber of the level waste;
Where vegetation's traces almost fail,

Save where the leafless cannachs wave their tufts
Of silky white, or massy oaken trunks

Half-buried lie, and tell where greenwoods grew-
There on the heathless moss outstretch'd he broods
O'er all his ever-changing plans of death:
The time, place, means, sweep like a moonlight rack,
In fleet succession, o'er his clouded soul-
The poignard-and the opium draught, that brings
Death by degrees, but leaves an awful chasm
Between the act and consequence the flash
Sulphureous, fraught with instantaneous death;
The ruin'd tower perch'd on some jutting rock,
So high that, 'tween the leap and dash below,
The breath might take its flight in midway air-
This pleases for a time; but on the brink,
Back from the toppling edge his fancy shrinks
In horror; sleep at last his breast becalms-
He dreams 'tis done; but starting, wild awakes,
Resigning to despair his dream of joy.

Then hope, faint hope, revives-hope that despair
May to his aid let loose the demon phrensy,
To lead scared conscience blindfold o'er the brink
Of self-destruction's cataract of blood.
Most miserable, most incongruous wretch!
Darest thou to spurn thy life, the boon of God,
Yet dreadest to approach his holy place!
Oh dare to enter in! maybe some word,
Or sweetly-chaunted strain, will in thy heart
Awake a chord in unison with life.
What are thy fancied woes to his whose fate
Is (sentence dire!) incurable disease-
The outcast of a lazar-house, homeless,
Or with a home where eyes do scowl on him!
Yet he, even he, with feeble step draws near,
With trembling voice joins in the song of praise.
Patient he waits the hour of his release;
He knows he has a home beyond the grave.

Or turn thee to that house, with studded doors,
And iron-visor'd windows, even there

The Sabbath sheds a beam of bliss, though faint;
The debtor's friends, for still he has some friends,
Have time to visit him; the blossoming pea,
That climbs the rust-worn bars, seems fresher tinged;
And on the little turf, this day renew'd,
The lark, his prison mate, quivers the wing
With more than wonted joy. See, through the bars,
That pallid face retreating from the view,
That glittering eye, following with hopeless look,
The friends of former years, now passing by
In peaceful fellowship to worship God:
With them in days of youthful years, he roam'd
O'er hill and dale, o'er broomy knowe; and wist
As little as the blythest of the band

Of this his lot; condemn'd, condemn'd unheard,
The party for his judge among the throng,
The Pharisaical hard-hearted man
He sees pass on to join the heaven-taught prayer,
"Forgive our debts, as we forgive our debtors:"
From unforgiving lips most impious prayer!
Oh happier far the victim, than the hand
That deals the legal stab! The injured man
Enjoys internal, settled calm; to him

The Sabbath bell sounds peace; he loves to meet
His fellow sufferers, to pray and praise;
And many a prayer, as pure as e'er was breathed
In holy fanes, is sigh'd in prison halls.

Ah me! that clank of chains, as kneel and rise
The death-doom'd row. But see, a smile illumes
The face of some, perhaps they're guiltless: oh!
And must high-minded honesty endure
The ignominy of a felon's fate?

No! 'tis not ignominious to be wrong'd;
No!-conscious exultation swells their hearts,
To think the day draws nigh, when in the view
Of angels, and of just men perfect made,
The mark which rashness branded on their names
Shall be effaced-when, wafted on life's storm,
Their souls shall reach the Sabbath of the skies-
As birds, from bleak Norwegia's wintry coast,
Blown out to sea, strive to regain the shore,
But vainly striving, yield them to the blast,
Swept o'er the deep to Albion's genial isle,
Amaz'd they light amid the bloomy sprays
Of some green vale, there to enjoy new loves,
And join in harmony unheard before.

Relentless Justice! with fate-furrow'd brow! Wherefore to various crimes, of various guilt, One penalty, the most severe, allot? Why pall'd in state, and mitred with a wreath Of nightshade, dost thou sit portentously, Beneath a cloudy canopy of sighs,

Of fears, of trembling hopes, of boding doubts?—
Death's dart thy mace! Why are the laws of God,
Statutes promulg'd in characters of fire,*
Despised in deep concerns, where heavenly guidance
Is most required? The murderer-let him die,
And him who lifts his arm against his parent,
His country, or his voice against his God.
Let crimes less heinous dooms less dreadful meet
Than loss of life! So said the law divine,
That law beneficent, which mildly stretch'd
To the forgotten and forlorn, the hand
Of restitution: Yes, the trumpet's voice
The Sabbath of the jubileet announced:
The freedom-freighted blast, through all the land
At once, in every city, echoing rings,
From Lebanon to Carmel's woody cliffs,
So loud, that far within the desert's verge
The couching lion starts, and glares around.
Free is the bondman now, each one returns
To his inheritance: the man, grown old
In servitude, far from his native fields,
Hastes joyous on his way; no hills are steep,
Smooth is each rugged path; his little ones
Sport as they go, while oft the mother chides
The lingering step, lured by the wayside flowers:
At length the hill, from which a farewell look,
And still another parting look, he threw
On his paternal vale, appears in sight:
The summit gain'd, throbs hard his heart with joy
And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more!
Instant his eager eye darts to the roof
Where first he saw the light; his youngest born
He lifts, and, pointing to the much-lov'd spot,
Says, "There thy fathers liv'd, and there they sleep."
Onward he wends; near and more near he draws:

*"And it came to pass on the third day in the morning, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the voice of the trumpet exceeding loud; so that all the people that was in the camp trembled."-Exod. xix. 16.

"And thou shalt number seven Sabbaths of years unto thee, seven times seven years; and the space of the seven Sabbaths of years shall be unto thee forty and nine years. Then shalt thou cause the trumpet of the jubilee to sound on the tenth day of the seventh month, in the day of atonement shall ye make the trumpet sound throughout all your land. And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family."-LEV. xxv. 8, 9, 10.

How sweet the tinkle of the palm-bower'd brook!
The sunbeam slanting through the cedar grove
How lovely, and how mild! but lovelier still
The welcome in the eye of ancient friends,
Scarce known at first! and dear the fig-tree shade,
'Neath which on Sabbath eve his father told*
Of Israel from the house of bondage freed,
Led through the desert to the promised land ;-
With eager arms the aged stem he clasps,
And with his tears the furrow'd bark bedews;
And still, at midnight hour, he thinks he hears
The blissful sound that brake the bondman's chains,
The glorious peal of freedom and of joy!

Did ever law of man a power like this
Display?-power marvellous as merciful,
Which, though in other ordinances still
Most plainly seen, is yet but little mark'd
For what it truly is a miracle!
Stupendous, ever new, perform'd at once
In every region, yea, on every sea
Which Europe's navies plough; yes, in all lands
From pole to pole, or civilised or rude,
People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn
Dawns shedding dews into their drooping hearts:
Yes; far beyond the high-heaved western wave,
Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast,

The words which God in thunder from the mount
Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obey'd.
Thy children, Scotia, in the desert land,
Driven from their homes by fell Monopoly,
Keep holy to the Lord the seventh day.
Assembled under loftiest canopy

Of trees primeval (soon to be laid low),

They sing, "By Babel's streams we sat and wept."

What strong mysterious links enchain the heart
To regions where the morn of life was spent!
In foreign lands, though happier be the clime,
Though round our board smile all the friends we love,
The face of nature wears a stranger's look.
Yea, though the valley which we loved be swept
Of its inhabitants, none left behind,

Not even the poor blind man who sought his bread
From door to door, still, still there is a want;
Yes, even he, round whom a night that knows
No dawn is ever spread, whose native vale
Presented to his closed eyes a blank,
Deplores its distance now. There well he knew
Each object, though unseen; there could he wend
His way guideless through wilds and mazy woods;
Each aged tree, spared when the forest fell,
Was his familiar friend, from the smooth birch,
With rind of silken touch, to the rough elm:
The three grey stones, that mark'd where heroes lay,
Mourn'd by the harp, mourn'd by the melting voice
Of Cona, oft his resting-place had been:

Oft had they told him that his home was near:
The tinkle of the rill, the murmuring
So gentle of the brook, the torrent's rush,
The cataract's din, the ocean's distant roar,
The echo's answer to his foot or voice,
All spoke a language which he understood,
All warn'd him of his way. But most he feels
Upon the hallow'd morn, the saddening change;
No more he hears the gladsome village bell
Ring the blest summons to the house of God;
And, for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, grand,
That cheer'd his darkling path, as with slow step
And feeble, he toil'd up the spire-topt hill,
A few faint notes ascend among the trees.

*"And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart. And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. Thou shalt say unto thy son, we were Pharaoh's bondmen in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Teypt with a mighty hand."-DEUT. vi. 6, 7, 21.

What though the cluster'd vine there hardly tempts The traveller's hand; though birds of dazzling plume Perch on the loaded boughs; "Give me thy woods, (Exclaims the banish'd man) "thy barren woods, Poor Scotland; sweeter there the reddening haw, The sloe, or rowan's* bitter bunch, than here The purple grape; more dear the redbreast's note, That mourns the fading year in Scotia's vales, Than Philomel's, where spring is ever new; More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit, So like a wither'd leaflet, than the glare Of gaudy wings that make the iris dim."

Nor is regret exclusive to the old :
The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main,
A ship his cradle, by the billows rock'd-
"The nursling of the storm"-although he claims
No native land, yet does he wistful hear
Of some far distant country still call'd home,
Where lambs of whitest fleece sport on the hills,
Where gold-speck'd fishes wanton in the streams;
Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air,
Light on the floor, and peck the table-crumbs,
And with their singing cheer the winter day.

But what the loss of country to the woes
Of banishment and solitude combined!
Oh! my heart bleeds to think there now may live
One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck,
Cast on some desert island of that main
Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore
To Acapulco. Motionless he sits,

As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days
With wandering eye o'er all the watery waste;
Now striving to believe the albatross

A sail appearing on th' horizon's verge;
Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope
Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hours,
Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time,
Upon the shell-notch'd calendar to mark
Another day, another dreary day-
Changeless-for in these regions of the sun,
The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil,
Bestowing grateful interchange of rest
And labour, is annull'd; for there the trees,
Adorn'd at once with bud, and flower, and fruit,
Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread
And blossoms on the ground. But yet by him,
The hermit of the deep not unobserv'd
The Sabbath passes-'tis his great delight.
Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray,
And loves, and sighs to think-that setting sun
Is now empurpling Scotland's mountain tops,
Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales,
Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat
Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below
Chaunt in the dewy shade. Thus, all night long
He watches, while the rising moon describes
The progress of the day in happier lands.
And now he almost fancies that he hears
The chiming from his native village church;
And now he sings, and fondly hopes the strain
May be the same that sweet ascends at home
In congregation full-where, not without a tear,
They are remember'd who in ships behold
The wonders of the deep: he sees the hand,
The widow'd hand, that veils the eye suffused:
He sees his orphan boy look up, and strive
The widow'd heart to soothe. His spirit leans
On God. Nor does he leave his weekly vigil,
Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves
On wings of cloudless wind though lightnings burst

*Mountain-ash.

"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in the great deep: these sce the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep."-PSALM CVii.

In the tropical regions, the sky during storms is often with out a cloud.

So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen
In awful alternation. Calm he views
The far exploding firmament, and dares
To hope one bolt in mercy is reserved
For his release; and yet he is resign'd
To live, because full well he is assured
Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds.*

And thy right hand does lead him. Lo! at last,
One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep,
Music remote, swelling at intervals,

As if th' embodied spirit of sweet sounds
Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave:
The cadence well he knows-a hymn of old,
Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state
Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced
In midnight music, by an angel choir,

To Bethlehem's shepherds,t as they watch'd their flocks.
Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks
It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell.
He looks, and starts to see, moving along,
The semblance of a fiery wave,‡ in crescent form,
Approaching to the land; straightway he sees
A towering whiteness; 'tis the heaven-fill'd sails
That waft the mission'd men, who have renounced
Their homes, their country, nay, almost the world,
Bearing glad tidings to the farthest isles
Of ocean, that the dead shall rise again.
Forward the gleam-girt castle coastwise glides.
It seems as it would pass away. To cry
The wretched man in vain attempts, in vain,
Powerless his voice as in a fearful dream:
Not so his hand; he strikes the flint-a blaze
Mounts from the ready heap of withered leaves:
The music ceases; accents harsh succeed,
Harsh, but most grateful; downward drop the sails.
Engulf'd the anchor sinks; the boat is launch'd;
But cautious lies aloof till morning dawn:
Oh then the transport of the man, unused
To other human voice beside his own,

His native tongue to hear! He breathes at home,
Though earth's diameter is interposed.
Of perils of the sea he has no dread,
Full well assured the mission'd bark is safe,
Held in the hollow of the Almighty's hand.
(And signal thy deliverances have been
Of those thy messengers of peace and joy.)
From storms that loudly threaten to unfix
Islands rock-rooted in the ocean's bed,
Thou dost deliver them-and from the calm,
More dreadful than the storm, when motionless
Upon the purple deep the vessel lies

For days, for nights, illumed by phosphor lamps;
When sea-birds seem in nests of flame to float;
When backward starts the boldest mariner
To see, while o'er the side he leans, his face
As if deep-tinged with blood.

***If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me."-PSALM CXxxix.

+ "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord angel said unto them, Fear not; for behold! I bring you good

shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the

tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto

you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour who is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you-ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."-LUKE, ii. 8-14.

"In some seas, as particularly about the coast of Malabar, as a ship floats along, it seems during the night to be surrounded with fire, and to leave a long tract of light behind it. Whenever the sea is gently agitated, it seems converted into little stars; every drop as it breaks emits light, like bodies electrified in the dark."-DARWIN.

Let worldly men

The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn,
And call fanatics them, who hazard health

And life, in testifying of the truth,

Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ!
What were the Galilean fishermen

But messengers commission'd to announce
The resurrection and the life to come?

They, too, though clothed with power of mighty works
Miraculous, were oft received with scorn;

Oft did their words fall powerless, though enforced
By deeds that mark'd Omnipotence their friend.
But when their efforts fail'd, unweariedly
They onward went, rejoicing in their course.
Like helianthus,* borne on downy wings
To distant realms, they frequent fell on soils
Barren and thankless; yet oft-times they saw
Their labours crown'd with fruit an hundred fold-
Saw the new converts testify their faith

By works of love-the slave set free, the sick
Attended, prisoners visited, the poor
Received as brothers at the rich man's board.
Alas! how different now the deeds of men
Nursed in the faith of Christ!-the free made slaves!
Stolen from their country, borne across the deep,
Enchain'd, endungeon'd, forced by stripes to live,
Doom'd to behold their wives, their little ones,
Tremble beneath the white man's fiend-like frown!
Yet even to scenes like this, the Sabbath brings
Alleviation of th' enormous woe;-

The oft-reiterated stroke is still;

The clotted scourge hangs hardening in the shrouds.
But see the demon man, whose trade is blood,
With dauntless front convene his ruffian crew,
To hear the sacred service read. Accursed
The wretch's bile-tinged lips profane the word
Of God: accursed, he ventures to pronounce
The decalogue, nor falters at that law
Wherein 'tis written, "Thou shalt do no murder :"
Perhaps while yet the words are on his lips,
He hears a dying mother's parting groan;
He hears her orphan'd child, with lisping plaint,
Attempt to rouse her from the sleep of death.

Oh England! England! wash thy purpled hands
Of this foul sin, and never dip them more
In guilt so damnable; then lift them up
In supplication to that God whose name
Is Mercy; then thou may'st, without the risk
Of drawing vengeance from the surcharged clouds,
Implore protection to thy menaced shores;
Then God will blast the tyrant's arm that grasps
The thunderbolt of ruin o'er thy head;
Then will he turn the wolvish race to prey
Upon each other; then will he arrest
The lava torrent, causing it regorge
Back to its source with fiery desolation.