Diffused throughout the infinitude of space,
Who art Thyself thine own vast dwelling-place;
Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of ours
Discerns, eluding our most active powers;
Encircling shades attend Thine awful throne,
That veil thy face, and keep Thee still unknown;
Unknown, though dwelling in our inmost part,
Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heart!
Repeat the charming truth that never tires,
No God is like the God my soul desires!
He at whose voice heaven trembles, even He,
Great as He is, knows how to stoop to me.
Lo! there He lies; that smiling infant said,
"Heaven, earth, and sea exist!"-and they obeyed.
Even He, whose Being swells beyond the skies,
Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and dies;
Eternal and Immortal, seems to cast

That glory from His brows, and breathes His last.
Trivial and vain the works that man has wrought,
How do they shrink and vanish at the thought!
Sweet solitude, and scene of my repose!
This rustic sight assuages all my woes.-
That crib contains the Lord, whom I adore ;
And earth's a shade, that I pursue no more.
He is my firm support, my rock, my tower,
I dwell secure beneath His sheltering power,
And hold this mean retreat for ever dear,
For all I love, my soul's delight, is here.
I see the Almighty swathed in infant bands,
Tied helpless down the Thunder-bearer's hands,
And in this shed that mystery discern,
Which faith and love, and they alone, can learn.

Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord!
Ye zephyrs, all your whispered sweets afford !
Confess the God that guides the rolling year;
Heaven, do Him homage; and thou, Earth, revere !
Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither bring
Your hearts an offering, and adore your King!
Pure be those hearts, and rich in Faith and Love;
Join in His praise, the harmonious world above;
To Bethlehem haste, rejoice in His repose,
And praise Him there for all that He bestows:
Man, busy Man, alas! can ill afford

To obey the summons, and attend the Lord;
Perverted reason revels and runs wild,

By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguiled;
And, blind to genuine excellence and grace,
Finds not her Author in so mean a place.
Ye unbelieving! learn a wiser part,

Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart;
There, soon ye shall perceive a kindling flame
Glow for that infant God from whom it came;

Resist not, quench not, that divine desire,
Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire!

Not so will I requite thee, gentle Love!
Yielding and soft this heart will ever prove;
And every heart beneath thy power should fall,
Glad to submit, could mine contain them all.
But I am poor; oblation I have none,
None for a Saviour, but Himself alone :
Whate'er I render Thee, from Thee it came ;
And if I give my body to the flame,
My patience, love, and energy divine

Of heart, and soul, and spirit, all are thine.

Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score !
The more I pay, I owe Thee still the more.
Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt
The trophy of Thy glory shall be built;
My self-disdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformity its fairest grace;
For destitute of good, and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.

And do Í grieve at such an humbling lot?
Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought.
Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu!
I have no wish, no memory for you:
The more I feel my misery, I adore
The sacred Inmate of my soul the more;
Rich in His love, I feel my noblest pride
Spring from the sense of having nought beside.

In Thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might;

My wanderings prove Thy wisdom infinite;
All that I have I give Thee; and then see

All contrarieties unite in Thee;

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For Thou hast joined them, taking up our woe,

This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise,

And the hills sink,-'tis matching earth and skies!

I feel my weakness, thank Thee, and deplore

An aching heart, that throbs to thank Thee more;

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The more I love Thee, I the more reprove

A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love;

Till, on a deluge of Thy mercy tossed,

I plunge into that sea, and there am lost.

GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY THE WORLD.

YE linnets, let us try, beneath this grove,

Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise !

In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove,

For all the world is blind, and wanders from His ways.

That God alone should prop the sinking soul,
Fills them with rage against His empire now :
I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole,
To seek one simple heart, set free from all below.

They speak of love, yet little feel its sway,
While in their bosoms many an idol lurks;
Their base desires, well-satisfied, obey,

Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon His works.

'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more; Your fellowship, ye warblers! suits me best :

Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore, Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest.

My God, who formed you for His praise alone, Beholds His purpose well fulfilled in you:

Come, let us join the choir before His throne, Partaking in His praise with spirits just and true!

Yes, I will always love; and, as I ought, Tune to the praise of Love my ceaseless voice; Preferring Love too vast for human thought, In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice.

Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, Lord of my soul! that they might all be thine?

If Thou approve, the zeal Thy smile imparts, How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline?

Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire; Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze:

Eternal Love a God must needs inspire, When once he wins the heart, and fits it for His praise.

Self-love dismissed, 'tis then we live indeed,—

Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed,

Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound.

Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear,

Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone;

Let His unequalled excellence be dear,

Dear to your inmost souls, and make Him all your own!

They hear me not.-Alas! how fond to rove In endless chase of folly's specious lure!

'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, I taste the sweets of truth,-here only am secure.

THE SWALLOW.

I AM fond of the swallow ;-I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love :
How seldom on earth do we see her alight!
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.

It is on the wing that she takes her repose,

Suspended and poised in the regions of air;
'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows,
It is winged like herself, 'tis ethereal fare.

She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays,
And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun :-
So, true to our Love, we should covet his rays,

And the place where he shines not, immediately shun.
Our light should be Love, and our nourishment prayer ;
It is dangerous food that we find upon earth:
The fruit of this world is beset with a snare,

In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth.

'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below,

And only when building a nest for her young;
Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow
A thought upon anything filthy as dung.

Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode)
To bask every moment in infinite Love;
Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road
That leads to the Dayspring appearing above.

A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION OF THE PROCEDURE OF
DIVINE LOVE,

IN BRINGING A SOUL TO THE POINT OF SELF-RENUNCIATION
AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE.

'Twas my purpose, on a day,
To embark and sail away;
As I climbed the vessel's side,
Love was sporting in the tide;
"Come," he said, "ascend! make haste,
"Launch into the boundless waste."

Many mariners were there,
Having each his separate care;
They that rowed us held their eyes
Fixed upon the starry skies;
Others steered, or turned the sails
To receive the shifting gales.

Love, with power divine supplied,
Suddenly my courage tried;
In a moment it was night,
Ship and skies were out of sight;
On the briny wave I lay,
Floating rushes all my stay.

Did I with resentment burn
At this unexpected turn?
Did I wish myself on shore,
Never to forsake it more?
No:-" My soul," I cried, "be still!
"If I must be lost, I will.'

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A CHILD OF GOD LONGING TO SEE HIM BELOVED.