'Tis sweet to muse o'er days gone by, Then lift to Him the adoring eye,

Who stills the battle's roar,

And think how soon the hand of Time Must close its page of blood and crime!

Sweet hour of eve! quick to his cave
Sinks down the blazing sun,
Flinging his glories o'er the wave,
'Ere yet his race be run-
Lo, as he dies, he lifts his gaze,
Up to the zenith shoots his rays,
Blending all hues in one,

And bids each beam, that wanders by,
Cast its last glance, as first, on high!

Yield me a beam, fair sun, to ascend,
Up to the mount of God,

For all around their aid shall lend,

E'en to the leafless rod !

The milk-white kine, with gentle eye,
The birds, that shoot the azure sky,

The insect of the sod,

The little flies, that gleam so bright,

Like earth-born stars, the live-long night,

The dusky groves, the mountain's brow,
The still, smooth, glassy lake-
All woo the mind to converse now,

Loved for their Master's sake.
My spirit, tossed abroad with storm,
Sees in His works the Saviour's form,
And would to Him awake,

And list His voice from lake and hill-
My child! why tremblest thou? be still!'

Lord, I am still! breathe on my soul,
Balm of a Sabbath-eve!

While gathering shades around me roll,
Thy blessing with me leave!

The sun may set-if thou arise
Darkness no longer clouds the skies,

Nor snares their meshes weave-
With Thee the storms of passion cease,
And all is Happiness and Peace.

FLORENCE.

AS THE MOUNTAINS ARE ROUND ABOUT JERUSALEM, SO THE LORD IS ROUND ABOUT HIS PEOPLE, FROM HENCEFORTH EVEN FOR EVER. PSALM CXXV. 2

SEE Florence, on the broad earth's breast
Lie, like a lioness at rest,

Her deeds of vengeance done;

Tho' dark and bristling yet her mane,
Harmless, she stretches on the plain,
And slumbers in the sun.

Many her works of might-but now
Time settles on her furrowed brow,

And Peace soothes each alarm :
Shorn of her strength, if foes are nigh,
Up to the hills she lifts her eye,

And trusts another arm.

TE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY,

ASTO i

FOUNDAT ex