and, by consequence, the most readily perceived. Mr. Headley says:-"With a peculiar devotional cast, he possessed one of those ineffable minds which border on enthusiasm, and, when fortunately directed, occasionally produce great things." The following generously admiring lines to his friend Crashaw are from the pen of Abraham Cowley :

"Poet and saint! to thee alone are given

The two most sacred names of earth and heaven,
The hard and rarest union which can be,

Next that of Godhead with humanity.

Long did the Muses banished slaves abide,

And built their pyramids to human pride;

Like Moses, thou, though spells and charms withstand,

Hast brought them nobly back to their Holy Land.

Hail, Bard triumphant, and some care bestow

On us, the poets militant below,

Opposed by our old enemy, adverse chance,

Attacked by envy and by ignorance.

Thou from low earth in nobler flames didst rise,

And like Elijah mount alive the skies."

EASTER DAY.

Rise, heir of fresh eternity,

From thy virgin-tomb:

Rise, mighty man of wonders, and thy world with thee, Thy tomb, the universal east,

Nature's new womb;

Thy tomb, fair immortality's perfuméd nest.

Of all the glories make noon gay

This is the morn,

This rock buds forth the fountain of the stream of day. In joy's white annals live this hour,

When life was born,

No cloud scowl on his radiant lids, no tempest lour!

Life, by this light's nativity,

All creatures have.

Death only by this day's just doom is forced to die;
Nor is death forced; for may he lie

Throned in thy grave,

Death will on this condition be content to die.

TO THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME-THE NAME OF JESUS.

A HYMN.

I sing the Name which none can say,
But touched with an interior ray;
The name of our new peace; our good;
Our bliss, and supernatural blood;
The name of all our lives and loves:
Hearken and help, ye heavenly doves!
The high-born brood of day; you bright
Candidates of blissful light,

The heirs elect of love; whose names belong
Unto the everlasting life of song;

All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast
Of this unbounded Name build your warm nest.
Awake, my glory! soul (if such thou be,
And that fair word at all refer to thee),
Awake and sing,
And be all wing!

Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see
What of thy parent heaven yet speaks in thec.
O thou art poor

Of noble powers, I see,

And full of nothing else but empty me
Narrow and low, and infinitely less

Than this great morning's mighty business.
One little world or two,

Alas! will never do;

We must have store;

Go, soul, out of thyself, and seek for more;
Go and request

Great Nature for the key of her huge chest
Of heavens, the self-revolving set of spheres,
Which dull mortality more feels than hears;
Then rouse the nest

Of nimble art, and traverse round
The airy shop of soul-appeasing sound:
And beat a summons in the same

All-sovereign Name,

To warn each several kind

And shape of sweetness-be they such

As sigh with supple wind

Or answer artful touch

That they convene and come away

To wait at the love-crowned doors of that illustrious day
Shall we dare this, my soul? We'll do it and bring
No other note for't but the Name we sing.

Wake lute and harp,

And every sweet-lipped thing
That talks with tuneful string,

Start into life, and leap with me
Into a hasty fit-toned harmony.

Nor must you think it much
To obey my bolder touch;

I have authority in Love's name to take you,
And to the work of love this morning wake you;
Wake in the name

Of Him who never sleeps, all things that are,
Or, what's the same,
Are musical;
Answer my call

And come along;

Help me to meditate mine immortal song.
Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth,
Bring all your household-stuff of heaven on earth;
O you, my soul's most certain wings,
Complaining pipes, and prattling strings,

Bring all the store

Of sweets you have, and murmur that you have no more. Come, ne'er to part,

Nature and art!

Come, and come strong,

To the conspiracy of our spacious song.

Bring all the powers of praise

Your provinces of well-united worlds can raise;
Bring all your lutes and harps of Heaven and Earth;
Whate'er co-operates to the common mirth,
Vessels of vocal joys,

Or you, more noble architects of intellectual noise,
Cymbals of heaven, or human spheres,

Solicitors of souls or ears;

And when you are come, with all

That you can bring, or we can call,
O may you fix

For ever here, and mix

Yourselves into the long

And everlasting series of a deathless song;

Mix all your many worlds, above,
And loose them into one of love.

Cheer thee, my heart!

For thou too hast thy part
And place in the great throng

Of this unbounded, all-embracing song.
Powers of my soul, be proud!
And speak aloud

To all the dear-bought nations this redeeming name,
And in the wealth of one rich word proclaim
New similes to Nature. May it be no wrong
Blest Heavens, to you, and your superior song,
That we, dark sons of dust and sorrow,
Awhile dare borrow

The name of your delights and our desires,
And fit it to so far inferior lyres.

Our murmurs have their music too,

Ye mighty orbs, as well as you,

Nor yields the noblest nest
Of warbling seraphim to the ears of love
A choicer lesson than the joyful breast
Of a poor panting turtle-dove.
And we, poor worms, have leave to do

The same bright business, ye third Heavens, with you.
Gentle spirits, do not complain;

We will have care

To keep it fair,

And send it back to you again.

Come, lovely Name! appear from forth the bright
Regions of perfect light;

Look from thine own illustrious home,

Fair king of names, and come:

Leave all thy native glories in their gorgeous nest,
And give thyself awhile the gracious guest

Of humble souls, that seek to find

The hidden sweets

Which man's heart meets

When thou art master of the mind.
Come, lovely Name! life of our hope!
Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope!

Unlock thy cabinet of day,

Dearest sweet, and come away.

Lo, how the thirsty lands

Gasp for thy golden showers, with long-stretched

hands!

Lo, how the labouring earth,
That hopes to be

All heaven by thee,

Leaps at thy birth!

The attending world, to wait thy rise,
First turned to eyes;

And then, not knowing what to do,
Turned them to tears, and spent them too.
Come, royal Name! and pay the expense
Of all this precious patience.

Oh, come away

And kill the death of this delay.

Oh, see so many worlds of barren years
Melted and measured out in seas of tears
Oh, see the weary lids of wakeful hope
(Love's eastern windows) all wide ope
With curtains drawn,

To catch the daybreak of thy dawn!
Oh, dawn at last, long looked-for day!
Take thine own wings, and come away.
Lo, where aloft it comes! It comes, among
The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng
Like diligent bees, and swarm about it.
Oh, they are wise,

And know what sweets are sucked from out it.
It is the hive

By which they thrive,

Where all their hoard of honey lies.

Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's
Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves.
Welcome to our dark world, thou womb of day!
Unfold thy fair conceptions; and display

The birth of our bright joys. Oh, thou compacted
Body of blessings! spirit of souls extracted!
Oh, dissipate thy spicy powers,

Cloud of condenséd sweets! and break upon us
In balmy showers!

Oh, fill our senses, and take from us

All force of so profane a fallacy,

To think aught sweet but that which smells of thee. Fair flowery Name! in none but thee,

And thy nectareal fragrancy,

Hourly there meets

An universal synod of all sweets;