That oath is unbroken! that covenant never
Could perish, though Thee have thy people forgot;
That seed is uncounted — by kingdoms wherever
Did families cluster, and Israel not?

Thy Zion, though homeless and humbled, is written,
Thou graciously saidst, in remembrance above;
Her walls are before thee,* and now that she's smitten,
She turns to her Maker, and sues for his love.
Then oh, of her thousands, if here is one trusting
In Thee, that would come in contrition alone,
Wilt thou not accept him, and heal the heart bursting
With grief for its guilt, by a glance from the throne !
I search for the Prince of mysterious story,-

I gaze on the garden, the manger and tree,—
The tomb of his victory - I find there his glory,
But Him in the mercy that looks upon me!

FOR MOBILE.

BOSTON! that sittest in thy pride,
A very queen—

Whose arms to the afflicted, wide
Open are seen;

Who never, on thy noble throne,
By Commerce built-

Didst close thy ears to Misery's moan,
And never wilt-

* Behold I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.-Isaiah xlix. 16.

Where art thou, while the dreadful cries
Of houseless hundreds ring?

Where art thou, while the bitter sighs,
The Southern breezes bring,

Of those who draw the panting breath,
Whose home, the flames

Have swept away, whose bodies, Death
Eagerly claims ?

Hast thou not heard that yonder mart,
Whose thousand ships

Find mighty Trade's remotest heart,
Wherever dips

The needle, hath the element
Laid waste?

That death hath noonday arrows spent,
With fearful haste,

Among her proudest, loveliest?

On his pale steed

How sate the rider! Now do rest
Where worms shall feed,

Her children, on whom yester's sun
Did gaily shine-

To pleasure, love, and life's joys won,
Freely as thine !

Think they are of thy flesh and bone, Blood of thy blood;

They kneel with thee at Freedom's throne, They worship God;

Thy wandering sons and daughters they,

With generous heat

For their loved mother in the North, away,
Their pulses beat;

And never would their hearts be lapped
In selfish ease,

Did fires thy fair possessions wrap,
Thy sons, disease.

By dear humanity's sweet claim,
By pity's gem—

By pride, ambition, yea, by shame,
Look thou to them!

1839.

THE FURNITURE.

So near our cradles to our coffins are. Drummond of Hawthornden.

Two items make, of furniture, our store,
And choicest luxury need crave no more.
They're ample for the rich; of them possessed,
Is poverty with full abundance blest.

The Cradle, where is rocked our earliest cry,
The Coffin, where is hushed our latest sigh;
And all between is superfluity,

Unworthy, mortal, such regards of thee.

Fix, then, thine eye on these, and let thy heart
Seek for its furniture the better part,

Such as the wiser Mary chose; nor let

Inferior things thy noble spirit fret.

Thus on - till thou and I possess the land

Whose palaces are decked by God's own hand.

CHRISTIAN WARS.

A Turk, at Jerusalem, once said to Mr. Wolff, the missionary, "Why do you come to us?" The missionary replied, "To bring you peace." "Peace!" replied the Turk, leading Mr. Wolff to a window, and pointing him to Calvary, "there, upon the very spot where your Lord poured out his blood, the Mohammedan is obliged to interfere, to prevent Christians from shedding the blood of each other."

THE angels' song, that happy night
When spirits stooped to mortal ken,
Warbled from lips and lyres of light,
Was, Peace on earth, good will to men.

In Peace, the sages came, and paid
Their meed of gold and spice and myrrh;
And why such bliss on Mary laid?

She felt that Peace had come to her.

Peace was the theme, when precepts dropt
From Jesus' lips, like his own dew;
Who oped their eyes? Who ears unstopt?
His name was PEACE-'twas all they knew.

18

The word that lingered on his tongue,

When sighs and suffering soon should cease, And Jesse's Root be rudely flung

As a vile weed away, was Peace.

"Twas "Peace," that sweetly soothed the fear
Of those who mourned their Master slain :
With Peace their weapon, far and near,
They won the lands to him again.

Peace is inscribed on that broad scroll
The angel bears, whom Saint John saw :
Joy to all realms where pines a soul,
And to the isles, Jehovah's law!

And yet, oh, God! the Christian's wrath, Through all her seas, through all her zones, Has in Earth's bosom hewed a path

That's whitened with her children's bones.

In thy Son's name the sword drinks blood;
In thy Son's name, since first his Star
Spake Peace, has surged the angry flood
Of never-ebbing, whelming war.

Drop, Christendom! thy boasted name,
And let the humble take it - those
Who fear, in spite of taunt and shame,

To count their Christian fellows foes.