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And bring its fortress to the ground! and thus
He came among the throngs of earth; his eyes,
As he pass'd on through millions chain'd and bound
By sin, fell like a bale fire on their fetters,
And they were dust! while his sharp arrows glanced
Thicker than hail, to slay the murderous passions,
That hold their dreadful carnivals amid

The wrath of the full bosom, and the darkness
Of the benighted mind! Pride was struck down,
Like a remorseless tyrant on his throne,
Smote by a patriot's arm! Fiery Revenge,
Stirring her boiling cauldron of thick blood,
And quaffing it from human sculls, shrunk back
Aghast and pale! He had a withering look
For Malice, muttering her deep curses, shut
In cavern'd secresy; where scowling through
The gloom of her dark thoughts, like a foul witch,
Bearing the mark of Satan, mumbling spells
And dreadful incantations, and deep charms,
She sat through the long night, to fashion spells
For innocence! He had a withering look
For Envy, breathing foul her cancerous breath
On virtue, smiling through youth's golden prime,
As breathes a venomous reptile o'er a flower,
Giving back poison for its sweets. And thus
He passed through all triumphantly, his steed
Drinking at times of man's fermenting gall;
While his mail'd hoofs struck fire from flinty hearts,
Smote to the dust! The carcases of those
That marshall'd against heaven stern phalanxes
Of blasphemy and crime, were thickly spread
Around him as he rode! Anger's dark scowl-
Scorn's snaky lip-Lust's burning glance-and

Hate's,

Undying Hate's cold marble forehead, carved
Into immortal wrinkles, paved his way

Of victory. Heaven shouted as he past,
And earth did shudder, but yet welcomed him!
Thus he went forth, both conquering and to conquer,
Became at once the Way, the Truth, the Life.
His bow for ever bent! eternal strife
With passion, and iniquity, and sin,
Still flaming on his brow-annihilation
To evil raging in the minds of men,
Still burning in his glance!-

W. MARTIN.

HOPE OF THE SAINTS.

OH! for that glorious hour, when the pure soul,
Enfranchised and made perfect by its Lord,
Shall burst its earthy prison, and mount up
To that eternal world-that happy state
Where WISDOM is made perfect, and all things
Are even as they seem; where dust-clogg'd sense,
And dull and dim infirmity, no more

Can cheat us and deceive. That hour will come,
Yea, swiftly too, and all will be unbound,
All be made clear; no shadows, no thick clouds,
No darkness-but, instead, eternal light,
Revealing all. And this may be a part
Of joy celestial-to have wisdom's eyes
Unscaled to light divine; the attributes,
Perfection, power, might, will, and majesty,
And the dark counsels, ways, and mysteries,
Of the Eternal, all set clear before

The new-born faculties. Then shall be seen
Why the oppressor and the bold bad man,
Who trod and triumph'd over innocence,
Had the time-serving homage of the world,
And lived in ease and fond security

Through lengthen'd years. Then shall be seen why meek

And lowly piety, who often came

With trembling steps, to pick the fallen crumbs
From the voluptuous board, was sent away

With frowns, and stern upbraidings, and harsh

words,

To eat her crust in dreary solitude,

Moisten'd with tears.

those

Then shall be seen why

Who hated virtue, and who trod on truth,
Who scorn'd at holiness, and made a mock
At God, were suffer'd to reign on in sin,

With the world's pleasures bound around their brows

Like young spring flowers; while the upright and good,

Outcasts upon a heartless world, knew not

Where they might lay their heads. Yes, this may be Our knowledge then: and feeling this, the soul Rejoices in the prospect that the hour

Of dissolution is not far away;

For that will show us all things, and resolve
All seeming contradictions. Faint not then,
Ye faithful few, who patient bear the load
And burden still; kiss the chains ye wear,
They are your future ornaments,-the grave
Your door to brighter mansions; yet be calm,
A little longer hope, and raise your eyes,

And it will open you to such a scene

As worldlings ne'er conceived, and saintly eyes
Conceived but dimly. Your world is not
This world, I know; its glories and its joys
Belong to other souls-'tis you alone
Exist within yourselves, and nought beside,
Save virtue, hath itself within itself,

To its own essence bright. All knowledge, save
The wisdom from above, is but to you
As foolishness and vanity; ye look

Through faith for brighter issues than the poor
And paltry visions of this fleeting hour,

And languish and expatiate in love

For Heavenly Wisdom, that Great Good alone. W. MARTIN.

THE REDEEMED.

Oн, the hour when this material
Shall have vanish'd as a cloud;
When amid the wide ethereal
All th' invisible shall crowd;
And the naked soul, surrounded
With realities unknown,
Triumph in the view unbounded,
Feel herself with God alone.

In that sudden, strange transition,
By what new and finer sense
Shall she grasp the mighty vision,
And receive its influence?

Angels, guard the new immortal
Through the wonder-teeming space,
To the everlasting portal,

To the spirit's resting-place.

Will she, then, with fond emotion,
Aught of earthly love retain ?
Or, absorb'd in pure devotion,

Will no mortal trace remain?
Can the grave those ties dissever,
With the very heart-strings twined?
Must she part, and part for ever,
With the friend she leaves behind?

No: the past she still remembers;
Faith and hope, surviving too,
Ever watch those sleeping embers,
Which must rise and live anew;
For the widow'd, lonely spirit,
Waiting to be clothed afresh,
Longs perfection to inherit,

And to triumph in the flesh.

Angels, let the ransom'd stranger
In your tender care be blest,
Hoping, trusting, safe from danger,
Till the trumpet end her rest;
Till the trump which shakes creation,
Through the circling heavens shall roll;
Till the day of consummation,

Till the bridal of the soul.

Can I trust a fellow-being?
Can I trust an angel's care?
O thou merciful All-seeing!
Beam around my spirit there.

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