Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is He?

By the prayer for them that slew,
"Lord! they know not what they do!"
By the spoiled and empty grave,
By the souls He died to save,

By the conquest He hath won,

By the saints before His throne,
By the rainbow round His brow,
Son of God! 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou!

THE JUDGMENT.

THE chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll on fire,
As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire:
Self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud,

And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowed.

The glory! the glory! by myriads are poured

The hosts of the angels to wait on their Lord;
And the glorified saints and the martyrs are there,
And all who the palm-wreath of victory wear!

The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard:

So the depths of the stone-covered charnel are stirred :

From the sea, from the land, from the south and the north, The vast generations of man are come forth.

The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set,

Where the Lamb and the white-vested Elders are met!
All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on his word!

O Mercy! O Mercy! look down from above,
Creator! on us, thy sad children, with love!
When beneath, to their darkness the wicked are driven,
May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven!

HENRY KEBLE,

A MEMBER of the University of Oxford, is the author of a work entitled The Christian Year, which has been very favourably received by all who can duly appreciate the union of Christian truth and high poetic power which it exhibits.

MORNING.

HUES of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible,
Around his path are taught to swell.

Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing.

Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay for soft rains, in season given,
Their tribute to the genial heaven;

Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless sight,
Who, day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of heaven and you partake?

Oh! timely happy, timely wise,

Hearts that with rising morn arise;

Eyes that the beam celestial view,

Which evermore makes all things new.

VOL. II.

14

New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life and power and thought.

New mercies each returning day,
Hover around us while we pray;

New perils past, new sins forgiven,

New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be,

As more of heaven in each we see;
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.

Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,
Fit us for perfect rest above;
And keep us this, and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.

AUTUMN.

RED o'er the forest peers the setting sun,

The line of yellow light dies fast away

That crowned the eastern copse; and chill and dun Falls on the moon the brief November day.

Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,

And Echo bids good night from every glade : Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float, Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.

How like decaying life they seem to glide

And yet no second spring have they in store;

But where they fall, forgotten, to abide,

Is all their portion, and they ask no more.

Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,

A thousand wild flowers round them shall unfold;

The green buds glisten in the dews of spring,

And all be vernal rapture as of old.

Unconscious, they in waste oblivion lie ;-
In all the world of busy life around
No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky
No drop for them of kindly influence found.

Man's portion is to die and rise again,

Yet he complains; while these, unmurmuring, part With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain As his, when Eden held his virgin heart.

And haply half-unblamed, his murmuring voice
Might sound in heaven, were all his second life
Only the first renewed-the heathen's choice,

A round of listless joy and weary strife.

For dreary were this earth, if earth were all,

Though brightened oft by dear affection's kiss: Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall?

But catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis bliss.

Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart :

Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart

O'er wave or field, yet breezes laugh to scorn

Our puny speed; and birds, and clouds in heaven,

And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main, And stars that shoot through freezing air at even,

Who but would follow, might he break his chain?

And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling worm
Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free

As his transfigured Lord, with lightning form
And snowy vest-such grace He won for thee,

When from the grave He sprung at dawn of morn,
And led through boundless air thy conquering road,
Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new-born,
Might fearless follow to their blest abode.

But first, by many a stern and fiery blast,

The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine,— And many a gale of keenest woe be passed, Till every pulse beat time to airs divine,

Till every limb obey the mounting soul,

The mounting soul the call by Jesus given: He whom the stormy heart can so control,

The laggard body soon will waft to heaven.