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My boy !-my boy !-have you seen my boy?" Not another thought does her mind employNot a gleam of hope for the past can she borrow, And she wanders along in the grasp of her sorrow.
Translated from the Russian of Derzhaving, by Mr. BOWRING.
O thou eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy; all motion guide ; Unchanged through time's all devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside ! Being above all beings! Mighty One!
Whom none can comprehend and none explore ; Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : Embracing all,—supporting,—ruling o'er,
Being whom we call God—and know no more !
In its sublime research, philosophy
May measure out the ocean deep-may count The sands or the sun's rays—but, God! for thee
There is no weight nor measure :-none can mount Up to Thy mysteries ; Reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try To trace Thy counsels infinite and dark :
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence; Lord ! on Thee Eternity had its foundation :-all
Sprung forth from Thee : of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin :—all life, all beauty Thine.
Thy word created all, and doth create; Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine,
Thou art and wert, and shalt be! Glorious! Great! Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate!
Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround;
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath! Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee;
pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise.
A million torches lifted by Thy hand
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss : They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light
A glorious company of golden streamsLamps of celestial ether burning bright
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But Thou to these art as the noon to night.
Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,
All this magnificence in Thee is lost :What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?
And what am I then? Heaven's unnumber'd host, Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought, Is but an atom in the balance weighed
Against Thy greatness, is a cypher brought Against infinity! What am I then? Nought !
Nought! But the effluence of Thy light divine,
Pervading worlds, hath reach'd my bosom too; Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,
As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Nought! but I live and on hope's pinions fly
Eager towards Thy presence : for in Thee
Even to the throne of Thy divinity.
Thou art! directing, guiding all, Thou art !
Direct my understanding then to Thee!
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:
Though but an atom 'midst immensity,
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land.
The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost, And the next step is spirit,--Deity !
I can command the lightning and am dust! A monarch and a slave ; a worm, a god !
Whence came I here and how ? so marvellously Constructed and conceived ? unknown ! this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy ;
Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word
Created me! Thou source of light and good ! Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord !
Thy light, Thy love in their bright plenitude Filled me with an immortal soul to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, Even to its source—to Thee-its Author there.
0 thoughts ineffable ! O visions bless'd !
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee,
Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to Thy Deity,
Thus seek thy presence-Being wise and good ! 'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.
A Sabbath in the wilds of Africa.
A FEW years ago, Mr. Pringle, one of the original editors of Blackwood's Magazine, joined a party of emigrants to South Africa. He afterwards returned to England, and published a delightful narrative of his adventures in the wilds of that continent, from which the following account is extracted. It is to be regretted that he did not long survive the completion of his interesting and important volume. Mr. Pringle thus describes the first Sabbath he spent in the wilderness :
The next day, July 2nd, was our first Sunday on our own grounds. Feeling deeply the importance of maintaining the suitable observance of this day of sacred rest, it was unanimously resolved that we