Who hears a child's as well as prelate's prayer.

And thus he stood

on Whitefield's form his glance

In reverence fixed

and hoped deliverance.

Meanwhile, the recreant teacher, where was he? Gone in effrontery to take his tea

With the lad's mother!

- Supper done, he told The feat that should display her son as bold. With eye indignant, and with words of flame,

How showers that mother scorn, rebuke, and shame!
And bids him haste! and hastes herself, to bring
Him from Death's realm who knew not yet its sting:
And yet believed - - so well her son she knew-
The noble boy would to himself be true :

He would sustain himself, and she should find
Him patient and possessed, she trusted well his mind.

The boy yet lives - and from that distant hour Dates much of truth that on his heart hath power; And chiefly this-whate'er of wit is wed To word of his-to reverence the dead.

SATURDAY EVENING.

My God! this hour doth thought invite,
That bird-like would for shelter flee,
Tired with its six-days' weary flight —
To fold its wings, and rest with Thee.

I long to soar above the vain

And false delights that compass me ! Break, Lord, the world's entangling chain, And set the joyful captive free.

'Tis said the time ere that which brings
The early blush of Sabbath light,
Is never vexed by evil things,

Is ne'er disturbed by fiends of night;
So like that hour, I fain would choose
My soul to be-its calm delight
So deep-that Folly must refuse
To stay, and Sin be loath to fright.

Sweet Evening! whose delightful air
Already scents of Sabbath gales;
Refresh me! cheer me! and repair
The vigor that so often fails;
And fit me for the morrow's toil
In gardens where the soul inhales
Rich fragrance, gathering flowery spoil
On rosy hills, in lilied vales.

If such the prospects that may pass
Before a pilgrim here below,

Who gazes through the shepherd's glass,
The far celestial scenes to know-
How glorious, waking from the dream
Of life's delusions, care and wo,
Must that high world of beauty seem
Whose earthly glimpses ravish so!

THE SABBATH.

The day that God calls his, make not thine own
By sports, or play, though 'tis a custom grown;
God's day of mercy whoso doth profane,
God's day of judgment doth for him remain.

MS. Poetry of the Seventeenth Century.

Toil! with thy thousand cares, away!

I seek its hallowed rest.

When virgin Earth was young,

The word that blest it came;

With trumpet's voice the mandate rung

From Sinai's hill of flame.

Joy for the Sabbath hours!

My soul, think on thy vow;

Lie trembling, ye tumultuous powers!
Tread softly, worldlings, now!

This Resurrection Morn

Broke ancient Midnight's spell, When ONE of lowly woman horn, Spoiled Death and eager Hell.

Up, for retirement's haunt!

The solemn, secret place,

Where God supplies the spirit's want
With treasures of his grace.

Its hushed and early hour
Invites prevailing men ;

The Sabbath day-break! — Oh, there's power

With Him to wrestle then.

Up! where Devotion waits,

Where the bowed heart adores;

Be lifted, oh, ye temple gates!
Be opened, joyful doors!
There, at the organ's peal,
And choir's melodious tone
Of rising anthem, humbly kneel
Before thy Father's throne.

Up! for the paschal feast

The bread and wine are here;

Thou, whom thy heart esteems as least,
Art welcome to the cheer.

The spousals of the King

And Church are held to-day; Thy willing gift of gladness bring, And bring thy white array.

Weep! for there is a loss

The enemy has gained;
Weep, follower, beneath the cross,
The Sabbath is profaned!

Oh, not alone by those :

Yet darker is the frown:

The CHRISTIAN joins the Sabbath foes,

By him 'tis trodden down!

NIAGARA.

NIAGARA!the poetry of God!

Whose numbers tell, in everlasting hymn,
Only of God! The morning stars that woke
Music along their courses, early caught
Its far off echoes, and in wild delight

Returned them, softened, round the universe.
Think not, think not, Earth's triflers! that for you
And garish Day, these melodies chime on.
When ye, diminished, lost, are known not, Night,
Night to the awful anthem ever hearkens,
And ever with new joy. Oh, how sublime
The symphony, that, under the expanse
Of stars, peals on in unexhausted power:
Niagara ! — and the sole listener, Night!

SHIP OF THE LINE PENNSYLVANIA.

"LEAP forth to the careering seas,"

Oh, ship of lofty name!

And toss upon thy native breeze

The stars and stripes of fame!

And bear thy thunders o'er the deep

Where vaunting navies ride!
Thou hast a nation's gems to keep-
Her honor and her pride!