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BY THE REV. THOMAS DALE, M. A.
A light is kindling o'er the midnight sky,
Of broad unwonted brightness ;-the hushed air
As though an Angel choir were hymning there
And hark! fresh sounds; and lo! the scattered beams
Why shine ye thus, ye Heavens ? and wherefore, Earth!
Art thou thus graced by splendours not thine own?
Revealed, the glory of the Lord hath shone ?
Is it the hoped Deliverer, whose dread sword
Shall smite the Heathen hosts, in holiest war?
To Judah’s royal line? The Sacred Star
'Tis all! 'tis more! Upon a lowly bed
Within a lowliest dwelling, there is One
Of God, yet born of woman! 'Round his head
rays are circling, till they seem to shine With such resplendent blaze as gilds the Throne divine !
Well may they shine! It is the promised Son
EMMANUEL, God with us; revealed on earth The living image of the viewless One !
Well may they shine! By His auspicious birth Peace comes to dwell on Earth-joy reigns in HeavenHell trembles—Sin is chained_Death vanquished-Man
BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.
A solitary Arch, standing in the midst of an open meadow, and a small Oratory, more ancient than the dilapidated monastery itself, and now the chapel for the hamlet, are alone conspicuous, of all the magnificent structures which once occupied this ground. The site is about five miles south-east of Derby.
The glory hath departed from thee, Dale!
What gave that Power dominion o’er this ground,
- At length the mighty Captive burst from thrall,
More beautiful in ruin than in prime,
Beneath yon cliff, an humble roof behold! Poor as our Saviour's birth-place; yet the fold, Where the Good Shepherd, in this quiet vale, Gathers his flock, and feeds them, as of old, With bread from heaven :- I change my note; All hail ! The glory of the Lord is risen upon thee, Dale !
BY THE AUTHOR OF
THE LIVING AND THE DEAD.'
It was a sorrowful group which gathered around Henry M-, on the twentieth anniversary of his marriage, in the garden house of the little vicarage at Wilmington. It was evening — the stillness of the gentle skies, the softness of the summer breeze, the stars in their distant loveliness, the moon in her mild and tranquil radiance, all spoke the language of harmony and peace. Alas! for those whom nature has no power to soothe. That anguish must indeed be acute, which makes us loathe the face of creation beaming in beauty and brightness, and hide ourselves from its smile. Those must be moments of unimaginable bitterness, when the loveliness of nature without, cannot charm away the recollection of misery within.
Henry M---, the ex-curate of Wilmington, was