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THE NATIVITY.

BY THE REV. THOMAS DALE, M. A.

A light is kindling o'er the midnight sky,

Of broad unwonted brightness ;-the hushed air
Is filled with sounds of strange, sweet melody,

As though an Angel choir were hymning there
Celestial strains ;-and each aërial Power
Had lit the starry lamp within his beacon tower.

And hark! fresh sounds; and lo! the scattered beams
Condense into a wreath of living light;
Pure as the chaste, cold moonbeams, yet more bright
Than the full noontide blaze, behold it streams
Above, around an earthly dwelling-place-
Heaven sheds its purest rays on some of mortal race!

Why shine ye thus, ye Heavens ? and wherefore, Earth!

Art thou thus graced by splendours not thine own?
Say, who and where is He, at whose glad birth

Revealed, the glory of the Lord hath shone ?
Not thus it kindled, when the Law was given,
And through its central caves was startled Sinai riven!

Is it the hoped Deliverer, whose dread sword

Shall smite the Heathen hosts, in holiest war?
Is it the Sceptre, now at length restored

To Judah’s royal line? The Sacred Star
That shall outshine the day's proud orb, and bless
Glad Israel's rescued seed, a Sun of Righteousness ?

'Tis all! 'tis more! Upon a lowly bed

Within a lowliest dwelling, there is One
Not earthly, though on earth ; and though the Son

Of God, yet born of woman! 'Round his head
Those

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

forgiven!

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DALE ABBEY.

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.

I.

The glory hath departed from thee, Dale!
Thy gorgeous pageant of Monastic pride.
-A Power, that once the power of Kings defied,
Which truth and reason might in vain assail,
In mock humility, usurped this vale,
And lorded o'er the region far and wide :
Darkness to light, evil to good, allied,
Had wrought a charm which made all hearts to quail.

What gave that Power dominion o’er this ground,
Age after age?—The word of God was bound.

- At length the mighty Captive burst from thrall,
O'er-turned the spiritual Bastile in its march,
And left, of ancient grandeur, this sole Arch,
Whose stones cry out, “Thus Babylon herself shall fall.”

II.

More beautiful in ruin than in prime,
Methinks the frail yet firm memorial stands,
The work of heads laid low, and buried hands :
-Now slowly mouldering to the touch of time,
It looks abroad, unconsciously sublime,
Where sky above, and earth below, expands :
- And yet a nobler relic still demands
The grateful tribute of a passing rhyme.

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 !

Sheffield, 1830.

YET, “HOPE.”

BY THE AUTHOR OF

6

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

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