All recklessly they rush to hear
The dark words of that gifted Seer,
Who amid a guilty race

Favour found and saving grace;

Rescued from the doom that hurled

To chaos back a sinful world.-
Self-polluted, lost, debased,

Every noble trait effaced,

To rapine, lust, and murder given,
Denying God! defying heaven!
Spoilers of the shrine and hearth,
Behold the impious sons of earth!-
Alas! all fatally opposed,

The heart of erring man is closed
Against that warning, and he deems
The Prophet's counsel idle dreams,
And laughs to hear the Preacher rave
Of bursting cloud and whelming wave!

Tremble, Earth! the awful doom
That sweeps thy millions to the tomb
Hangs darkly o'er thee,-and the train
That gaily throng the open plain,
Shall never raise those laughing eyes
To welcome summer's cloudless skies;
Shall never see the golden beam

Of daylight up the wood and stream,

Or the rich and ripened corn
Waving in the breath of morn,
Or their rosy children twine
Chaplets of the clustering vine.
The bow is bent! the shaft is sped!
Who shall wail above the dead?

What arrests their frantic course?
Back recoils the startled horse,
And the stifling sob of fear
Like a knell appals the ear!

Lips are quivering-cheeks are pale—
Paisied limbs all trembling fail-

Eyes with bursting terror gaze
On the sun's portentous blaze,
Through the wide horizon gleaming,
Like a blood-red banner streaming;
While, like chariots from afar,
Armed for elemental war,

Clouds in quick succession rise;

Darkness spreads o'er all the skies;

And a lurid twilight gloom

Closes o'er earth's living tomb!

Nature's pulse has ceased to play
Night usurps the crown of day,-
Every quaking heart is still,
Conscious of the coming ill.

Lo! the fearful pause is past

The awful tempest bursts at last!
Torrents sweeping down amain

With a deluge flood the plain;

The rocks are rent, the mountains reel,
Earth's yawning caves their depths reveal;
The forests groan,—the heavy gale
Shrieks out Creation's funeral wail.

Hark! that loud, tremendous roar!
Ocean overleaps the shore,
Pouring all his giant waves
O'er the fated land of graves;
Where his white-robed spirit glides,
Death the advancing billow rides,
And the mighty Conqueror smiles
In triumph o'er the sinking Isles!

Hollow murmurs fill the air,
Thunders roll and lightnings glare;

Shrieks of woe and fearful cries,
Mingled sounds of horror rise;

Dire confusion, frantic grief,
Agony that mocks relief:

Like a tempest heaves the crowd,

While in accents fierce and loud,

With pallid lips and curdled blood,

Each trembling cries, "THE FLOOD! THE FLOOD!"

STANZAS.

BY THE REV. HENRY THOMPSON, M. A.

I.

BENEATH thy lorn palm by the thunderbolt riven,

Weep, Daughter of Judah! thy sorrows alone; Thy sons to each wind of the firmament driven, Thine altars profaned, and thy ramparts o'erthrown.

II.

Weep, desolate Queen! if that tear may remove

The bloodstain that darkens thy stormwithered brow Pale symbol of hearts that in bitterness rove,

As darkling, as cold, as deserted as thou.

III.

Hope's fabrics are bright as thine innermost shrine : The tempest hath swept-the Shechinah hath past; And Love, from a region resplendent as thine,

Is driven to the stranger, the wild, and the blast.

Fallen spouse

IV.

of the Highest! Heaven's consort dethroned! Go, read thy dark tale to each wanderer bereaved; His sin thy rejection-a Saviour disowned : Thy hope his salvation-a Saviour received.

V.

Turn, Husband of Israel! O turn, and renew

Thine Image divine from earth's contact impure; O wean our weak hearts from all love but the true! O rein our wild hopes from all joy but the sure!

VI.

The severed, the dead, to thy love we entrust,
Too blest to repose in thy bosom alone;—
Yet oh! if one sigh for the treasures of dust

May breathe on the incense that floats to thy throne ;

VII.

If earth have some hopes which not heaven will condemn, Some ties which aspire the High Presence to see;

The friends past to glory-O raise us to them!

The friends left in sorrow

-O guide them to Thee!

Rectory, Wrington. August 6, 1830.