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Amid the flame I'll sound His praise,
For just and righteous are His ways.
It is His hand-what though He slay!
He gave, then let Him take away!
No more I view my mother earth,
She gives me death, who gave me birth;
Yet what her burning mass to me?
Elijah's car of victory!

She slays the body; but the soul,
In its Redeemer's presence blest,
Where fiery floods may never roll,
Basks joyous in eternal rest,
Chanting the lay, 'mid hosts above,
I know I know my GOD IS LOVE!

THE BAY OF NAPLES.

HE SITTETH UPON THE WATER-FLOOD.-PSALM XXIX. 10.

IN our frail bark we lie;

And, as we watch the waste of waters drear,
Gloomily heaving 'neath the louring sky,

How sweet the thought, 'mid dread of danger nigh,
That He is near !

Though dark the night, nor moon

Nor stars look out, the restless eye to cheer;
Yon lightning-flash, or phosphor-gleam, a boon
Of blessings notes, as bright as blaze of noon,
For He is near !

Though sullen be the roar

Of Ocean's swell, loud booming on the ear,
And deep its bellowing on the distant shore;
He rules the water-flood, throned evermore,

And He is near!

Though no spice-bearing trees

Steal on the sense, and spring the memory's tear, While thoughts of past delights the affections seize,These nightly winds breathe sweet as evening breeze, For He is near !

Though helpless in our need,

The sport of the rude storm our bark appear,
And ruder sea, which, like an o'er-fed steed,
Joys in its strength, and glories in its deed;
Yet He is near !

Then let the unconscious wave

Roll onward with the winds,-we need not fear!
Though swift the tempest rushes from its cave,
And the sea lap to whelm us in its grave;
Yet He is near !

He bows the darksome sky,

And bids the noisy flood his mandate hear;
While shrink the awe-struck waves, and sweeping by
Utter their voice, and lift their hands on high,1
For He is near !

Thus, through the boiling sea,

He landward bears secure His children dear,
And bids SORRENTO's rocks our haven be;
But sea or land, calm, storm, alike to me,
Since He is near !

1 Hab. iii. 10.

VILLA REALE.

AT THE BASE OF THE STATUE OF MINERVA,

THEY

THAT MAKE A GRAVEN IMAGE ARE ALL OF THEM VANITY, AND THEIR DELECTABLE THINGS SHALL NOT PROFIT.-ISAIAH XLIV. 9.

STERN statue of an elder time !

When Wisdom flourished in her prime,

Without one Christian grace !

Here at thy foot I rest awhile ;
Not to bestow a votary's smile,
Or shade the adoring face.

I may not bow me at thy shrine,
Or pay thee dues of corn and wine,
Though but a child of earth:

If I am dust-thou art but stone,

And while man raised thee on thy throne,
God gave my being birth.

Thy brows, which laurels long have worn, Are clouded now, as though in scorn,

Since offering I have none;

Yet care I nothing for thy frown,
But, weary, sit me patient down,
While shielded from the sun;

Nor grudge the service of thy shade;
Better as now to lend thine aid,

Than stand a queen confessed-
Full many hast thou made to toil,
In search of evanescent spoil;

Now give the weary rest.

Here men have raised a sylvan bower, Where spreading tree, and glowing flower,

Perfume the stilly air

Poets would style thee yet divine,

And haste to offer at thy shrine,

The sentimental prayer.

But I, in sooth, have nought to pay;
For tho' a creature of the day,

I have a higher claim

To this small plot of wooded ground,
My Father's hand hath scattered round,
Than thou of mystic name!

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