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THEY SHALL FIGHT AGAINST THEE, BUT SHALL NOT PREVAIL AGAINST THEE, FOR I AM WITH THEE TO DELIVER THEE, SAITH THE LORD.JER. I. 19.

ALL hail the sun, who, from his mid-day height, Thro' driving tempests pours his cheering beam; While wakes the living landscape in his light, Each spire rejoicing in the golden gleam, Vineyards and castles mirrored in the stream! Well may he smile, where truth hath raised the dead, And waked the nations from their deathful dream; While heav'nly light her loving influence shed, Before whose faintest ray the midnight shadows fled!

Joy to the nations, when the Lord unfurled His banner o'er the realms of deepest gloom; When He arose once more to shake the world, Bear back the power of hell, and burst the tomb, While Satan writhed in terror of his doom! How shone o'er ruined man His mercy's sign, Bidding faint faith her buried hopes resume, While gleamed light, life, and liberty divine, As now these heav'n-lit rays bespread thy breast, O Rhine!

Mourn not yon hoary ruins, that uprear
Their broken crests amid a scene so fair;

For fraud and violence wrought those dens of fear -
Who shared in crime may well in ruin share!
The arm that roused the lion in his lair,
And nerved a Luther's soul no power to shun,
Tho' devils thronged in hate of their despair,
Hath shelled them, scattered thus beneath the sun,
Like refuse-spoils of earth, as when a vintage's done. 1

Hated by men, whose souls he sought to save, Panting and worn, like partridge in the chace, How would the hero mark this calm blue wave Steal by, safe nestled in the hills' embrace, A beauteous symbol of his Master's grace! From crimes of men how would he turn away, To hail in thee, fair Rhine! thy Maker's face, While, murmuring blessings 'neath the blaze of day, Thy broad, full, fertile tide rolled on its joyous way!

Thou art thy Maker's handy-work, and He
Hath poured thee as a blessing on the land-
Man may not forge thee gyves, for thou art free,
And bidd'st him bound his footsteps to the sand-
Fit base for structures of a mortal's hand!

1 Isaiah xxiv. 13.

What tho' he rear his works to vaunt the sky; Soon, soon they piecemeal drop beneath Time's wand, Whilst thou, in pristine strength, still sweepest by, Like that celestial wave, that glads the courts on high.

Such wert thou to his soul, who fought alone,
Nor yielded, tho' the world and hell combined—
They crumbling, fell, like these gray walls of stone;
While, by the river's side, his firm roots find
Nurture and strength, by God's broad signet signed,
Tossing their leafy boughs, with fruitage stored,
Round mortal brows immortal wreaths to bind-
O well was wielded here the warrior's sword,

Who fought against a world--that world against its Lord!

COLOGNE.

THE CATHEDRAL-THE SHRINE OF THE MAGI.

The cathedral of Cologne-built over the reputed ashes of the magi, or, as they are termed, the three kings, Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar-had it been completed, would have equalled in magnificence any gothic edifice in Europe. Nothing, however, is finished but the chancel, which is in the richest style of florid gothic, estimated at 173 feet in elevation. A low wall, including a nave partially built, connects it with the tower, which, after running up half its height, breaks off, leaving the old broken jointed lever, by which stones were hauled up, to serve by way of finish. This is not the only abortion of the kind on the Continent.

LOFTY were the thoughts that formed thee,

And thy fretted arches bound;

But what hand of ruin stormed thee,

As thou spurnedst the burdened ground!

As a giant son of earth

Was the promise of thy birth;

Did some rude and secret blow,

Bow thy strength, and lay thee low?

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