On such they gazed-while the full breast
Poured forth its lay of love;
Restless, tho' in their place of rest,

To mark His signs above:

They gazed-till HE revealed to view

His glory, 'mid the yielding blue,

With them to walk and muse, 'mong Eden's trees, While Nature poured her sweets, all floating on the breeze.

'Neath such they slept-nor guilt nor care

Pollution breathed around;

Pure as the waftings of the air,

The dew-drops of the ground:

Dreams of their Friend the night beguiled,

They heard His voice-they heard, and smiled;

Nor thought, nor touch of ill dared enter in— How could they deem there lurked so rude a thing as sin!

But, ah! since Guilt hath veiled Man's eye,

And forced him cease to love,

Why veiled it not the crystal sky,

As it barred the gates above?
Why gleams so bright yon azure blue,

O'er brows rebellious, hearts untrue,

Spreading a starry pavement, as of old,

Without a cloud to dim its streaks of glowing gold?

'Twere meeter far some dark-winged storm

Should shroud the desert-air,

Nor other glory deck its form,

Than sheeted lightnings' glare:

"Twere meeter far, where guilt hath power,

The frown of Godhead aye should lower,
Nor glittering stars, nor joyous sun appear,
To glad the night of sin, or rule the weeping year.

'Twere meeter far, the sickly blue,

Where frost-nipt suns appear,1
Should spread its robe of pallid hue,

O'er regions dry and sear—

Fit covering for the blasted tread

Of spirits of the outcast dead,

Gliding to warn fall'n man, from realms of gloom, How just the wage of sin—how meet that place of doom!

Strange thought! Is not the victory won?

Is not the lost restored?

Have not the Heav'ns their risen Sun ?

Hath not the Earth her Lord?

Shall muttering thunders never cease,

Nor peace attend the Prince of peace?

Joy to the world! e'en now with smiles I view My Maker's look of love light up yon living blue!

1 As frost-nipt suns look sadly.-HERBERT.

Faith dares the omen hail-
The reign of sin is gone!

Since Christ hath died, O what can veil
The glories He hath won!

O'er Eden lost, lo! other Edens bloom,

And life immortal tramples on the tomb:

We raise the eye to our celestial home,

And hail, with throb of hope, the deep blue sky of ROME!

S. MARIA SOPRA MINERVA..

THE STATUE OF CHRIST BY MICHAEL ANGELO.

THE DAY OF VENGEANCE IS IN MY HEART, AND THE YEAR OF MY REDEEMED IS COME.-ISAIAH LXIII. 4.

That

WHY that appalling frown,
Beneath the thorny crown,

eye of wrath, and stern, averted brow?
Is not the covenant made?

Is not the altar laid?

Say, is that covenant-pledge forgotten now?

O doth He bend below

An universe of woe:

From His dread sacrifice impatient shrink?
The deadly brimming bowl,

Mixed for my hell-doomed soul,

Doth He refuse, in this his hour, to drink?

Is it his people's hate,

Which knows not to abate,

That kindles flames and hot rebukes of fire?
Do heathen words of scorn,

Cast on the Man forlorn,
Quenchless, unmitigated wrath inspire?

Here in this world of woe,

Will He indeed forego

His fore-doomed work, my soul to seek and save, Hurl back the assumed tree

In act of victory,

Forbear to thread the mazes of the grave?

O think not, Lord, on us,

Whilst thou dost suffer thus;

Heed not the word of a poor, powerless worm! If Thou but wave thine hand,

Waste is the peopled land,

Like chaff, dispersed before the fitful storm.

Look on thy covenant-seal,

And with thy children deal,

Tho' wayward, by the greatness of thy name!
The Gentile and the Jew,

They know not what they do,'

Work out Thy work! let not Thine anger flame!