Stoic and Epicurean-he made known

The high and holy mysteries of his faith,

And taught of Christ.

Oh that in science' halls,

Where oft philosophy hath been enshrined,
Might live in its unbending energy—

The spirit of a Paul!

And yet they turned,

And mocked him. Jewish infidel, outcast
Of Israel,-and dark idolaters of Greece,
Laughed him to scorn alike! Yet earnestly
He plead—and his firm tone and dauntless mien,
Stern in a holy recklessness, inspired

Awe in the multitude.-They gathered round
To list the 'babbler's' words-the setter forth'
Of new and strange divinities,- until room
Failed in the Market-place.

Then leading forth,

They brought him to the Areopagus,

With strange, half-mocking curiosity,

Bade him proclaim his doctrines.-Then stood up

That man of God, and glancing heavenward

The fervent but unspoken prayer for strength,
Looked on the multitudes.

*

PAUL AT ATHENS.

The city's throng

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Pressed up-eager to catch his words-and bent The ear to listen, as the holy man,

Fervid in the deep eloquence of truth,

And strong in might of the Eternal God

Broke forth 'YE MEN of ATHENS '-and accused Philosopher and ignorant, alike,

Of superstition.

Oh! that the learned,

And those the world call GREAT, might never awe The Messenger of God!

And Paul went on,

And with that wisdom that is born of heaven,
Borrowed their own inscription, and declared
To them the mysteries of the ' UNKNOWN GOD,'
Whom ignorant they worshipped, and proclaimed
Judgment and Resurrection. But they turned-
Aye, for the truth their own Philosopher,
The half-divine old Socrates, had taught,-
They turned and scoffed! Firmly are wedded thus
These earth-bowed hearts to their idolatry.

How vain is human lore! Science may wreathe Her choicest coronals on brows that bend

In adoration at her stoic shrine,

And Intellect may revel in its strength,

Through mazes of a dark philosophy,
Proud in its high enthronement,-and learn not,
Its truest glory-its high destiny!

It goes not out on the strong wing of faith

To the great sOURCE of Intellect, nor soars
With holy longings for IMMORTAL LIFE!

"Tis but an 6 UNKNOWN GOD' the darkened soul
Reads in the dim revealings of the earth,
And star-bright sky-till the broad radiance
Of heavenly truth beam like the glorious sun
On the dark face of nature, kindling up
The dew-dropped forest leaf and opening flower
To glittering letters on the earth-spread page,-
And light each else dark wanderer of heaven,
To shine his glory and to speak his praise!

Perchance there whispers in the soul a voice,
A still small voice' that speaks of Deity-
And answering tones from nature's thousand tongues,
May fall upon the dull, scarce-heeding ear,
Like zephyr's soft sussurus, lightly audible,—
And thus grow up before the soul's veiled eye,
Some dim and shadowy outline of a God!
"Twas thus at old Athenæ. They had bent
In dark devotion at the gilded shrines

Of gods that fancy fashioned, till arose

PAUL AT ATHENS.

On all her olive hills high-columned fanes-
The pride of art-the temples of Idolatry;

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And Superstition, like a dark-winged deity, Brooded in madness o'er them! Still there came

The silent tokening of an UNKNOWN GOD'

Who habited in space, and guided on

In their majestic march the rolling orbs,

And wrought the silent harmony that breathes

Thro' nature's 'vast profound.' But Paul must raise
The voice of an interpreter, and, taught
By high communing with his God, declare
The TEKEL of their finger-written walls,

And fling a sunlight through their misted dreams!

And oh a blacker shroud doth wrap the eye, That fain would pierce the darkness of the tomb And scan the pathways of Eternity!

The spirit shuddereth to die, and yearns

For an existence when the grave hath claimed
Its tabernacled clay.-Yet earth-enthralled,
The soul's inherent strength availeth not
Firmly to grasp the idol of its dreams,
Till-on the pinion of a soaring Faith,
And with the piercing telescope of heaven,
THE SACRED ORACLES-to point it home-

It mounts, to tread with a strong footstep there
The vestibule of the Celestial Courts !

VENETIAN MOONLIGHT.

BY FREDERIC MELLEN. *

THE midnight chime had tolled from Marco's towers,
O'er Adria's wave the trembling echo swept,
The gondolieri paused upon their oars,

Muttering their prayers as through the still night crept.

Far o'er the wave the knell of time was borne, Till the sound died upon its tranquil breast; The sea-boy started as the peal rolled on,

Gazed at his star and turned himself to rest.

The throbbing heart that late had said farewell, Still lingering on the wave that bore it home, At that bright hour sighed o'er the dying swell,

And thought on years of absence yet to come.