HUMAN GRANDEUR.

ALL human happiness is dust,
Which at the first strong wind,
Is scatter'd by th' impetuous gust,
And leaves no trace behind.
Such is the wretched state of man,
That in this life's short fleeting span,

He ne'er can find content;

His wants increase with every hour,
He prays for honours, wealth, and power,
He murmurs when they're sent.

Unhappy mortals! why concern
Your hearts for earthly joy?
Your thoughts incessantly should turn
On bliss without alloy.

Know, that true happiness to find
Upon this earth, to mortal mind

Was never, never given:

Seek it not here-you seek in vain,

This is a land of grief and pain:
Bliss only dwells in heaven.

W. S. P.

THE ANGELIC ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST.

WHAT Soft aerial sounds are these
That float along the midnight air?
More wildly sweet than e'er the breeze
Did from Eolian harpings bear.

What light is this that falls around,

In faint and visionary gleams?

Pale as the flitting vapours found,

O'er pathless glade and midnight streams.

But, hark! a burst of transport loud
Strikes full upon my startled ears;

Lo! on a bright descending cloud,

An angel-embassy appears.

Ye glorious forms from regions far,
What happy mission brings you here?
Who guided your etherial car,

And brought you to this shadowy sphere?

Your am'ranth wreaths of starry bloom,
All radiant with ambrosial dews,
Will soon have shed their rich perfume-
Will soon their tinted beauties lose.

Your quiv'ring wings of beamy light

Will droop and fold their tarnish'd plumes;

Your floating robes of snowy white

Will darken in terrestial glooms.

Again the notes symphonious flow,

And, lo! the blest announcement's given,
Embodying all that earth would know,
In all the melody of Heav'n!

"Glory to God" sublimely swells,

And rolls in choral thunders round;
"Good will to man" in sweetness dwells,
On ev'ry tongue with ling'ring sound..

"Go humble swains," an Angel said,

(The prostrate shepherds trembling rise)

"To lowly Beth'lem's meanest shed,
For there your infant monarch lies."

A meteor-guide directs their way-
They go with mingl'd hope and fear,
And joined by Eastern sages, pay
Their glad and costly homage there.

Jesus, though I can never meet

With these, thine advent to behold,
Or scatter at thy sacred feet

The myrrh, the frankincense, and gold,

With kindred love and equal joy,
I humble hail thy natal day;
Pass not my gift unheeded by-
My tribute of this feeble lay.

Oxford Street.

C. J. W.

CALCUTTA PEONS OR HURKARUS, AND SAEES OR GROOMS.