When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; Round our coast; While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul, Between let Ocean roll, Our joint communion breaking with the Sun: The voice of blood shall reach, The Night-flowering Cereus.—UNITARIAN MISCELLANY. Now departs day's gairish light- Rise upon the brow of night! Night has dropped her dusky veil- See to life her beauties start; Hail! thou glorious, matchless flower' In the solemn, fleeting hour. This alludes merely to the moral union of the two countries. The author would not have it supposed that the tribute of respect, offered in these stanzas o the land of his ancestors, would be paid by him, if at the expense of the independence of that which gave him birth. The night-flowering Cereus, or Cactus grandiflorus, is one of our most spiendid hot-house plants, and is a native of Jamaica and some other of the West India Islands. Its stem is creeping, and thickly set with spines. The flower is white, and very large, sometimes nearly a foot in diameter. The most remarkable circumstance with regard to the flower, is the short time which it takes to expand, and the rapidity with which it decays. It begins to open late in the evening, flourishes for an hour or two, then begins to droop, and before morning is completely dead. Ere we have our homage paid, Thou wilt bow thine head and die; Sorrow's rugged stem, like thine, Religion, too, that heavenly flower, Then thy beauties are surpassed, God is Good.-ANONYMOUS. GOD is good! Each perfumed flower, The insect, fluttering for an hour,- I hear it in the rushing wind; Each little rill, that, many a year, Joins in the song that God is good. The restless main, with haughty roar, Countless hosts of burning stars Sing his praise with light renewed ; The moon that walks in brightness, says, Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.-ANONYMOUS. WHEN, on the midnight of the East, The shepherd, leaning o'er his flock, The Arabian sage, to hail our King, If heathen sages, from afar, Followed, when darkness round them spreaɑ And worshipped where its radiance led, Shall we, for whom that star was hung That song Shall we, for whom the Savior bled, The Dying Child.-CARLOS WILCOX. THUS happily they lived, Till, in their arms, a second pleasant babe, With a faint smile, intelligent, began To answer theirs, and with a brighter that Of its fond sister, standing by their side, With frequent kisses prattling in its face; While in its features, with parental joy, And love connubial, they began to mark Theirs intermingled ;-when, with sudden stroke, The blooming infant faded, and expired. And soon its lonely sister, doubly dear Now in their grief, was in like manner torn From their united grasp. With patience far Beyond her years, the little sufferer bore Her sharp distemper, while she could behold Both parents by her side; but, when from sleep, Transient and troubled, waking, wept aloud, As terrified, if either were not there. To hear their voices singing of the love Of her Redeemer, in her favorite hymn, And praying for his mercy, oft she asked A few heart-rending moments, and her voice At once returned. 'Twas evening; and the lamp, The enfeebled mother on the father's arm Heavily hanging, like the slender flower Tc a Musquito.-NEW YORK REVIEW. FAIR insect, that, with thread-like legs spread out, In pitiless ears, full many a plaintive thing, * I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, Thou com'st from Jersey meadows, broad and green, * * * * At length thy pinions fluttered in Broadway- Shone through the snowy veils like stars through mist: And, fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, Bloomed the bright blood through the transparent skin. O, these were sights to touch an anchorite!— Thou art a wayward being-well, come near, What say'st thou, slanderer? "Rouge makes thee sick, And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, Poisons the thirsty wretch that bores for blood?" That bloom was made to look at, not to touch, To worship, not approach, that radiant white; |