HYMN OF THE CITY.

OT in the solitude

Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see,
Only in savage wood

And sunny vale, the present Deity;

Or only hear his voice

Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice.

Even here do I behold

Thy steps, Almighty!—here, amidst the crowd
Through the great city rolled,

With everlasting murmur deep and loud-
Choking the ways that wind

'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind.

Thy golden sunshine comes.

From the round heaven, and on their dwellings lies And lights their inner homes;

For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded skies,

And givest them the stores

Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores.

Thy Spirit is around,

Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along;

And this eternal sound

Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng-
Like the resounding sea,

Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee.

And when the hour of rest

Comes, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine,
Hushing its billowy breast-

The quiet of that moment too is thine;
It breathes of Him who keeps

The vast and helpless city while it sleeps.
New York, 1830 (?).

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.

UR band is few but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold;

The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,

As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands

Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;

VOL. I.-15

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